The Popped Pump
As Simon drove out of the gate on his way to Melbourne on Sunday evening, the
pump gave an evil chortle, and let the hole it had been working on in that
pressure pipe thing go. I noticed a sudden drop in the pressure on the sprays on
the lawn, so raced down to have a look – and there was a mighty squirting of
water all over the place. I switched it off, waited for Simon to get to
Melbourne and announced the new development as cheerfully as I could, offering
solutions like gaffer tape to make him feel better. He told me what my options
were – all involving PVC saws, metal clips, patchwork PVC pipes and the like,
and if all else fails, gaffer tape and use the pump as little as possible. I am
not big on pump fixing. Give me a shovel or a hoe or tying tape, but the pump is
not one of my fortes.
This Labour Day morn I embarked upon my mission, and to my delight found that
he had, in fact, ordered a whole new pipe some time ago, so the complicated
options listed above might well be avoided. Off I went with the tool box, pipe,
PVC saw, ropes, bits of old bed linen, my walkman, and Gigi enthusiastically
falling over it all in the back of the ute. I switched off relevant taps and
proceeded to undo the clips on either end of the holed pipe. Piece of cake! I
positioned my feet to give the strongest base and gave a good twisting pull. My
eyeballs distended, the veins in my neck stood out like pythons – and the pipe
didn’t budge. Not even a tiny bit. I tried various other positions, and then
remembered the suggestion that I saw the bottom of the pipe diagonally and pull
it off that way. Easy! We were off. I measured the old against the new and
flourished the PVC saw, leaving enough length for error. I managed to remember
to thread the clips onto the new length of pipe first, lined it up and twisted
it on. It didn’t budge! After trying several other positions of extreme
strength and various expletives, I eventually managed to position myself astride
the pipe so that my hands had a good grip on it at about knee level. I then ‘sat’
on the pipe so that the upright bit going down onto the pump and my hands took
my weight, whereupon I performed this weird sort of hula-wiggle – and slowly,
surely, down it went onto the pump bit. If I could have seen myself I think I
would have been helpless with laughter. If the neighbours had seen me they would
have left quietly and rung before dropping in next time. I got the big
screwdriver and did up all the clips as tight as I could, performed the same
little routine on the other side, tightened the clips, switched on all the right
taps, held my breath and switched on. Water came out of the tap at the top of
the hill, but in great breathy dollops. It was sucking air. I know this because
I have heard him say it. We raced off home and rang Simon who said I should
tighten the packing a tiny bit …’but be careful not to overdo it and bust
the steel thing’.
Oooer! Down I went, making supplication to the Patron Saint of Pumps,
switched it on and tightened it a little bit this side, a little bit that side.
I watched for a bit, a little bit more this side, a little bit more that side,
and watch. I checked on the nut and bolt in my pocket that I was doing it up
rather than undoing it, and then decided – oh, what the hell – it’s either
going to work or it’s not. So I gave it a big of a cheeky tweak on both sides,
and it worked! A solid stream of water shot out of the tap for a good
minute or three! Talk about pleased with myself!
From the back of the ute Gigi watched with interest yet another little dance
number in which I brandished a spanner and sang loudly.
My soft, office hands were red and sore under the black grease and grime, but
the pump seemed to be working properly! The mechanic’s hands were going to
look good in the office tomorrow! Never fear – I poured a good slosh of olive
oil on my hands and rubbed it in well on all the filthy bits, wiped off all the
grime and grease on kitchen paper – and voila! Pump fixed and hands clean and
moisturised! What a Labour Day!
