Forshame!! All good and grand intentions regarding the resurrection of Fiddy may have gone to the wind.
I spoke to Fil at Fil’s Pajeros the other day and it seems that the donor vehicle from which Fiddy’s new heart was to be ripped is in a much better condition than Fiddy. He’s offered me the chance to take the Donor in place of Fiddy. This seems like a huge betrayal as I’ve become quite attached to Fiddy and the idea of bringing her back to life to our summer road trip. There’s also the fact that I assured Ed, Fiddy’s previous owner, when I bought her that I she would live again.
The cold hard fact of the matter is that I’m going to be travelling some of the roughest roads that Europe has to offer with three kids in the car. I need to be as confident as is possible that I’m doing so in the best vehicle for the trip. Sadly, it seems that Fiddy may not be that vehicle.
I’m going to Fils Pajeros on Saturday to inspect the pretender and see if what Fil says is correct. By Saturday I’ll know and this blog may well come to a premature close.
Thursday, 23 April 2009
Sunday, 29 March 2009
Fiddy Moves!!
Okay, so not very far. The move was from carport to drive. The significance is that the next step, in a day or so, is going to be onto a car transporter and the to Fil's Pajeros in Southampton for her heart transplant.
She was looking a little shabby after a winter in the carport. Well, her arse was hanging out the back, and constant traffic passing Fiddy between house and garden left her a bit splattered. Out with the trusty jet wash and equally trusty brother in-law, a quick squirt and maybe Fil will now realise that she's not just some neglected hulk but a beloved family member. Of course if he see this picture he may review that opinion.
Friday, 27 March 2009
The Lone Father, in which I expose myself to legal types.
The hour of Fiddy’s surgery approaches and my thoughts are now turning to other areas of preparation for the trip. Documentation.
The list is headed by the usual suspects of passport (note to self: Get a passport!), Fiddy’s logbook, an International Drivers Permit, a Green Card and similar odds and sods. I also need some documentation from the PCLA. “What?” I hear you ask?
If you’d not already picked up from earlier in this blog, my wife has eschewed my epic road trip in favour of a week or two on a beach, leaving me as an effective single parent to one times son, one times stepdaughter and one times stepson. A visit to the Foreign and Commonwealth Office website revealed that, in addition to the aforementioned odds and soddery, I need to be ready to prove that I have permission to be travelling with the kids but, although the FCO is part of the Civil Service, the civility of their service did not extend to any form of enlightenment as to what precisely would be required. Instead I was advised to talk to the relevant embassies for enlightenment.
This is where the Parent and Child Licensing Authority come in. Simply get a V5 for each child and Bob’s your uncle. The problem is that there is no such useful body as the PCLA. You can bet your granny that the government would document the crap out of parents and children if there was any tax money in it but there’s not. This is why it’s easier to export a child than a car. Unless, that is, if you to go to the supposedly dark corner of Europe that is the Balkans, where our former communist chums seem to be leading the way in closing the conduits through which children can be smuggled away from their legal guardians.
So, back to the business at hand, and several days of trying to make contact with the embassies of Slovenia, Croatia, Bosnia, Serbia and Albania resulted in no response of any kind from the former Yugoslavians and a hugely enthusiastic but worryingly simple response from the Albanians. That’s not to say the Albanian Embassy didn’t help, rather that their “I’m sure a letter will do.” left me thinking “But what if it won’t?”. The next tack was to contact the British Embassies in these countries, explain my predicament and see what they had to say on the matter.
After several days of patient waiting, an email arrived from a person signing themselves of as ‘Consular Section’. Consular Section seems to work at the British Embassy in Belgrade, Serbia. Their suggestion was a pimped version of the Albanian letter, with the added bling of notarisation. That sounded good, if, as is inevitable when exposing one’s self to legal types, expensive.
Armed with a need for a Notary Public I headed back to the web to ask Google’s opinion and before you could say “That was rather quick” was talking to a Notary Public. They suggested adding even more bling to the notarised letter by registering with the FCO to “facilitate the verification of its veracity”. And all this for £45 + VAT. At that price I may make a habit of exposing myself to legal types.
The list is headed by the usual suspects of passport (note to self: Get a passport!), Fiddy’s logbook, an International Drivers Permit, a Green Card and similar odds and sods. I also need some documentation from the PCLA. “What?” I hear you ask?
If you’d not already picked up from earlier in this blog, my wife has eschewed my epic road trip in favour of a week or two on a beach, leaving me as an effective single parent to one times son, one times stepdaughter and one times stepson. A visit to the Foreign and Commonwealth Office website revealed that, in addition to the aforementioned odds and soddery, I need to be ready to prove that I have permission to be travelling with the kids but, although the FCO is part of the Civil Service, the civility of their service did not extend to any form of enlightenment as to what precisely would be required. Instead I was advised to talk to the relevant embassies for enlightenment.
This is where the Parent and Child Licensing Authority come in. Simply get a V5 for each child and Bob’s your uncle. The problem is that there is no such useful body as the PCLA. You can bet your granny that the government would document the crap out of parents and children if there was any tax money in it but there’s not. This is why it’s easier to export a child than a car. Unless, that is, if you to go to the supposedly dark corner of Europe that is the Balkans, where our former communist chums seem to be leading the way in closing the conduits through which children can be smuggled away from their legal guardians.
So, back to the business at hand, and several days of trying to make contact with the embassies of Slovenia, Croatia, Bosnia, Serbia and Albania resulted in no response of any kind from the former Yugoslavians and a hugely enthusiastic but worryingly simple response from the Albanians. That’s not to say the Albanian Embassy didn’t help, rather that their “I’m sure a letter will do.” left me thinking “But what if it won’t?”. The next tack was to contact the British Embassies in these countries, explain my predicament and see what they had to say on the matter.
After several days of patient waiting, an email arrived from a person signing themselves of as ‘Consular Section’. Consular Section seems to work at the British Embassy in Belgrade, Serbia. Their suggestion was a pimped version of the Albanian letter, with the added bling of notarisation. That sounded good, if, as is inevitable when exposing one’s self to legal types, expensive.
Armed with a need for a Notary Public I headed back to the web to ask Google’s opinion and before you could say “That was rather quick” was talking to a Notary Public. They suggested adding even more bling to the notarised letter by registering with the FCO to “facilitate the verification of its veracity”. And all this for £45 + VAT. At that price I may make a habit of exposing myself to legal types.
Thursday, 19 March 2009
Doctor Fil
After many a long month of inactivity, a sudden rush is about to ensue. No, not narcotically induced, but brought about by some Quantitative Easing. Yes, that’s right, my mortgage repayments have fallen through the floor as my fixed rate came to an end and buckets of readies are now primed to be thrown at Fiddy!
Frustrated by the waiting and endless procrastination that is the National Health Service of my own mechanical drive, at long last, Fiddy’s getting some well deserved prioritisation and is going private. Fils Pajeros in Southampton play the role of BUPA in this rather weak metaphor, and a driver is being dispatched to collect Fiddy at the end of this month. An organ donor has been lined up, blood tests confirm a match and the scalpels are being sharpened as we speak. All being well and good, I’ll be collecting Fiddy towards the end of April. A few weeks on a macrobiotic diet and she’ll be as good as ever she was.
With just over 4 months to go, Fiddy going under the knife in a matter of weeks and ferries booked, documentation is the next item on the agenda. It seems that temporarily importing my step daughter to Albania (country number 9 on our route) needs similar paperwork to importing Fiddy, to prove legal possession. Problem is that there is no V5 equivalent for children. Step son is okay due to being 17, mini me is okay as we share a surname but step daughter is a problem (like any teenage girl). I’ve emailed the Albanian embassy in London to find out how I prove ownership and heard nothing. I’m wondering whether I could photoshop a receipt from LIDL but have no idea what the going rate is. Too much or too little and it won’t be believable. Looks like a trip to the Albanian embassy is on the cards.
Frustrated by the waiting and endless procrastination that is the National Health Service of my own mechanical drive, at long last, Fiddy’s getting some well deserved prioritisation and is going private. Fils Pajeros in Southampton play the role of BUPA in this rather weak metaphor, and a driver is being dispatched to collect Fiddy at the end of this month. An organ donor has been lined up, blood tests confirm a match and the scalpels are being sharpened as we speak. All being well and good, I’ll be collecting Fiddy towards the end of April. A few weeks on a macrobiotic diet and she’ll be as good as ever she was.
With just over 4 months to go, Fiddy going under the knife in a matter of weeks and ferries booked, documentation is the next item on the agenda. It seems that temporarily importing my step daughter to Albania (country number 9 on our route) needs similar paperwork to importing Fiddy, to prove legal possession. Problem is that there is no V5 equivalent for children. Step son is okay due to being 17, mini me is okay as we share a surname but step daughter is a problem (like any teenage girl). I’ve emailed the Albanian embassy in London to find out how I prove ownership and heard nothing. I’m wondering whether I could photoshop a receipt from LIDL but have no idea what the going rate is. Too much or too little and it won’t be believable. Looks like a trip to the Albanian embassy is on the cards.
Thursday, 11 December 2008
Sidetracked
I appear to have over comitted to action over the past weekend. I did have plans. I had determination and I had enthusiasm. I was good to go. I also had a Volvo 480 nearing the end of its natural life and a nagging doubt as to whether I could wring another MOT from it.
Into this medley of procrastination arrived an email, the bare bones of which said "Do you want a Jaguar XJ6? Taxed, MOT'd and yours for collection.". Around 48hours later I was on train to Wales and shortly after that, cruising back in my new and mostly shiny Jag. The next thing I knew it was Sunday and nothing had happened to Fiddy.
I should, if I haven't already, point out that decisions have been made. Based on educated guesses (CSE Mechanic's Intuition Grade 3) regarding the nature of Fiddy's failure I have decided not to repair the engine. Fixing what has broken is feasible but that's only half the problem. Guessing something large and previsously attached is now many things small and free floating fired me with a "We will fix it" mentality not seen since the occupants of the Mouse Organ were plying their trade in the 70s. The problem is that the queue for mechanical martyrdom is long (and possibly distinguished). Somewhere in my engine, I believe, a hard core of fundamentalist engine components are plotting a return to their molecular constitutents. What took Fiddy off the road was just the start. Repair would just be sitting back and waiting for the next inevitable failure so I'd need to think about a fair bit of refurbishment along the way. As soon as that happens costs start to climb and economically viable repair prospect start to go the way of poor old Oliver Postgate.
Without further ado I consulted George W. Bush's "Book of Fixing Everything and Stuff Like That and Everything" and, it said "If it's dead, replace it. If it's not dead, make it dead and then replace it". Seemed like a plan to me. Calls I'd made when I first got Fiddy revealed that a new regime could be purchased from around £500 (complete with hearts and minds, guaranteed no unexpected explosions). So that's the way we're going. I'll still hold a full autopsy and inquest into the death of the current item, partly to make the old engine easier to handle and perhaps for some comedy pics.
So, there you have it. I've done bugger all again.
Into this medley of procrastination arrived an email, the bare bones of which said "Do you want a Jaguar XJ6? Taxed, MOT'd and yours for collection.". Around 48hours later I was on train to Wales and shortly after that, cruising back in my new and mostly shiny Jag. The next thing I knew it was Sunday and nothing had happened to Fiddy.
I should, if I haven't already, point out that decisions have been made. Based on educated guesses (CSE Mechanic's Intuition Grade 3) regarding the nature of Fiddy's failure I have decided not to repair the engine. Fixing what has broken is feasible but that's only half the problem. Guessing something large and previsously attached is now many things small and free floating fired me with a "We will fix it" mentality not seen since the occupants of the Mouse Organ were plying their trade in the 70s. The problem is that the queue for mechanical martyrdom is long (and possibly distinguished). Somewhere in my engine, I believe, a hard core of fundamentalist engine components are plotting a return to their molecular constitutents. What took Fiddy off the road was just the start. Repair would just be sitting back and waiting for the next inevitable failure so I'd need to think about a fair bit of refurbishment along the way. As soon as that happens costs start to climb and economically viable repair prospect start to go the way of poor old Oliver Postgate.
Without further ado I consulted George W. Bush's "Book of Fixing Everything and Stuff Like That and Everything" and, it said "If it's dead, replace it. If it's not dead, make it dead and then replace it". Seemed like a plan to me. Calls I'd made when I first got Fiddy revealed that a new regime could be purchased from around £500 (complete with hearts and minds, guaranteed no unexpected explosions). So that's the way we're going. I'll still hold a full autopsy and inquest into the death of the current item, partly to make the old engine easier to handle and perhaps for some comedy pics.
So, there you have it. I've done bugger all again.
Sunday, 30 November 2008
Oh oh, optimism!
Progress on Fiddy has been of an indirect nature over the past few weeks. This is due, at least in part, to attempts to refine the logistical arangements required to facilitate Fiddy's repair, the distraction of deomestic life and the deterent of meteorological adversity. Yup, I lost some tools, did some decorating and it rained...a bit. So there's a fine list of excuses, all somewhat undermined by the practical progress.
So what's happened? Well, Fiddy has got her first bit of bling - a 99p set of bullbars. Not even remotely justifiable as a purchase until next summer but, given the price, hardly something I could miss out on. I justify the eventual need purely on defensive grounds - basically that they increase protection for both the headlights and for the radiators of which, I think have mentioned, there are many. This means the prospect of surviving any frontal impact in driveable state improves dramatically. They're a bit like insurance if you like, which could be viewed as bet. With insurance it's a bet that you won't have a crash but if you do, it'll all get sorted out. With bullbars it's more like betting that you won't have a crash but if you do, the other guy will lose. Some people do say that bullbars are a bad thing, that have a negative impact on a car's safety from a pedestrian view. I say that you have to hit them first. They move ever so quick, especially the little ones, and normally manage to reach the pavement long before you manage to hit the buggers.
The second bit of progress is a triumph of optimism and confidence (misplaced or otherwise) in the face of outstanding repairs, missing tools, decorating and rain. Fiddy, myself and the kids are now booked onto the 23:59 from to Dunkirk on July 31st. I didn't actually intend to get the ferry booked so cockily far in advance but, as with the bullbars, the price made the chance unmissable. I didn't even have to shop around, which is nice. My father had suggested Norfolk Lines so I checked their website and got a price of £33 all in and jumped straight on it.
So that's me and Fiddy for the last few weeks. In short, I've done sod all but surf the web and spend a little money.
So what's happened? Well, Fiddy has got her first bit of bling - a 99p set of bullbars. Not even remotely justifiable as a purchase until next summer but, given the price, hardly something I could miss out on. I justify the eventual need purely on defensive grounds - basically that they increase protection for both the headlights and for the radiators of which, I think have mentioned, there are many. This means the prospect of surviving any frontal impact in driveable state improves dramatically. They're a bit like insurance if you like, which could be viewed as bet. With insurance it's a bet that you won't have a crash but if you do, it'll all get sorted out. With bullbars it's more like betting that you won't have a crash but if you do, the other guy will lose. Some people do say that bullbars are a bad thing, that have a negative impact on a car's safety from a pedestrian view. I say that you have to hit them first. They move ever so quick, especially the little ones, and normally manage to reach the pavement long before you manage to hit the buggers.
The second bit of progress is a triumph of optimism and confidence (misplaced or otherwise) in the face of outstanding repairs, missing tools, decorating and rain. Fiddy, myself and the kids are now booked onto the 23:59 from to Dunkirk on July 31st. I didn't actually intend to get the ferry booked so cockily far in advance but, as with the bullbars, the price made the chance unmissable. I didn't even have to shop around, which is nice. My father had suggested Norfolk Lines so I checked their website and got a price of £33 all in and jumped straight on it.
So that's me and Fiddy for the last few weeks. In short, I've done sod all but surf the web and spend a little money.
Sunday, 26 October 2008
Minor progress and similar confusion
Another couple hours of tinkering brings the engine ever closer to being removable. It also leads to a longing for industrial stregth velcro to be used to mount components. Wouldn't life be so much easier? The Haynes manual would seem like more fun too. "To rip our the engine, first, rip out everying that's in the way, then rip out the engine."
Talking of the Haynes BOL, it's been at it again. If the manual speaks true, my alternator has migrated from one side of the engine to the other. It's also been mounted by the pump that puts the 'ass' in power assisted brakes. No mention of that in the manual at all...well, not unless you count those squiggly bits between the pictures. This is strange new territiory for me. I've never worked on anything that's had more to assist the brakes than adrenalin. I wonder if they'll still be power assisted when I've finished.
Talking of wondering, the list of things to wonder about was joined by the aircon compressor. It hissed like an angered cat when I gave it a gentle tug which, while being exactly what you'd expect from a cat receiving the same treatment, wasn't what I expected at all from an aircon compressor. I was very tempted to tug it some more to see exactly where the hiss originated but, given that I know nothing about the business end of aircon, decided this would be a futile waste of time.
Talking of futile wastes of time, I was nagged by an ever present desire to drop the sump off of the engine and try and see precisely what is broken in there. Saturday I managed to resist after a mate lured me off to the local for the afternoon, Sunday it was the cold wet floor that put me off.
Other Pajero frolics over the past few days have included removal of one of the running board/side step things. This was driven by a trinity of needs. Okay, one slightly tenuous need and two wants.
1) To improve the crawlunderableness of the car.
2) My four year old doesn't need to use the step so who else would?
3) After two weekends of work, albeit sporadic work, I really wanted to have done something that was actually noticable.
I'd remove the other one but can't get to it - Such is my commitment!!
Finally, Ebay reared its tartsome head again and whispered to me "buy stuff you don't need". Not being one to argue I had a punt on a set of bull bars and some steel wheels but both got away. Such is life.
Disclaimer:
I have never, ever, conducted studies, empirical or otherwise, into the sound emitted by a cat on receipt of a gentle tug. I just wanted to set that straight. I did once go out with a girl who claimed to know a dog fluffer but that's another story and one which I'd sooner forget.
Talking of the Haynes BOL, it's been at it again. If the manual speaks true, my alternator has migrated from one side of the engine to the other. It's also been mounted by the pump that puts the 'ass' in power assisted brakes. No mention of that in the manual at all...well, not unless you count those squiggly bits between the pictures. This is strange new territiory for me. I've never worked on anything that's had more to assist the brakes than adrenalin. I wonder if they'll still be power assisted when I've finished.
Talking of wondering, the list of things to wonder about was joined by the aircon compressor. It hissed like an angered cat when I gave it a gentle tug which, while being exactly what you'd expect from a cat receiving the same treatment, wasn't what I expected at all from an aircon compressor. I was very tempted to tug it some more to see exactly where the hiss originated but, given that I know nothing about the business end of aircon, decided this would be a futile waste of time.
Talking of futile wastes of time, I was nagged by an ever present desire to drop the sump off of the engine and try and see precisely what is broken in there. Saturday I managed to resist after a mate lured me off to the local for the afternoon, Sunday it was the cold wet floor that put me off.
Other Pajero frolics over the past few days have included removal of one of the running board/side step things. This was driven by a trinity of needs. Okay, one slightly tenuous need and two wants.
1) To improve the crawlunderableness of the car.
2) My four year old doesn't need to use the step so who else would?
3) After two weekends of work, albeit sporadic work, I really wanted to have done something that was actually noticable.
I'd remove the other one but can't get to it - Such is my commitment!!
Finally, Ebay reared its tartsome head again and whispered to me "buy stuff you don't need". Not being one to argue I had a punt on a set of bull bars and some steel wheels but both got away. Such is life.
Disclaimer:
I have never, ever, conducted studies, empirical or otherwise, into the sound emitted by a cat on receipt of a gentle tug. I just wanted to set that straight. I did once go out with a girl who claimed to know a dog fluffer but that's another story and one which I'd sooner forget.
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