An apology to neighbours and fellow road-users

Yes folks, it was me... and I'm very sorry.

Driving home on Tuesday evening, I made a bit of a tactical error. I had reckoned that I would have sufficient fuel to get from work to the local Tesco filling station, where I could make use of a "5p Off, per litre" voucher when I filled up with diesel. As you will no doubt have realized, this was wrong. Like an idiot, I chose to not only ignore that little orange fuel light on the dashboard, but I also decided that the increasingly insistent whine from the rear of the vehicle, as the fuel pump struggled to slurp up the dregs in the fuel tank, wasn't a sign of impending trouble.

About half a mile short of the filling station, the inevitable happened. Without a single warning splutter, the engine simply stopped... just as I arrived at a roundabout, in the middle of Macclesfield in evening rush-hour traffic.
Fortunately, once I'd switched on the hazard warning lights, I was able get out and direct the traffic around my stricken vehicle. With the traffic moving (comparatively) freely again, I dug out the 5 litre can of diesel that I carry, and poured the contents into the tank.

Those of you who are familiar with diesel engines will know that putting fuel in isn't normally all that is required to get the motor going again if it has run out. A tedious operation, known as "bleeding", is usually called for. The fuel feed lines to the engine are progressively uncoupled, then fuel is pumped through from the tank until air has been purged from the system and fuel is flowing freely. It's a fiddly and filthy operation, even under the best conditions, so I was very relieved when, after giving the starter motor a serious work-out, the engine burst into life.

So everything was fine again. All I had to do was drive the remaining half mile to Tesco, fill the tank and then trundle home.
That's when the burglar alarm decided to kick off.

I'd just got rolling and had merged into the traffic flow when the piercing, 120 decibel siren began screeching from the engine compartment and my hazard warning lights began pulsing like a demented disco. As I was under the illusion that the burglar alarm system had been disabled some while ago, I was rather surprised at its sudden, miraculous resurrection. I was also wishing that I had kept the little radio transponder that controls the alarm on my key ring, instead of consigning it to the bottom of a drawer in the sideboard at home.
I was forced to drive the final few miles home, accompanied by a ghastly, pulsating din, a frantic lightshow and the puzzled looks of everybody within ear-shot.
I could almost read their lips as I passed. "What does that twat in the Land Rover think he's doing..?"

So, once again. I apologise.
Furthermore, I promise to not to allow myself to run out of fuel and cause traffic mayhem in Macclesfield, and I promise to sort out the burglar alarm system on my vehicle.

Cobblers!

Here's something that I hadn't realised that I take for granted.
Shoes that don't let in water.

I've had these "Clarks Active Air" for a few years now and although they took a while to become really comfortable, they've been good shoes; black, shiny, sensibly smart. During hot weather, they haven't become intolerable and during the winter they've been warm, snug and, most importantly, dry.

So today, as I ventured outside to do the meteorology checks, I became aware of a most unwelcome, chilly squishiness under the sole of my left foot. There was that unambiguous wet sock feeling that I'd almost forgotten. It brought back the memories of every leaky wellington boot and accidentally submerged plimsoll that I'd ever had.
Sure enough, when I got back indoors and took off my shoes, the problem was immediately obvious. There was a hole, worn through the sole of one shoe.

Then I noticed something a bit odd (at this point, Horatio "CSI:Miami" Caine would be taking off his sunglasses and looking off to one side with that infuriating expression.)
The left shoe was much more worn than the right. This was a bit puzzling.
At first, I couldn't think of any reason why the wear was so obviously uneven.
I don't walk with a limp, run around in circles or do anything unorthodox with my feet.

Then I realized what had almost certainly caused it.

The clutch pedal on the Land Rover is extraordinarily stiff. It is so much harder to depress than the brake, that I've had to replace the pedal rubber three times since I've owned it. The brake pedal rubber is hardly worn at all. If the clutch pedal is taking that much wear, it's not so surprising that the shoe that operates the pedal also gets a disproportionately high degree of wear.

I guess it's just another variable to factor into the Cost of Ownership Equation for a Land Rover Defender.

"So you see, Inspector, the culprit is..."

This, friends and neighbours, is a starter motor for a Land Rover TD5 engine.

This is what makes that whirring noise as you turn the ignition key, shortly before the engine of your vehicle roars to life.

Strangely enough, in the case of my vehicle, it has been the thing that made an entirely normal whirring noise as I turned the ignition key, whilst perversely preventing the engine from roaring to life.

Regular readers (heaven help you) will know that over a month ago, my Land Rover Defender, went completely mad and refused to start. The diagnosis of the "failure to start problem" was hampered by an obviously malfunctioning diesel pump which was replaced along with the injector seals that are the normal cause of such pump shenanigans, and the local Land Rover wizards were surprised when normal service wasn't restored after they'd sorted out the fuel system.

After quite a lot of fruitless effort, with commendable honesty, they admitted that they were out of ideas, so they downloaded the engine management data and sent it off to the Land Rover Technical people for analysis.

Time passed...

Last Thursday the chap from the garage rang to say that they'd sorted out the problem.

"You'll never guess what it was", he said.

I resisted the temptation to say something pithy like, "Neither could you, apparently.", and opted for, "Go on then, surprise me."

"Well, you know how the starter was turning over the engine perfectly..."

"Yeah"

"...what d'you think would be the least likely thing to be faulty?"

"Starter motor?", I ventured

"Yup. Faulty starter motor. There was an internal fault in the motor, and it was generating electrical interference that was picked up by the crank-shaft position sensor. Whenever you tried to start up, the engine management unit couldn't tell where the crank-shaft was, so it couldn't operate the injectors at the right time. That's why if you got lucky and the engine actually managed to fire, it would then run normally because the starter motor stops once the engine's running, so no interference. "

"Blimey."

"We've tried a spare starter motor on it and it's fine. We've ordered a new one and we'll fit that tomorrow morning. You can come and pick 'er up tomorrow afternoon."

"Excellent. You sound pretty relieved."

"Yeah, it's pretty rare to have something quite this tricky.", he replied.

"I bet you won't forget this one in a hurry then."

"No... neither will you I expect."

I certainly won't forget the bill

Australian motoring assistance, via Cornwall

My eldest brother sent me this today. He suggested that it might be worth getting some for The Tractor.

Reasons to be cheerful

The continued non-repair of The Tractor has , not surprisingly, left me pretty fed up at the moment. 

The latest news from the chaps at the garage is not too great; they've had to download all the engine management data from its electronic brain, and send it off to Land Rover for analysis. Bearing in mind that "Jaguar Land Rover" have got their own particular global-recession-in-motor-industry related problems to cope with, I'm starting to wonder how and when this is going to get sorted. 

Fortunately, the garage has lent me a car, so I'm not totally scuppered for getting to work, but it isn't really suitable for transporting all the concrete posts, fence panels, sand and cement that are required for the latest outbreak of 'gardening', so the new greenhouse project has slipped badly behind schedule.

So, let's think about something less depressing then.

I haven't got 'Swine Flu'...

...yet.

 

"Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy?"

It seems that real life and fantasy are getting a bit blurred lately. Regular readers may recall that I had a bit of bother with the Land Rover (aka 'The Tractor') a couple of weeks ago and I'm afraid it's still broken. This is deeply irritating, as it's only six months out of warranty and yet it appears to have nadgered a fuel pump due to leaking diesel injector seals. This would be bad enough, but there's also something peculiar going on, that prevents the engine starting with any kind of reliability.

This lack of reliability seems to have rubbed off on my Fantasy Formula One Grand Prix team.

One of the blokes at work runs a Fantasy Formula One League every year, and I took part for the first time last year. At the start of the season you have to pick two mini-teams. Each mini-team has two main drivers and a reserve driver. Each driver has a cash value, and you are limited to a total budget of forty million pounds to pay for all six drivers. Because you cannot afford to fill your team with all the 'top' drivers, you're forced to buy in some of the less obvious candidates for the winners podium.

Points are awarded to drivers based on the finishing positions for each race. It makes the races more fun to watch, because you end up supporting people you normally wouldn't have any interest in.

Last year was pretty good, and my team finished the season in a respectable position, somewhere in the top ten.

This year has not gone so well however, with some of my drivers barely capable of finding their way to the race-track, let alone the finishing line.

Of the twenty cars to start the Bahrain Grand Prix last weekend only the one driven by Nakajima failed to finish. Yes, you've guessed it. He's in my team.

To make matters even worse, Blight-of-my-life negotiated a deal with with one of my workmates who has no interest in motor racing, and he agreed to 'front' a team for her. Her team is doing considerably better than mine and I'm sorry to say that her attempt at sympathy ("Oh dear, perhaps you won't be bottom of the league after the next race") would have been more convincing if she hadn't been smirking quite so much.

I don't know if there is some mysterious link between my Fantasy Formula One team's fortunes and the health of The Tractor, but if there is, I really hope that Messrs Alonso, Bourdais, Barrichello, Kubica, Nakajima and Beumi get their act together soon.