The kids don’t like it when I have to get down into the
engine room. Not only does it open up a hole in the back deck so they can’t get
out, but it really gets in the way of mealtimes. They bring me cups of tea and
listen to me swear and, sometimes, weep with frustration, and probably wonder
why we don’t live in a house. Maybe not that. Maybe just that someone else
would come and fix the engine.
I got dressed the other day in whatever came to hand first.
Gabe looked up at me and said, ‘Is there something wrong with the engine?’ His
voice had an edge of hollow acceptance. ‘It’s just,’ he explained, ‘that you’re
wearing your engine T-shirt.’ I wasn’t planning on engine work that day. I
couldn’t, actually, because the parts that I needed to fix the leak hadn’t
arrived.
Water leaks on a boat are Not Good News. This leak had been
going for a while, at a constant slightly-more-than-steady-dripping rate. The
bilge pump is automatic, so in theory would clear out the water before it got
to critical levels. Sometimes, though, it forgets to turn itself off, and going
on pumping and pumping. This usually wakes me up, making me stagger out of bed to
flick the switch on and off before the motor burns itself out, letting the water
rise without opposition and the boat sink. The cats think that I am getting up
early just to give them some early breakfast. Or a midnight feast. They should
be so lucky.
I realised some three weeks or so after it started that the
leak wasn’t coming from where I thought it was. That the extra layers of
silicone I’d been layering on to that gasket were making no difference to the
worn seal at the back of the pump. It turned out to be an easy refit, however.
Ged next door knew exactly what it needed, and all I had to do was undo four
nuts and release two pipes. And then reverse the above once the pump had been
given new seals and bearings and camshaft. It wasn’t even that hard to get at.
No leak now.
These jobs, though, are never welcome. They take up time. They make your nails black and your skin oily. They usually mean you have to twist your body into an unnatural shape for minutes at a time whilst you try to edge a spanner into place. And they usually come at exactly the wrong time. I felt for @muckyboatlady when she tweeted recently, ‘Water pump is making a funny noise. But I am wearing a big floaty dress and don’t want to go into the engine room.’ Because it doesn’t matter how much you want to ignore the funny noise. It will gradually overwhelm every diversionary tactic until you are forced to stick your head into the darkness. And get your nails dirty.
I’m going to have a nice cup of tea, and enjoy the hiatus
whilst the boat makes up its mind what will go wrong next. Manicure, anyone?
