Packrat reexamines his treasure nest The Cottesloe to Rottnest swim yesterday was a bit of a disaster. The first swimmer to make the distance staggered ashore after about five hours. A gushing young female ABC TV reporter shoved a microphone under his nose and asked, "How does it feel?"
The rest of the field were really struggling. The wind and waves were in their faces and for many hypothermia was setting in. An emergency field hospital was set up on the island's beach to treat them. Ten hours after the start some people were still in the water and one fit young bloke had a heart attack. He survived but is in a very serious condition. Amidst this debacle, a pretty large hammerhead shark was cruising back and forth looking for tidbits. One of the TV station helicopters reckoned it was only one and a half metres long, but going by a the photographs I've seen, it was probably larger. The pack of bronze whaler sharks sighted the previous day didn't put in a showing.
More sensible people like us were at home nice and warm. The news that the Yaris Squid is about to enter our lives has developed a surge of anticipation, not unlike with the expectation of a new baby.
The garage had to be cleaned out. Over the years there have been a lot of reparations of old cars. It goes with having lots of sons. Minis have been the main culprits and our four eldest have all had them. Generally these efforts have been successful, but have left a collection of "useful" parts salvaged from other wrecks. Parts which "might come in handy one day." Parts like transmission cases and engine blocks.
We weaver men are all packrats in this respect. But these days there is only one son persisting with Minis, and he has his own house in Spearwood. He has built the mother of all garages, and there is a fair collection of junk in it already, especially more Mini bits and pieces. Even several Minis awaitng restoration.
Yesterday he got another ute load. Plus a largish commercial lawn mower which has been sitting here idle here for about twenty years. I used to have a small part-time mowing round and kept it in case any of my sons needed to turn to lawnmowing as a last resort. We start it up every year or so to keep it fit and ready for action.
A lot of stuff is simply being chucked out. Old parts which were replaced but kept have been discovered hiding in the boxes of what the new parts came in. Their life has now come to an end, but our rubbish bin has filled. Tomorrow there will have to be some nocturnal expeditions to put stuff in other people's bins. No, I'm only joking, we only do that in an emergency. There is an old lady up the road who lets us use hers.
We've measured up in the garage and put chalk marks on the floor where the Squid will stand. There is still room for two of the gleaming Yamaha Virago motorbikes, but the third one will impose a bit of a squeeze. That might have to go on the back verandah for a while. Its owner, son number two who came back from Africa yesterday, took the fuel tank off a couple of months ago for repair and repainting. He has promised to put it back together today.
What won't be tossed out is our collection of head gaskets. This is real secret mens' business. Our collection goes back to the days before my father taught me how to pull a car engine to pieces and reassemble it in working order. The gaskets are trophies of all those triumphs of man over machine. There must be about fifty of them.
I think those days are pretty well over for me now because new cars like our Yaris are so technologically complex that anything beyond keeping the windows clean will be impossible.
We also have two small tin sheds in our back garden. These too have been filled with stuff which might come in handy. There is another motorbike in one of those. It's a Suzuki 125cc trail bike. I used to ride it on the road but it gradually fell into disuse. The big trucks on the main roads sacred me. 125 cc is too small. It's still in full running order but at something like 35 years old is a now bit of a collectible. I bought it new, soon after I rode my old BSA Lightning on a solo trip from the UK to India and places in between. Now I really wish I'd kept Lightning.
The other shed has over a half dozen really old, all different, British Seagull outboard motors which I acquired for next to nothing before they became desirable.
My wife has been restoring order to the sheds this week. She has a fantastic ability for this sort of task. When I do it I get distracted by things which might be useful one day. I still reserve the right to inspect what she puts in the out pile.
Being Sunday, its bacon and eggs for breakfast day. Gotta go and help in the kitchen, and learn how to use the new toaster.
© MMVI Paul R. Weaver.
About the writerCheck out each month's subject index on the Calendar Page for my "common-man" monologues about survival in 21st century Australia – plus a little history occasionally. An original essay is added most days as part of an undertaking to write a million words.