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an infestation of salamanders
Tuesday, 16 June 2009 03:03 pmOne of these days I might actually get my ducks in a row1, life-wise, and afford things like, oh, I dunno, a new car. Or at least a newish car. Or at least a car under 15 years old, and one which doesn't react to the increased mileage of my dad being in Hout Bay (my fuel costs have exactly doubled since he's been here) by breaking down cheerily every week or so. In the last few weeks I have had to take it in for a leaking oil pressure gauge, a passenger window cowering in the bottom of the door and refusing to come out, and a slow puncture resulting in a new tyre. Today: on the way to Hout Bay, reaching the traffic light on the freeway intersection with the Kirstenbosch road, a sudden leap in the temperature gauge to maximum, and a madly flashing oil light.
Since I'm paranoid in the extreme about these things, I promptly turned left and coasted down the handy hill to the handy garage, where I ascertained that both the oil and the water levels were fine and the fanbelt was whole and apparently functional. Theories: (a) a kink in the cooling system so the water's not circulating; (2) a buggered fan, or (3) paranoid delusions in the temperature warning wossnames. Oh, or (4), see subject line. The invisible Diana Wynne Jones ones.
Either way, I managed to resolve the crisis by hitting my insurance company for a tow (they were polite, pleasant and efficient, provided a tow truck within 25 minutes and phoned me back three times to make sure it had arrived, so go A&G, apparently the anti-Telkom) and hitting jo&stv for a lift home (they were completely coincidentally on their way back from Hout Bay at the time). All in all, as breakdown crises go it could have been a lot worse. I definitely have to get a new cellphone, though, five calls and two SMSes and the battery is well nigh flat, from full.
After several months of wild pendulum swings for and against, I've eventually decided to have a gosh-darned birthday party, on the grounds that one doesn't leap madly and involuntarily off the precipice of one's thirties every birthday, or in fact every decade. I've sent out a bunch of invitationary sort of emails for the 27th June: if you're reading this, are in Cape Town at the time and are miffed that you didn't get an invite, please feel free to send me a motivation in triplicate as to why you should. The most likely explaination is that I had a moment of complete mental aberration.
Since I'm paranoid in the extreme about these things, I promptly turned left and coasted down the handy hill to the handy garage, where I ascertained that both the oil and the water levels were fine and the fanbelt was whole and apparently functional. Theories: (a) a kink in the cooling system so the water's not circulating; (2) a buggered fan, or (3) paranoid delusions in the temperature warning wossnames. Oh, or (4), see subject line. The invisible Diana Wynne Jones ones.
Either way, I managed to resolve the crisis by hitting my insurance company for a tow (they were polite, pleasant and efficient, provided a tow truck within 25 minutes and phoned me back three times to make sure it had arrived, so go A&G, apparently the anti-Telkom) and hitting jo&stv for a lift home (they were completely coincidentally on their way back from Hout Bay at the time). All in all, as breakdown crises go it could have been a lot worse. I definitely have to get a new cellphone, though, five calls and two SMSes and the battery is well nigh flat, from full.
After several months of wild pendulum swings for and against, I've eventually decided to have a gosh-darned birthday party, on the grounds that one doesn't leap madly and involuntarily off the precipice of one's thirties every birthday, or in fact every decade. I've sent out a bunch of invitationary sort of emails for the 27th June: if you're reading this, are in Cape Town at the time and are miffed that you didn't get an invite, please feel free to send me a motivation in triplicate as to why you should. The most likely explaination is that I had a moment of complete mental aberration.
1 Am I strangely alone in that this expression always makes me imagine them forming ranks and goose-stepping? Yes? Thought so.
