All ye oul wans and oul fellas out there! Wakey wakey, rise and shine!

BrensBenz

Jellybaby1 wrote: »

Aw now I remember Bran. Almost forgot the madra. Which reminds me I once knew a dog called Bran and now I know who he was called after. I think Madra is another good name for a dog! Always loved the name of the dog in 'Heartbeat', Deefer (D for). Loved David's character and they should have made a spin off about his exploits. He would have given Michael Crawford's character a run for his money. But.......we weren't talking about that were we? (moves away looking confused and forgetful)

Once again, we're on the same page!
Bran was Fionn Mac Cumhaill's woofer and, if you're interested in Celtic myths, it's well worth a look. The myth-weavers gave Sceolan and Tuiren fascinating stories too. But it's more correct to use the word "Cú" (hound) rather than "Madra" (pet woofer) to describe Bran and Co.

As for David in "Heartbeat", I really admire the skill of the actor (David Lonsdale) in creating that character. I know the script helps but it takes huge ability, great attention to detail and a lot of courage to portray convincingly......what can I call it?......a harmless poor divil like David. John Mills did it in Ryan's Daughter; John Hurt in Elephant Man, etc., etc., but Mr. Lonsdale got it right on day one and kept it right for years. Fair dues!

Jellybaby1

Ah Brens, steady on. All those big words! Guys, doncha just hate academics when they are let loose? Brens, I can't see you working in a mine at the tender age of nine years old. You've been to that Uni thing Aussie kids talk about on Neighbours and Home & Away. And when are those Aussie series's ever going to end? And have yiz noticed that everyone in those series's is loike, a beautiful model type, even the fellas.

BrensBenz

Jellybaby1 wrote: »

Ah Brens, steady on. All those big words! Guys, doncha just hate academics when they are let loose? Brens, I can't see you working in a mine at the tender age of nine years old. You've been to that Uni thing Aussie kids talk about on Neighbours and Home & Away. And when are those Aussie series's ever going to end? And have yiz noticed that everyone in those series's is loike, a beautiful model type, even the fellas.

Yih, Oi waz jast havin' a few tinnies at the bahhhhbuy? and waz sying to moy moyts Wine and Shine and Shaaahhhloyne? how grite it is to heahhh an Ozzoy eksint on the ToyVoy?

These ahhhn't royil quistion mahhhhks - they'aahh jast showin' thet ivry stytmint is mide to sound loike a quistion?

I don't know but I'm inclined to admire Ozzie Soapland where, because of enormous scientific leaps forward, life-threatening illnesses vanish before the end of the week; their pregnancies last no more than six weeks; no-one ever performs household chores; every character has a huge moral problem which just....goes away, etc., etc. Mind you, UK soaps have similar tendencies.

I've been in manufacturing for decades but I've never seen such a slick operation as the sweet factory in Emmerdale. The entire factory includes no more than an office and a sweet-packing area. The sweets are made of magic ingredients that are never delivered, on machines that run magically by themselves and perfectly silently; they're wrapped magically somewhere before "appearing" in the packing area. Employees are not allowed to pack any more than a few sweets before having a moral or health crisis, which will be gone by next week.

Anyway, my time in Uni was spent learning about transistors, diodes, other prehistoric electronic components and a young wan from Kerry. The reason I know everything about everything now is because I observe and retain stuff. Unfortunately, these days, most of the stuff that's available to observe is pure cr@p. This encourages me to return to useful stuff (like Foinn's woofers) in ever more detail.

Luckily, my memoirs are coming along nicely so, someday, you'll be able to access this wealth of knowledge.

Available from all good bookshops and some of the other kind. Terms and conditions apply.

Jellybaby1

So we can look forward to two volumes of memoirs then, Rubes' and Brens'. I expect freebies in the post as and when available please. Why, I believe I can actually hear the faint sound of quill on vellum!

Layinghen

Yoo hoo I'm back:D:D:D

Had an awful time finding ye as we seem to have moved!!!!!

looksee

I think I am going to pack up for today till this place is sorted...Soc is now Society and something so I don't know what Social and Fun (blerk) is going to be called. Grump, grouse...

Rubecula

I am totally lost here .... is it ok to blame OG?

Jellybaby1

As OG has just left the building, it is ok to blame EVERYTHING on him!

0lddog

BrensBenz wrote: »

Yih, Oi waz jast havin' ......

Anyway, my time in Uni was spent learning about transistors, diodes, other prehistoric electronic components and a young wan from Kerry. .....

Was she a resistor ?

or an inductor with little reluctance ?

Jellybaby1

Darnnit! I'm locked in here again. I can't log out. (Rattles bars to attract attention! Lemme out!)

bonzodog2

Jellybaby1 wrote: »

Darnnit! I'm locked in here again. I can't log out. (Rattles bars to attract attention! Lemme out!)

"You can check out anytime you like, but you can never leave" :eek:

(There's a logout link at the bottom of the page)

Rubecula

*Laughs and hides the key*

Jellybaby1

bonzodog2 wrote: »

"You can check out anytime you like, but you can never leave" :eek:

(There's a logout link at the bottom of the page)

Its usually on the drop down menu beside my username, but the menu won't....drop down.....so can't......log......out! :eek:

looksee

Ahem, if you clear your cache it might bring your drop down menu back JB

(I was told that earlier, took me ages to remember how to do it)

danjo-xx

looksee wrote: »

Ahem, if you clear your cache it might bring your drop down menu back JB

(I was told that earlier, took me ages to remember how to do it)

Just run ccleaner and it will clear your cache and lots of other junk for you:)

now how do I get back outa here:(

Jellybaby1

S'all right, its been mended now. Panic over!

Jellybaby1

I am a horrible person.

I came across one of those American blogs the author of which was a home maker, who loved to……make a home. She shows off her domestic life by posting photos of inside and out of the house they both built (with love and by hand) in the wilderness, the garden, the big sky, the mountains, the turkey she roasted, the cakes and cookies she bakes for the husband she calls her best friend, and their darling children, her vintage cookbooks, her grandmother’s recipes, her vegetable, fruit, flower and herb gardens, her cupboard bursting with preserves, her sewing notions and patchwork quilts, her flower arrangement in a hand-thrown pot, and framed pressed flowers, her kitchen table, her dainty china, her crocheted doilies, knitted throws and comfy cushions, the love notes her adored husband hides all over the house, the scented lavender hearts hanging from the chair backs, the thrifty tips and thrifty finds, her best cleaning advice, daily vacuuming interrupted only by a mop, and ‘kiss-the-cook’ message on the kitchen door, the Thanksgiving centrepiece, inspirational verses in every room, ‘Life is a Song, so Sing Along’ inside the pantry door, vintage this and calico that, baby showers and diaper games, scrapbooking and journaling, and loved family pets, itsy bits and bitsy bits, family, friends, faith, dreams…….and love.

And then I threw up! I am a horrible person.

Then I looked around my untidy home, the torn old wallpaper, the threadbare carpet, the jungle I loosely describe as a ‘garden’, the piled up dishes and unpaid bills that will get paid, next week. The worn out ceiling that caved in once and never saw a tradesman come, to fix our fixer-upper. The illnesses that thwarted me, the ones I feel I conquered, the unemployment and dole queues, and kids with a worrying future, the friends and family who never call unless I call them first. The TV programmes that steal our time, and hobbies that are addictive, we spend more time apart these days than we ever spent together. And I wondered why life was so perfect for that perfect blogger, but not so perfect for imperfect me.

And I caught a terrible dose of envy.

So I went back to the blog and read the early pages, it turns out things started off real bad, her parents disliked her fella, they didn’t want to attend the wedding, but did so grudgingly. They lost their first home in the 80’s recession, they sold all they had and bought some land and a camper van in which they lived until they built their house, then a tornado almost destroyed the house, which all sounds really rough but explains why she is so delighted every day with what they have created.

And I thought, she deserves her perfect husband, her perfect children, pets, and home. Ahhhh! Bless!

Rubecula

Lovely story

Rubecula

AND the winner is ............ Rubes.

You remember that the company wanted to sack me because I was ill?

Also that I said I would fight it?

Today I was told that I would be going back to my old job in stages as my fitness improved.

NEVER mess with the Rubes Multinational Company, your having a laugh.

*Does a mad jig of delight ... with a tad of relief in it*

looksee

Congratulations on that Rube, and it will probably help along your improving health too!

Jellybaby1

WOO HOO! Congratulations Rube, what a happy chappie you must be. And on St. George's Day too! A day to remember. Enjoy your return to the land of Employment.

BrensBenz

Jellybaby1 wrote: »

I am a horrible person.

I came across one of those American blogs the author of which was a home maker, who loved to……make a home. She shows off her domestic life by posting photos of inside and out of the house they both built (with love and by hand) in the wilderness, the garden, the big sky, the mountains, the turkey she roasted, the cakes and cookies she bakes for the husband she calls her best friend, and their darling children, her vintage cookbooks, her grandmother’s recipes, her vegetable, fruit, flower and herb gardens, her cupboard bursting with preserves, her sewing notions and patchwork quilts, her flower arrangement in a hand-thrown pot, and framed pressed flowers, her kitchen table, her dainty china, her crocheted doilies, knitted throws and comfy cushions, the love notes her adored husband hides all over the house, the scented lavender hearts hanging from the chair backs, the thrifty tips and thrifty finds, her best cleaning advice, daily vacuuming interrupted only by a mop, and ‘kiss-the-cook’ message on the kitchen door, the Thanksgiving centrepiece, inspirational verses in every room, ‘Life is a Song, so Sing Along’ inside the pantry door, vintage this and calico that, baby showers and diaper games, scrapbooking and journaling, and loved family pets, itsy bits and bitsy bits, family, friends, faith, dreams…….and love.

And then I threw up! I am a horrible person.

Then I looked around my untidy home, the torn old wallpaper, the threadbare carpet, the jungle I loosely describe as a ‘garden’, the piled up dishes and unpaid bills that will get paid, next week. The worn out ceiling that caved in once and never saw a tradesman come, to fix our fixer-upper. The illnesses that thwarted me, the ones I feel I conquered, the unemployment and dole queues, and kids with a worrying future, the friends and family who never call unless I call them first. The TV programmes that steal our time, and hobbies that are addictive, we spend more time apart these days than we ever spent together. And I wondered why life was so perfect for that perfect blogger, but not so perfect for imperfect me.

And I caught a terrible dose of envy.

So I went back to the blog and read the early pages, it turns out things started off real bad, her parents disliked her fella, they didn’t want to attend the wedding, but did so grudgingly. They lost their first home in the 80’s recession, they sold all they had and bought some land and a camper van in which they lived until they built their house, then a tornado almost destroyed the house, which all sounds really rough but explains why she is so delighted every day with what they have created.

And I thought, she deserves her perfect husband, her perfect children, pets, and home. Ahhhh! Bless!

Sounds just like BrensBenz Manor! We have doilies too, made from cotton which we grew from orphan seeds we found washed up on the beach. We hand carried the seeds home, speaking softly to them as we went, lest our harsh NCD accents would alarm these timid foreign visitors. As we carried the seeds over the threshold of BrensBenz Manor, I whipped out my nose flute and played some native American folk tunes. Luckily, I had some soil from the banks of the Mississippi in my boatshed so we planted the seeds in it and sang Ole Man River to them every day for months.

Eventually, we picked the cotton and gently magicked it into thread on spinning wheels which we made from driftwood from the same beach. Then I hand-carved a crochet needle from environmentally responsible plastic and lovingly crafted a matching pair of doilies, with patterns of pansies and labrador puppies, and carefully placed them under this mouse mat, lest we might wear the patina on our IKEA desktop.

Aaaahhhhhhhhh!

On second thoughts, sounds like someone auditioning for a job on the script writing team for Little House on the Prairie. "Too late: they all died!"

Da doo da da dahhhh,
Da doo da da doo dahhhh.....

Alice1

Delighted for you Rubecula. Way to go!

BrensBenz

Rubecula wrote: »

AND the winner is ............ Rubes.

You remember that the company wanted to sack me because I was ill?

Also that I said I would fight it?

Today I was told that I would be going back to my old job in stages as my fitness improved.

NEVER mess with the Rubes Multinational Company, your having a laugh.

*Does a mad jig of delight ... with a tad of relief in it*

So, the campaign to keep the Anglesea One is a success. Nice One! Do you need an assistant? Well? Do ya? Eh? Well? Do ya?

Rubecula

Every cloud has a silver lining, even being a stubborn oul fart.
I would like to thank all my fans and family, my manager, but mostly I would like to thank the young lady in the Personell Department for wearing those tight shirts.
I would also like to thank anyone who owns up to helping themself to the drinky box. Inow realise what OG went through, Jaysus you lot need hydrating something fierce.

looksee

I am having trouble with your last sentence Rube, but do I gather you are going to sponsor another 'cabinet'?

Rubecula

Strong box for two reasons.1) It is as safe as I could get. 2) I am not as rich as OG.

We need a sponsor to fill it now LOL

Jellybaby1

Rubecula wrote: »

Lovely story

BrensBenz wrote: »

.....On second thoughts, sounds like someone auditioning for a job on the script writing team for Little House on the Prairie. "Too late: they all died!".....

Actually. It wasn't a story. 99% true.

Rubecula wrote: »

......We need a sponsor to fill it now LOL

I nominate Mr. Barry, tea magnate from Cork! :P

Layinghen

Rubes many congratulations on your employers seeing sense. It must be a great load off your mind.

To celebrate I've put a few cases of vino from the cellar into the strong box, I'll probably nick some of it back at some stage:D:D but hey it's a start.

Tea bags are on top of the strong box Jellybaby in case you fancy a cuppa.

Rubecula

best add some coffee too for the sleepy oulwans.

BBDBB

Great news for you Rube, well done and congratulations


May I suggest that the new strongbox be placed somewhere particularly safe........ooh I don't know, what about over there on those old wooden planks directly over the cellar?



Can anyone lend me a hacksaw btw?

Jellybaby1

Rubecula wrote: »

best add some coffee too for the sleepy oulwans.

Hrummmmph!

Rubecula

BBDBB wrote: »

Great news for you Rube, well done and congratulations


May I suggest that the new strongbox be placed somewhere particularly safe........ooh I don't know, what about over there on those old wooden planks directly over the cellar?



Can anyone lend me a hacksaw btw?

* smiles secretively and wires up the electrified anti tamper system*
Hmm this strong box will be a truly shocking experience for vino thieves *manic laugh broken off by a fit of coughing*

Jellybaby1 wrote: »

Hrummmmph!

* leaves the ingredients for a real Irish coffee in easy reach*

BrensBenz

Janey Mac, they're on about evil drink again. Better try to distract them with filosof phillo phylosoph sumpt'n to think about:

I used to have an Australian boss - a talented but deeply unpleasant and humourless man. He had a rather small collection of inherited and well-rehearsed jokes or topics that he would trot out whenever he thought it was time to be sociable. In the company of Europeans, Americans or anybody else who drove on the right-hand side of the road he would treat us all to the real reason "whoy woy droyve on thih lift".

It will take too long to translate this into Ozzie but it went something like this: In the chariot and horse and carriage days, the driver steered with his left hand so that his right hand had quick access to his sword, dangling on his left side. (With me so far?) Naturally (???) this encouraged him to sit on the right side of the carriage and pass to the left of oncoming traffic. "Woy" simply carried on this tradition."

On the umpteenth hearing of this, some smartass (ahem) asked whether all other carriage drivers in the world (except Ozzies, All Blacks, Japanese, etc.) were left-handed and carried their swords on their right side or died young from being unprepared for attacks from other chariot drivers.

Undaunted, he carried on regaling us with the story about how brown bears were used to help develop the aircraft ejector seat. It's quite a good story - I'll tell yiz later.

Anyway, fellow smartas...I mean oul fellas and oul wans, could the real reason for the fall of the Roman Empire be that they were driving their chariots on the wrong side of the Via Appia? Did those pesky Celtic Barbarians figure out that the Romans would take longer to grab their swords and sneekily change sides for a while, before reverting to their previous position later? Were the drivers of Wagon Train in constant danger from d'injins, not because their weapons were too far away but because they were sitting on the wrong side of their wagons?

Alternatively, I'd love to know how horses managed for shoes before being domesticated and shod by mankind.

So many questions - so little time.

Rubecula

BrensBenz wrote: »

Janey Mac, they're on about evil drink again. Better try to distract them with filosof phillo phylosoph sumpt'n to think about:
Distracting us from drink? You unmitigated swine, I will have Chucken force feed you with her famed Lettuce Soup (actually it is quite nice)

I used to have an Australian boss - a talented but deeply unpleasant and humourless man. He had a rather small collection of inherited and well-rehearsed jokes or topics that he would trot out whenever he thought it was time to be sociable. In the company of Europeans, Americans or anybody else who drove on the right-hand side of the road he would treat us all to the real reason "whoy woy droyve on thih lift". Aussies drive on the left cos we do and we went over there and beat them into submission with a stale halibut on a gear stick

It will take too long to translate this into Ozzie but it went something like this: In the chariot and horse and carriage days, the driver steered with his left hand so that his right hand had quick access to his sword, dangling on his left side. (With me so far?) Naturally (???) this encouraged him to sit on the right side of the carriage and pass to the left of oncoming traffic. "Woy" simply carried on this tradition." Not carried a sword for a little while myself, I find it pokes into the side of the seat a bit

On the umpteenth hearing of this, some smartass (ahem) asked whether all other carriage drivers in the world (except Ozzies, All Blacks, Japanese, etc.) were left-handed and carried their swords on their right side or died young from being unprepared for attacks from other chariot drivers. I thought they carried spears mostly, is that the same thing?

Undaunted, he carried on regaling us with the story about how black bears were used to help develop the aircraft ejector seat. It's quite a good story - I'll tell yiz later. Tell us now I am all interested in how they used to force a big grizzly into a cockpit and 'bang' him out at 50,000 feet

Anyway, fellow smartas...I mean oul fellas and oul wans, could the real reason for the fall of the Roman Empire be that they were driving their chariots on the wrong side of the Via Appia? Did those pesky Celtic Barbarians figure out that the Romans would take longer to grab their swords and sneekily change sides for a while, before reverting to their previous position later? Were the drivers of Wagon Train in constant danger from d'injins, not because their weapons were too far away but because they were sitting on the wrong side of their wagons? The real reason the Roman empire fell was they were laughed at for wearing grey socks with the omnipresent sandels

Alternatively, I'd love to know how horses managed for shoes before being domesticated and shod by mankind. They had wellies, I have it on good authority that they invented them especially for Bog Patrol by the herd

So many questions - so little time.

I can always tell you the truth of the answers

BrensBenz

Rubecula wrote: »

I can always tell you the truth of the answers

Many thanks for all of this information / disinformation, Rubecula.

Do yiz really want to know about the brown bears and the ejector seat? This story is best told with arm actions but I'll have a go without:

For the intelligentia reading this, the only way to eject from a broken aircraft is very quickly. Unfortunately, the shock to the body from being blasted from a cockpit can be even more fatal than going down with the ship. An ejector seat actually fires several small rockets, in rapid succession, rather than one humungeous blast, in order to reduce the shock to the pilot's body - a little like ABS which applies / releases / applies / releases the brakes of your car in rapid succession, bringing the car to a halt quicker while maintaining control and direction. Calculating the best interval between the small blasts required the assistance of mammals with a similar spinal structure to humans.

Anyway, once upon a time, in an air force base in Texas, lived a bunch of brown bears, kidnapped from North Dakota. See, the experts laughed when they were told that the spines of primates were similar to human spines. "Oh no", they said. "We need brown bears because THEIR spines and fizzyology are most similar to humans".

The bears were allowed lots of time to feel at home in the air base. The airmen and technicians became fond of the bears. After some weeks, the bears pretty-well had "access all areas" freedom and, since they were fed and comfortable, their bearlike nature was subdued. In fact, each bear had his own 24 hour "crew" of minders who gave them treats, brought them for walks, sang songs for them, etc., and a trust developed between the bears and their minders. Quite touching, really.

One day, an experimental ejector seat was fitted to the tarmac, a safe distance from buildings and surrounded by cameras and technical equipment. Straws had been drawn and his minders lead the lucky bear out of his motel room and strapped him into the ejector seat. Happy as Larry, the bear viewed the panorama and was delighted to be the centre of attention. Then, all Hell broke loose as the seat blasted off the ground and into the stratosphere. Jet exhaust from the ars...I mean bottom of the seat partially cloaked the view but, thank Heavens, the parachute deployed correctly and the seat with its occupant, gently drifted groundward. Apparently unharmed, the bear was released from the seat and waddled off, with his minders, was checked out by vets and pronounced fit and well.

Phew! But of course, one test is only one test. Over the next few weeks, slight adjustments were made to the ejector seat propulsion systems and every bear had a go. Even more tests were required when someone said "We've run out of bears". "Whaddya mean "run out"? None of the bears have been injured so we'll just send them up again." "Uhh, OK."

Now, as you know, while brown bears' noses are phenomenally sensitive, their eyesight isn't great. As the first bear was being walked towards his second trip in the ejector seat, to him, all seemed fine. The sun was shining, he was with his human buddies, breakfast was great - it doesn't get much better than this.

Then, as his focus finally told him he was being lead to the ejector seat again, all friendship and loyalty to his "crew" evaporated. A growl erupted somewhere in his colon and rose, growing in force until it exploded out of his mouth. This blast of air lifted his jowls and revealed two rows of huge and perfect teeth. He stood up to his full eight feet plus and lifted his massive front legs, (arm actions required here) showing two sets of lethal claws. His beautiful soft brown eyes narrowed into blades. Through a red mist, he could see his buddies running away, in all directions, very quickly.

On hearing this distress signal from a member of their own species, several other bears revolted and pretty soon, the entire airbase was a bear only zone. Most of the bears had no idea why but, in support of their furry comrade, all diplomatic relations and co-operation with the humans were withdrawn. When some redneck suggested shooting them and shipping more bears in, there was uproar from the (ex)minders who couldn't "bear" to see their pets being shot.

This took place during the Cold War but fortunately, the Rooskies didn't find out that an American airbase had been down for weeks. However, who knows how many pilots' lives were lost because the development of the ejector seat was delayed while the airmen attempted to make friends with the bears again, if only to round them up and fly them back to North Dakota?

BrensBenz

Rubecula wrote: »

The real reason the Roman empire fell was they were laughed at for wearing grey socks with the omnipresent sandels:D

No, I still don't get that. What's wrong with grey socks and sandals? Roman soldiers were probably confined to grey socks with their sandals to preserve military uniformity although, with those skirts made of leather spokes, I'm surprised that anyone would notice their sandals.

Personally, I prefer argyle socks with my sandals, especially the sandals with the velcro straps and bungie soles. The straps match my braces perfectly and the argyle socks, with their nine shades of beige supporting mid-blue diamonds, go with my trilby hat which......oh, I've already told yiz what my trilby does for my driving. Did I tell yiz there's a feather in it?

My English cousins taught me how to make and wear a hankie-hat on the beach and, with the imprint of my vest with the plunging neckline showing through my shirt with the bendy collar, all in all, I strike quite a handsome figure on the beach - a vision in beige, with an air of foreign mystery.

And because I believe in looking after my clothes, I still have and use my one piece, knitted swimming costume. Wimmin swoon and shield their eyes when I appear in that, wearing my socks and sandals to the water's edge. And yes, of course it holds many gallons of water but, because of the ingenious use of knit-one-purl-one, when I emerge from my dip, like Ursula Undress, my woolly cossie covers my legs. I care not a jot that the neckline now reveals my vest with the plunging neckline and the imprint of my belly button. I usually rest a while at the water's edge - well, it gives the ladies a chance to see what they've always wanted and it's difficult to walk when your cossie weighs more than you do.

Oh yes, a trend setter, not an Irish setter, as some Philistine once suggested. And I like to think that I'm preserving a link to those sartorial Romans. It could be a lot worse - imagine if we decided to revive the footwear of the ancient Greek soldier.....with the pom poms!

Jellybaby1

Brens, what a vision you conjure up.......and at this late hour too. How will I sleep tonight thinking of you! Ross Poldark eat yer heart out! :D:D

BrensBenz

• You know when you're driving along and you notice that the anti-roll bar is getting a little rough and bumpy?
• You know when you put off replacing the roll bar linkages because it's such a b@$t@rd job and you can put up with a little bumpiness for a while?
• You know when you arrange your NCT and you know the car will fail so you drop into the motor factors for new linkages and rubber doughnuts?
• You know when you ramp up your car, slide under it and fit your super-duper, indestructible Torx socket into the first main bolt head and, after several blasts with a heat gun, a few hernias and a damaged super-duper, indestructible Torx socket, the bolt reluctantly comes out? And a little voice in your head says that, "clearly, this job is not going well and maybe, you should give up now before some real damage happens" but you don't because the local mechanic didn't do a great job last time (while I was in hospital)?
• You know the relief you feel when the second main bolt comes out without too much protest and the anti-roll bar goes "boing" so you know you won't get the bolts back in so you decide to carry on?
• You know when you change sockets to remove the four doughnut screws and three come out but one doesn't?
• You know when part of the head sheers off the fourth screw and it starts raining and your legs get soaked?
• You know when you drill into the damaged head, breaking two drill bits, finally fit a screw extractor, break the screw extractor, leaving the other piece of the (hardened) screw extractor still jammed in the drilled hole?
• You know when all attempts to drill, grind flats and grab it with a vice grips fail and you can hear the broken screw laughing at you?
• You know when you decide to sleep on it and, after a good night's rest, you decide that there is no alternative but to grid the entire head off?
• You know when grinding the head off, your grinding bit shatters?
• You know when you jury rig another grinding bit and eventually remove the head and the roll bar falls onto your face?
• You know when you regain consciousness and you now have to figure out how to remove the shank of the broken screw from its threads........and you find that the *)%~}# thing turns out by hand?

Six screws, seven hours, one damaged and grumpy oul fella. Never has so little been achieved for so long by so few.

But yes, the anti-roll bar is now back in place and the smoothness and silence of the mochine have been restored. I'll start replacing all of the broken tools as soon as these cramps, aches, hernias, dental work and black eyes subside.

Rubecula

Dear lord I have not laughed like that in ages. Why am I laughing? Because that is me all over. Been there done that and never again ...

looksee

What's an anti-roll bar? *looks innocent*

BrensBenz

looksee wrote: »

What's an anti-roll bar? *looks innocent*

A bar with no alcohol?

You know how American cars (barges) float and bounce like Jacobs Mikado (schpring schprong), even after the occupants have climbed out? This is due to American suspension systems - Yanks prefer to add super-soft springs to the cars rather than put springs in the sofas. Unfortunately, these springs are permanent and make it difficult to go around things called corners without capsizing.

In Europe, we have lots of corners and we're in a hurry so we fit sensible springs to cars and seats. However, the suspension still needs a little help going around corners - a dirty great iron plank which stops the springs on one side of the car squashing too much and the springs on the other side of the car stretching too much.

The anti-roll bar / anti-sway bar is the reason you can sip your champagne while careering around the Ring of Kerry. Try that in an Oldsmobile or a Buick!

Lest you think I'm showing off my encyclopaedic knowledge of all things, I'm still trying to figure out why, when American cars crash or drive off cliffs, they always explode at least twice and usually three times. Do they all have two or three very delicate fuel tanks, close enough to sources of sparks to explode the fuel tanks in sequence?

Also, when American electrical equipment fails, why is there always a stream of sparks, smoke and explosion noises. And how does Damage Control always manage to fix it in a matter of seconds? Oi, Festus, try using fuses!

Terms and conditions apply. Yank car makers (eventually) learned a lot from European and Japanese car makers and have now replaced their woopie cushion suspensions with European-style suspensions. Unfortunately, chassis design also contributes to capsize-free cornering but the Yanks haven't figured that one out yet.

looksee

Oh, thanks Brenz, I thought it was that bar you have over an open dune buggy or tractor or whatever to stop the vehicle squashing the occupants in the event of it turning upside down. You live and learn (etc).

BrensBenz

looksee wrote: »

Oh, thanks Brenz, I thought it was that bar you have over an open dune buggy or tractor or whatever to stop the vehicle squashing the occupants in the event of it turning upside down. You live and learn (etc).

I believe that's a "roll-cage".

I remember, as a callow youth with my first car, the Mighty Hillman Avenger 1300 Coupe with black vinyl roof and chrome bumpers, my late dad arrived home one evening with an iron plank. "Whoss dah"? I asked. "It's an anti-roll bar which I think might fit onto your car." "What's it do Dad?" "Well, it should improve the stability of the car."

Well, we attached it and Wow, what a difference! Now I could take the bend at Mrs. Murtagh's house at 55mph and Mrs. BrensBenz-to-be wasn't slammed into the door. Mind you, neither was she slammed into me when we went around Barnageeragh corner. You win some, you lose some.

OldGoat

You swine! I whisked Matron away for a little soiree in the country for a couple of days and you empty...EMPTY...the drinkies cabinet. If you think a bear with a bad head is a bad thing then wait till you meet a sober goat.

looksee

Ah no, OG, you said you were taking your drinkies so when we found it was all gone - not that we were looking of course - we assumed you had taken it. Then Rube was saying he needed contributions for his drinky strong box and.....RUBE!

BBDBB

OldGoat wrote: »

You swine! I whisked Matron away for a little soiree in the country for a couple of days and you empty...EMPTY...the drinkies cabinet. If you think a bear with a bad head is a bad thing then wait till you meet a sober goat.

Bigger boys made me do it

Jellybaby1

The beast returns! :eek: Yizzar for it now boys! (Sits drinking tea while looking positively innocent and butter wouldn't melt, ever!)

Chucken

Toothache.


No internet for a full week...and then I had no laptop. But I have to give a round of applause to Mags, the best Mags I know, for the loan for 5 months

I've so much to catch up on!! :eek:

Layinghen

Was wondering where you were Chucken:)

Welcome back to cyber land.

Toothache has got to be one of the worse pains, off to the dentist today with you.