I never know if I have a mechanical problem or a medical problem, both seem to
arrive together.
Apart from the back pain, general exhaustion, I have now developed a small
effusion on my right knee.
This diagnosis coincided with the failure of my car engine to stay alive. Each
gear change produced various warning indicators to blaze on the instrument
panel. Approaching traffic lights the engine died, while the "Vegas Strip"
emerged.
Eventually I pulled over and flicked the bonnet catch. Peering into the gloom,
the engine, air filter, battery and spare wheel were in their usual positions.
Closing the bonnet I started to ponder, as the sudden squalls arrived. Perhaps
this problem was not mechanical, but medical? With my right knee giving severe
pain, I may not be assertive enough on the accelerator, so that was my next line
of investigation.
Restarting the car I pounded the pedal. Slipping the clutch as if in a 'Grand
Prix' the car bolted into life, and for the first time I knew the meaning of
0-60mph in 60 seconds?
As the speedometer exceeded the speed limit, the dealers garage came into view.
Drawing into the garage, I stationed the car outside the ashen roller shutters
of the service bay. The Vegas Strip did not emerge and the engine resumed its
natural tempo?
Weaving my way into the service area, I acknowledge a sensation of familiarity.
The bays were occupied by cars, each surrounded by black panel padding, in case
a mechanic dropped a spanner or scratched the paint work. The place was
spotless. Not a drop of oil, or knob of grease stained the sapphire sterile
floor. Each bay had its own vermilion tool box, shimmering under fluorescent
tubes. The mechanics wore cobalt blue boiler suits, crisp, clean and sharp. They
manoeuvred around the cars, with various clipboards, spare parts and lint free
cloths, as if in some customary waltz.
I am not medically minded but I am mechanically minded and found myself drawing
a parallel. If I was a car, I would be suffering from an oil leak.
The service engineer approached while I was still thinking. Turning to him I
said, "I think I have an oil leak?" Stepping up to the VDU, he inputted the year
of the car and the screen displayed various charts. Turning he shouted, Exactly
where is the oil leak?", throwing my head in his direction I replied, "My right
knee!"
Oh how I wished I was a car! They could have laid me on the ramp, covered me
over, except for the offending part, disconnected my swivel ball joint, replaced
my worn seal, topped me off with lubrication and I would be rejuvenated, even
pain free.
Looking at Danny contorted under the dashboard with a swarm of wires, I wondered
if he ever considered becoming a neurosurgeon?
Rowe96.