"If you understand me"

I took the night off on Thursday and truddled down to the lottie. Steve was there, I had a couple of bottles of lager with me so we sat, sipped a couple of bottles whilst we picked over his Redcurrrant bushes and watched the night slowly draw in.

The watering at Mo's continues. It is too hot in the greenhouse despite having all the windows and doors open, so some of the flowers have been dropping off. No flowers, no fruit. Still, there are lots of toms starting to fruit. The Red Alerts are doing very well. I will be eating them soon. It was another busy weekend. Saturday morning ritual. Poo trailer, allotmenting and Bees. The allotment is a bit weedy. I tidied up the area we dug the volunteer spuds from last weekend and raked it out. It is ready for the five trays of brassicas I have at home. I cleaned up six barrows of assorted weeds but mainly Chickweed. It had not set seed so I was able to bung it all in the compost bin. I had to start the third bin to accommodate all the green stuff. Onions are looking good as are the spuds. The down pours during the week were very handy. The vines are taking hold although one white and one red vine look badly checked. I have some lovely looking Cabbages. Still plenty of weeding to do.

I dropped the trailer off along with some Cabbage and Broad Beans off to Angie and Chris. A thank you for the manure. Then onto the Bees. I have been worrying about them. Both Hives swarmed. The Bees must have read the manual and right on cue the new Queen has been mated and has started laying. The quieter of the two hives will probably not produce a surplus of honey this year but the other one might. I decided not to use smoke on the Bees, which is the prescribed method of calming them down, whilst the hive is investigated. I find it just upsets them. Much better to just be gentle and smooth. I do get the odd bee that pings off the veil but generally there is just a mellow buzz. When I finished the bees I made a brew and had a sit in the shade of the Degsy just looking out into fields with their slight haze of red from the Poppies growing amongst the ripening wheat. Brain idling was finished along with the last of the Tea.

The next jobs was Degsy's tow hook or rather the step. I decided to fit a step to get into the back to motor. It is a big step up and I figure I will probably rupture myself if I try to cart a super of honey or trays of spuds into the back of the motor. I got the step from the suppliers a couple of weeks ago. The step has a bar with two holes that line up with the bolts of the tow hook. So all you have to do is undo the bolts holding on the hook, slip the step bracket up to the blots and nip it all up again. I knew this was going to be easier said than done. First I had to find a supplier of replacement bolts for the hook. The current bolts would be too short with the extra thickness of the step bracket. I also knew that I would probably wreck the bolts getting them out. I had put a spanner on the bolts during the week and could not move them. A trip out to Breedon to the caravan shop solved that problem. Just the right nuts and bolts for a couple of quid. I had guessed that the hook was held on by nuts and bolts. Some perverse hook fitter put the nuts on the inside of the hook bracket so you could not get a good purchase on the nut. I dribbled on plenty of WD40 and 3 in 1 oil and had a go at loosening the nuts, no chance. About 40 minutes of oiling and cajoling managed to get the nuts to come free. This released the tow hook assembly. Now I had the threaded ends the bolts sticking out the bracket. More oil. I gave the studs an optimistic rap with the hammer. The blows resounded through Degsy like a drum. More oil. I got the sockets and spanners out to try to spin the bolt and work it out of the drop plate. The drop plate is the lump of plate steel that has the tow hook on one end the and is bolted to Degsy are the other end. No joy. More oil. I decided that if a cut the bolt heads off I might be able to drift out the bolt shaft. Aching arms, two hacksaw blades and several skinned knuckles later the bolt heads were on the floor. Because of the awkward location of the bolts some of the bolt head still on the bolt. A very bad scenario. I got the angle grinder out and went to town on the remaining metal. I was lying on my back under Degsy, sparks shooting everywhere and dirt falling all over me from the underside of Degsy, oh and did I mention it was at least 27C. Lovely. Job done I packed away the grinder, no doubt to the relief of the neighbours. I rapped the bolts again but nothing. More oil and more hammering. Nothing, no movement at all. I the idea crept into my head that the bolt might actually be a screwed rod with nuts on both ends. So no amount of hammering would draw the "bolt". It was tea time, I was hungry and my patience was wearing thin.

H had dropped Miss L off to a party and was staying over. H and I had Tea and got the chiminia going in the back garden and lit loads of T-lights, opened a bottle of something red and just had a chat, sat by the pond as the night drew in. Then it came to me as I pondered. What I need is a big set of mole grips, better yet a set of 24" Stilsons [a type of adjustable wrench for round objects]. My Stilson went to good home along tome ago. It was too late in the day to do anything about it. Tomorrow 10am at Massey's they will have the tool.

Massey's did have the very tool. I got a stud extractor as well in case the Stilson did not work. Back home by 10.30 so everyone in the street sound be up. If they weren't, they so would be. More oil on the bolt. I tackled the left bolt first as there was room to swing the wrench. The wrench just chewed up the threads and would not budge. Then I drilled a hole in the bolt end, inserted the extractor gave it an good turn and "ping" the tool snapped. Now I had a bolt with a tool steel core. Bugger. More oil and some Tea. About this time H went out to collect Miss L and reminded me that we had a BBQ to go to at 3pm. Double bugger. More oil. I set about the right bolt. Slowly but surely the bolt turned,very slowly and making a terrible squealing noise which resonated through the body work. More oil and more turning. Then it just went loose and the bolt came out with a gentle pull with my fingers. It was a bolt just with 30 years of corrosion. Removing this bolt released some pressure on the spacer plate. More oil, tapping and oil and wiggling to get the spacer off. Still the left stud remained. At least I knew it was a smooth bolt shank and not a screwed rod. More oil and a brew. Whilst drinking my brew I pondered the bolt and idly whacked it with the hammer. This time the noise was different. I looked at the back of the drop plate and found that he bolt had moved, perhaps only a millimeter but it moved. More oil. I decided to take Degsy up the fields where I could give the bolt a good hiding without worrying about the noise I was going to make. I threw everything in the back of Degsy and set off for Willesley Woodside. I found a spot. More oil on the bolt and then gave the bolt half a dozen good blows. That was it, the studs moved quarter of an inch. More oil and then hammered from the other side of the plate. Another two more passes and the stud was getting really loose. Then I got the stud I had moved from right side hole and used it as a drift to finally remove the left stud completely. Job done. It had only taken four hours spread over two days!

When I got home it was a five minute job to put the bolts through the tow hook, spacer and drop plate. Then offer up the step bracket to the rear of the drop plate and spin on the crimp washer and nut. Nip the nuts finger tight, check the step was level and nip the nuts up good and tight. I took the precaution of Copperslipping the bolt shafts so when I need to get the bolts out they should come away a lot easier. I had a tidy up and parked the cars by the time H got back. H could see I was properly pleased with myself. I had a few minutes to go over to Mo's and water the Toms. That done I got myself showered, shaved and dressed ready for the BBQ.

The venue was in Osgathorpe. A friend of H invited us. When we got there we found it was H, Miss L and me, Kim and George [the hosts] and another couple. Kim had made enough food for fifty. Kim is Chinese and spent a lot of time in America although you would not know from her heavy accent, Hubby George is a big bluff fellow with a strange mid-Atlantic accent. He made his money in building machines that make jet engines. Interesting bloke but completely nuts. As he tucked into the wine his stories got taller and his language fruitier. The ladies drifted away leaving me and Chris [bloke from the other couple] with George. He had this strange affliction that he finished every other sentence with "if you understand me". Chris and I were in quiet hysterics as his shaggy dog story meandered to a inconclusive end, punctuated with "if you understand me" and an intense look at either one of us.

Miss L has was very impressed with the house. A sweeping curved stairs in the hall. Five double bedrooms, each with en-suite. A huge kitchen and a separate dining room. It had a huge granny flat on the side, built out over the double, double garage. The living room was the size of a small ballroom and decorated in a Chinese/American style. Beautifully made pieces of furniture including a Bar and high back stools made from Camphour wood, big vases with floral displays and a black carpet with Chinese symbols in gold. The crowning piece, for Miss L, was the Dolby surround sound projector TV hooked up to Sky. Miss L was delighted as she had all to herself until we all came inside to shelter from the wind. They live on a hillside, a good view but windy. We got away at 8pm, George had lost the use of his legs by this time but not his tongue "if you understand me".