The price of comfort...

Some 30 years ago, a violent storm raged along our shore, ripping up trees and tearing boats from anchor even in our sheltered inner harbour bay to smash them against the seawall promenade.

I wasn't at home at the time, but when I returned from working on 'The Land' - as our children fondly called our Lot 9 a.k.a. Clod 9 - to subbing on the newspaper, I learned that my chief subeditor had perished in his boat during this storm. He was a gentle yet forceful man in his late Fifties, with a Spanish-sounding name, who had helped me find my bearings on an Australian subs desk... His son, I seem to recall, was also lost when the boat sank offshore.

I was reminded of Paul Moline today when building a little cockpit-like shelter for the new electric pump that is to water Bianca's garden and orchard from one of our big rainwater tanks.

That was because I fashioned the cover from crumpled copper sheet that was torn off a yacht's cockpit during that storm, and dumped on our little beach.I salvaged it at once, and took it out to Clod 9 - for future use, as is my wont. It had survived Bianca's surveillance for unnecessary junk that was accumulating all over the place, according to her, because I constanly transferred the rolled-up bundle from cache to cache. Its seemingly final resting place was in the wreck of the Mazda E1100 diesel van I had towed behind the shed.

I spent days measuring and cutting bits and pieces, flattening them, only to discover that each had developed cracks and holes from repeated rolling-up.

The price of comfort is eternal maintenance

In the end, I didn't worry too much about the holes and just pieced the cover together from four of the most likely pieces. Then I set about pre-drilling new holes, for I intended to rivet the pieces together using Monel pop rivets. I assembled the necessary tools, a good old English-made Klik hand riveter, drill bit and my 15-year-old Makita 9 V portable drill, a Christmas present from my sister Marie when she visited from Switzerland.

This is where I struck the first snag: the drill wouldn't start. I charged the battery for an hour or so, making good use of the time by dashing to the nearest petrol station to buy oil and petrol for the firefighter pump - the day was shaping up nice and dry, with temperatures exceeding 31 Centigrade and a nice northerly breeze developing. Ideal bushfire weather... The new pump filled with oil at least, I fell to reading the massive weekend edition of a metropolitan newspaper.

Eventually, I remembered the drill: no go, it would still not start with a battery that tested just over 11 V. So, take the little bugger to pieces, most likely the switch contacts need cleaning again... (the way makers of battery-powered tools make it next to impossible to dismantle and 'renew' their powerpacks never ceases to amaze this inveterate bricoleur!). An hour or so later, I had it back together, contacts cleaned with silver polish paste, and it worked a treat.

Next I had to disassemble the Klik riveter, because it was grabbing the rivet stems and refused to let go of the broken-off ends... another half hour was spent on maintenace. Ah, well! But the little cockpit now covers the pump, the holes sealed with silicon. Might give it a first try tomorrow...

Then came the tedious job of returning each tool to its appropriate place in the shed, generally a plastic toolbox arranged as an self-contained system, such as Rivets and Staples, or Measuring, or Screwing and Fixing. The little long-nosed pliers went back into the Networking box, the Dremel tool lived on its own in the orignal cardboard box, and the cordless drill had its own neat metal case.

The picture shows the order in the seeming disorder that is my new shed...

Cheers!