So as avid readers of my scintillating posts will be aware, I have been helping my friend Dave the digger man to clear his yard up.
Most of the work has been brute force and ignorance stuff, and yesterday was no different. My mission, (which I chose to accept) was to remove and replace a broken tine on the Merlo.
For those of you not versed in the noble art of messing with plant, this is a Merlo and those pointy things at the business end are tines.
| Click to see full-size image. |
The tines are like giant metal toothpicks with a point on one end and a threaded section on the other. to remove one, you undo a 5/8th retaining bolt, and then just screw the whole thing out. The trouble was, this one didn't want to screw out.
I tried using bigger and bigger tools along with more and more force, until I finally equipped myself with the unscrewers
pièce de résistance, namely a huge pair of stilsons and a length of scaffolding pipe.
For those of you with no knowledge of unusually big tools, I've posted a picture below.
| Click to see full-size image. |
So I fitted the stilsons snugly on to the tine, slipped the length of scaffolding pole over the handle of the stilsons, pulled with all my might and....
The bloody scaffolding pole ruptured.
| Click to see full-size image. |
The other end of the scaffolding pole hit me just in above and in front of my right ear, somewhere in the temple area. Immediately I felt myself start to lose consciousness, dropping to my knees as darkness closed in.
You wouldn't think it possible, but in that split second I recalled reading about a cricket player who was killed when he was struck in the temple by a cricket ball. Apparently blunt force trauma to that area can tear a big artery that is attached to the back of that very thin section of skull. You lose consciousness quickly and die shortly afterwards.
I was totally convinced that that was what was happening to me. It was truly a soggy sphincter moment I can tell you.
I didn't die. I could tell by the smell of Dave's manure laden glove as he prized open my eyes and peered inside.
At that moment, the pain of dying was replaced by the pain of living. My head felt like Jonny Wilkinson had attempted to convert a try with it, failed and took a Mulligan.
How am I now? I'm a bit better, thank you for asking. My worst problem is that the muscle that opens and closes my mouth is in the exact spot where I got hit, (see for yourself, put your fingers on the side of your head just above and in front of your ears and clench your teeth) so now I can't open my mouth wide enough to put anything worth eating in, and I can't close it tight enough to chew.
No cards or flowers please, although I wouldn't refuse a pie and a blender.
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