I forgot! It's a Holiday in the U.S.A.... Have a Bit of Alex!

Not Grit in the Gears...

I am, I admit, a serious abuser of machinery. I have toys.

So, the green thing, as seen above, has been dormant since about a year and a half ago. I was using it, at work, to pull tree stumps out of the ground and drag them up the field. Seeing how successful that activity was proving (our general labourer had spent all the morning trying to dig out one stump), I decided to get involved and ripped six out of the ground in under an hour..., my boss suggested that I might try the same tactic on the steel barrier-posts in the car-park.  And I, being a fool, said... "Okay".

Now, of course, when you're on a field, on grass and earth, the amount of torque you can put through any one drive-line component is limited by the coefficient of friction between the tyres and the surface beneath them. On grass and earth, what happens is the wheel grips for so long, then spins, throwing out a divot, or a steady stream of muck. The force is dissipated by the slippage and displacement of earth.

When the object you're pulling at is a six inch square, five-foot high steel post, filled to the top with concrete, and embedded to a depth of two feet, in concrete, and the tyres are on very grippy tarmacadam  surfacing, then the wheel doesn't spin. Something else happens.

I thought I'd broken the transfer-box, because I could still drive in low-ratio four-wheel-drive mode, but transfer to high, and zip. Just a whirring sound. So I was convinced I'd have to do a gearbox/transfer box transplant, and as it's not too far back that I'd done a complete, from the ground-up rebuild, I was not looking forward to the prospect. today, I decided to go and get started on an investigatory process.  First thing was, the damn thing wouldn't start. No fuel... well, fuel in the tank, but none at the carburettor, so I proceeded to strip out the fuel pump, dismantle and check. The filter-gauze was blocked. It looked as though it had been varnished. There's some nasty stuff in unleaded fuel.  It doesn't take kindly to being left standing for a year and a half, so that job took a couple of hours. Once the fuel was getting to the engine again, I could drive to a more comfortable working place, and jack the wheels up. 

Now I could engage drive and see what was happening. In 4-wheel-drive mode, both the front and rear propshafts were spinning, but only the front wheels were obliging. 

Well, that's a relief, because it rules out the dead transfer-box hypothesis. Duh. If I'd thought about the time of failure and the nature of the fault, I should have already figured out the most likely culprit. If it was driving in low ratio but not high, what's the difference? High uses  2 wheel drive as default, 4 wheel drive is selected by thumping the top of a big yellow button on top of the transmission tunnel. Bang. It drives. So the front wheels are doing the biz, but not the back ones. Obvious. What a muppet I am. If the propshaft rotates but not the wheels, it's either the differential, or a halfshaft... So I take off a drive flange.......

Oh dear. The tooth-fairy's been playing about in there, chewing at what should be a nice flat-faced hex-nut....

This is where the toothy bits came from. Very hard, very tough  steel, twizzled apart, like play-doh.

 Gnaah!

Surely that's not supposed to happen? 

And of course, I've been trying to curb my hoarding tendencies, and sent the spare axles to the scrap-metal dealer a year, after the rebuild. I've still got a lot of spares, but.... not the bits I need to fix this. Tomorrow, I'll go see my pal Ken,  and see if we've got a spare set stashed in the pile of really important stuff that his wife keeps telling him to get rid of.

Revised Text: They're not hard to get at all, new, and, would you believe, cheaper than four gallons of unleaded!
That's ridiculous, but  heartwarming; forged, machined, heat-treated and not eye-wateringly expensive. Oooh! Shiny new parts! Might just put them together tomorrow!

Ignatz!

Look! It's Ignatz Mouse from George Herriman's "Krazy Kat"!

 

Jasper Carrot sings a Jake Thackray Song.

It was a fine upstanding Bantam cock
So brisk and stiff and spry
With springy step and a jaunty plume
And a purposeful look in his eye
In his little black blinking eye he had
I took him to the coop and I introduced him
To my seventeen wide-eyed hens
He tupped and he tupped as a hero tups
And he bowed from the waist to them all and then
He upped and he tupped them all again
And then upon the peace of my ducks and my geese
He rudely did intrude
With glazed eyes and open mouths
They bore it all with fortitude
And a little bit of gratitude
He jumped me giggling guinea fowl
And forced his attentions upon
Me twenty hysterical turkeys and
A visiting migrant swan
And the bantam thundered on
He ravaged me fan-tailed pigeons and
Me lillywhite columbine
And while I was locking up me budgerigar
He jumped me parrot from behind
She was sitting on me shoulder at the time
Then all of a sudden with a gasp and a gulp
He clapped his little hands to his head
Lay flat on his back with his toes in the air
Me bantam cock lay dead
And the vultures circled overhead
What a noble brute, what a champion cock
What a way to live and to die
I was digging him a grave to save his bones
From the hungry buzzards in the sky
When the bantam opened up a sly little eye
He gave me a grin and a terrible wink
The way that rapists do, he said
D'you see them big daft buggers up there?
They'll be down in a minute or two
They'll be down in a minute or two

The Bull: Jake Thackray (1938 – 2002)

On my farm, the bull is the king of the yard;
He's big and bad and fast, he's strong he's . . . hard.
All my other animals would readily concur
That he is the one you salute, he's the one you call "Sir".
But my hens, a noisy, flighty flock -
Led, of course by my unsubmissive cock -
Whenever His Majesty the bull importantly goes by
They dance along behind him and they cry:
"Beware of the bull!"

The bull, the bull is the biggest of all.
He is the boss, he is, because he's big and we are small.
But the bigger the bull, bigger the bull, bigger the balls.
The bigger the bull, the bigger and quicker and thicker the bullshite falls.

Beware of the bull! The dancing cock is right:
Beware of whoever looks down upon you from a height.
Beware of His Honour, His Excellence, His Grace, His Worshipful,
Beware of His Highness, because of the bull.
For if the boss, the chief, the chap at the top
Should let a single lump of claptrap drop,
The greater the weight and the height he is, the harder it will go
With a grander splat! on the bleeders below.
Beware of the bull!

The bull, the bull is the biggest of all.
He is the boss, he is, because he's big and we are small.
But the bigger the bull, bigger the bull, bigger the balls.
The bigger the bull, the bigger and quicker and thicker the bullshite falls.

The hero arrives, we hoist him shoulder-high.
He's good and wise and strong, he's brave, he's . . . shy.
And how we have to plead with him, how bashfully he climbs
Up the steps to the microphone - two at a time.
Then down it comes: slick, slithery pat!
If you must put people on pedestals, wear a big hat.
The tongue he's got is pure gold, the breast is pure brass,
The feet are pure clay - and watch out for the arse.
Beware of the bull!

The bull, the bull is the biggest of all.
He is the boss, he is, because he's big and we are small.
But the bigger the bull, bigger the bull, bigger the balls.
The bigger the bull, the bigger and quicker and thicker the bullshite falls.

At long last, the revolution comes
And in no time at all we're erecting podiums.
Comrades with chests of medals by the balcony-full;
After the Red Flag, the galloping bull.
The Saviour came especially from on high
To face up to the punters eye-to-eye.
No sooner is he dead and gone, there's blessed pulpits-full;
Bestride the holy lamb, behold the bull.
Beware of the bull!

The bull, the bull is the biggest of all.
He is the boss, he is, because he's big and we are small.
But the bigger the bull, bigger the bull, bigger the balls.
The bigger the bull, the bigger and quicker and thicker the bullshite falls.

These well-known men, so over-glorified -
There's one of them here his name's on the poster outside -
And he's up here like this, and you are all down there.
Remember his cock and his bull and mutter: "Beware!"
For when they've done, we clap, we cheer, we roar:
"For he is a jolly good fellow! Encore! More, more!"
How glorious it would be if before these buggers began
We all stood up together and solemnly sang:
"Beware of the bull!"

The bull, the bull is the biggest of all.
He is the boss, he is, because he's big and we are small.
But the bigger the bull, bigger the bull, bigger the balls.
The bigger the bull, the bigger and quicker
And the bigger and quicker and thicker
And the bigger and quicker and thicker and slicker the bullshite falls

`I Have a Gentil Cock`

I have a gentil cock
croweth me day
he doth me risen early
my matins for to say

I have a gentil cock
comen he is of great
his comb is of red coral
his tail is of jet

I have a gentil cock
comen he is of kind
his comb is of red sorrel
his tail is of inde

his legs be of azure
so gentil and so small
his spurs are of silver white
into the wortewale

his eyes are of crystal
locked all in amber
and every night he pertcheth him
in my lady`s chamber.

(Anon, 13th century)

Gentrification, Do Not Want?

By Request, Edwin Garvey!

Oh yes, I used to own this record. Maybe I still do, in a dusty box somewhere.
It was actually the b-side of Manfred Mann's "The Mighty Quinn"