Thursday, April 15, 2004
The oil, the gasoline
We finally have some work to do in consulting land, so things may slow down here for a while. It’s a piece of strategy consulting for a financial services company. It promises to be quite interesting, although in the meantime I’ve still got to go and waste half a day tomorrow on a review of another project that we did a year ago. They cannot, of course, send me any useful information in advance of this review, so I am going to go in completely cold and be expected to make a contribution. Way to go.
Yesterday was election day, so a public holiday in South Africa. What a great country! I don’t get to vote, as a Pom, so I had the day off. Lucky me – I spent large chunks of it in bed feeling ill, and the rest with my head in the boot of my car. The squirty guts were probably down to a dodgy meal the night before, and certainly weren’t helped by the petrol fumes as I tried to fix a clapped out fuel pump.
The car had broken down on the way home, making very unhealthy noises from the fuel pump in the boot. I have to say that this is a very considerate car. It has dumped me three times, all within a mile or so of my house, once as I was pulling into the garage. This is unlike my VW, which is 20 years younger, and has broken down twice in the same period, but usually far enough away to justify calling out the AA, who I joined when I bought the older car. Anyway, having been given a confidence boost by a friend who has done this kind of thing before, I removed the pump, spilling several pints of petrol in the process, then dismantled, cleaned, and reassembled it on the dining room table. I put it back in (more petrol spillage), fired up the car, and it works!! Well, the kids were impressed. Now I can start the new project with grease under my finger nails…
Yesterday was election day, so a public holiday in South Africa. What a great country! I don’t get to vote, as a Pom, so I had the day off. Lucky me – I spent large chunks of it in bed feeling ill, and the rest with my head in the boot of my car. The squirty guts were probably down to a dodgy meal the night before, and certainly weren’t helped by the petrol fumes as I tried to fix a clapped out fuel pump.
The car had broken down on the way home, making very unhealthy noises from the fuel pump in the boot. I have to say that this is a very considerate car. It has dumped me three times, all within a mile or so of my house, once as I was pulling into the garage. This is unlike my VW, which is 20 years younger, and has broken down twice in the same period, but usually far enough away to justify calling out the AA, who I joined when I bought the older car. Anyway, having been given a confidence boost by a friend who has done this kind of thing before, I removed the pump, spilling several pints of petrol in the process, then dismantled, cleaned, and reassembled it on the dining room table. I put it back in (more petrol spillage), fired up the car, and it works!! Well, the kids were impressed. Now I can start the new project with grease under my finger nails…
