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Archive Category: Humber
Humber Convertible
Sunday, 16 March 2003
Last year I spent about $250 on new front and rear windscreen rubber seals for my car. Due to the totally crap mechanic that I took it to for a ’service’ and brakes, who sucked me dry, I haven’t been able to put my plans into action. Until now! I came home on Wednesday and M had taken out both windsreens and started work on cutting out the rust. The car looked like this:
You can’t really see, but there has been rust removed from the front right hand wheel panel. Compared to my last Humber (this one has that one’s engine in it) there is not a lot of rust. The main nasty bits are around the windscreens because the seals perished and water would get in and whenever it rained and the car was in the street I could feel it rusting. Eeeek. So no sleep for me. So now this will be all fixed and rustproofed, but we are finding it hard to come up with a windscreen dude who is brave enough to come over and put the glass back in. They are too scared, because they know that I shall have to kill them if they crack the glass.
Sunday
Sunday, 6 April 2003
Spent the weekend not doing a lot. Which was kind of nice. I was evil and didn’t make it to Bonnie’s 2nd birthday. Looking like a skinky freak makes me anti social and I went and washed my car instead, which wasn’t very nice of me, but made me feel better and I’m sure Bonnie didn’t notice my absence. It’s the waiting that is doing me in, I can’t stand it. Have been tidying my study to try and get myself back on track. If the house is revalued at some hideous price on Tuesday at least I can go into depression in a room that doesn’t get mistaken for a brothel. Naturally I have succumbed to retail-therapy and tried to soothe my angst with a new top and skirt. That didn’t work, so then I bought two punnets of seedlings to add to last weeks and planted them all in the front garden this afternoon.
Saddest Page
Thursday, 17 April 2003
The Humber Graveyard is the most depressing thing I have seen for quite sometime. Especially to stumble on it today when I just spent $100 on new walnut facing for my dashboard. Oh, it’s too sad! It should be illegal to dump old Humbers in fields and let them rot. They should be donated to people who love them. If the Hervey Bay house works out I am seriously considering making it a home for old Humbers.
[sniffles]
Pod Caravans!!
Friday, 9 May 2003
Well I had a brief dalliance/obsession with the wonder of miniature ponies, but, on receiving a link from M this morning (he knows what I like) a Pod Caravan is my new goal.
The Humber would look sooooo swishy towing one of these. So if there’s any moneyed-up lottery winners from England out there who may feel like spoiling someone from the far flung colonies - make it me! Make it me!! Oh my goodness, they are sooo cool :o) I’m sure the company that makes them would be interested in shipping one to me in Australia to see how it survives in this environment. I’m more than happy to play guinea-pig.
If anyone is interested in reading about people’s DIY efforts in their homes and gardens, head over here - it’s something that I’m going to be doing a lot of once I move up north! (There are limits to what you can do in a two bedroom terrace that is rented from your….eeeek…..parents.)
On The Road (Almost)
Wednesday, 18 June 2003
Packing up this house was a task that quadrupled in size every time I tackled a new part of it. From originally planning to leave last Saturday, to admitting on Sunday night that it would probably be more like Sunday or Monday, I am typing this on Wednesday night, sitting on a mattress in our stripped out house that I have been cleaning solidly for the past three days.
I have scrubbed the walls, mopped the floor, vacumned, dusted, wiped, wiped more, cleaned…bugger. Written down it doesn’t look like much, but I have done all of the above about a hundred fold. Thank god when my dad came over last night it was night!! We hired a diy carpet cleaner called ‘The Rug Doctor’ - yike - it was brilliant. There are still lots of dodgy bits - but really, after living in this house with pale blue carpet for five years, any normal person would exprect a little carnage.
We had a last dinner with Christian and Meegan on Saturday night, a last dinner with Mung and Rach on Sunday night, Monday night we hit the pub in Yarraville for dinner (we’d never been - the bluestone one on Ballarat Street) and felt like we’d already made it to Hervey Bay with the fluro lights, the meals larger than our heads and general no-style inexpensiveness of the whole thing. Last night we had another goodby BBQ with our other neighbors and feasted on prawns, and tonight we’ve just returned from a mean with my sister at Small Poppies. We realised early on today that we wouldn’t be leaving at noon as planned. Doing all the final bits and pieces was like being stuck in treacle. M didn’t really agree with how much cleaning I was doing and all he cleaned were the carpets with ‘The Rug Doctor’ - he fussed around with the trailer, the van and the Humber, making sure that our chances of any dramas en route are minimal. This is the convoy, all packed and ready for us to hit the road at 6am tomorrow morning.
Only had a few major arguments, but are now reconciled and ready to set off into the wild blue yonder as the renovation dream team. I’ll miss the cats. They’ll be flying up (hee hee) to Brisbane in ten days or so. This will be my last post for a wee while. I was trying to sort out how to blog via my palm pilot for the trip up, but time (surprisingly) managed to get away from me. Everyone has been so nice, feeding us, looking after us and saying that they’ll miss us. I hate goodbyes. I’ve hired a funny movie to stem my moping. Au revoir!
A Dark Day
Friday, 2 April 2004
It has been a happy and very sad couple of days. On Thursday night we got some wine for the risotto I was making for dinner. We put it in the car fridge that runs off the cigarette lighter. It’s very handy. However, in the morning when the van wouldn’t start, we realised that it had been left on all night and flattened the battery. My mother and I pushed the van down the driveway and down the road with M steering and my Nan sitting high in the middle of the front seat. No joy. The van didn’t want to start. Me and my mum walked back to the front garden and started the Humber to give the van a jumpstart. I backed it out of the driveway. I hadn’t closed my drivers side door. The fencepost nearly ripped it off. Forced it back toward the front of the car. Ripped a hole in the front panel. As I cleared the post the door bounced back. Trashed. Couldn’t believe it. My lovely car. My lovely car that has driven me from Melbourne to Queensland and back again, around Tasmania, up the coast of New South Wales, to a million gigs and band practices. It’s door is like a little broken wing. I just got out of the car and cried. I am so stupid I can’t stand the sight of myself. There’s no way known I’m telling my dad.
Even though my mum took me out and bought us two sets of beautiful towels and got me two tops to wear in Spain, my day was sad. I love my car. My mum was saying ‘It’s only a car…’ which is true. But I love my car in the way I assume those guys who trick their cars up to the nth degree must love their cars. I have had a Humber since I got my drivers license. The engine that I have now is the engine I have always had - I swapped bodies about seven years ago; from white to robins egg blue with a silver roof. Now it looks like I have to find a new front panel and a new door…I have no Humber contacts up here. I was only saying to M the night before that what I wanted for my birthday was for him to finish the dashboard of my car that he started restoring just before we left Melbourne.
Sunshiney
Tuesday, 29 June 2004
Today was a good day. Sunny. The RACQ bloke that came to make the Humber start up was nice. My car is now back to it’s old self (well, as near as it’s going to get until I get some money to give the panel beater). I finished painting three windows. And my garden is doing pretty well…
BeginAgain
Tuesday, 3 August 2004
Have spent the morning (finally) dealing with my car problems. I called the RACQ and a grumpy man came out - the same one I had a month ago - and diagnosed my battery and my generator as ’stuffed’. Well. At least I know. I thoughtfully gave M my mobile this morning (he having left his in Melbourne - presumably at the house of Honeybone) when he went into town and I was able to call him and instruct him to go into Repco and say the word ‘Humber’. I arranged this with the Repco guy over the phone, after we had painstakingly established what kind of battery would be best. I also made an appointment with the auto-electrician (thank goodness for M’s brilliant brother-in-law for giving me the nod on the good places to go - not that people often willingly rip off a girl with a Humber, but the possibility is always lurking) and the panel beater, who happens to be next door to the auto-elec place and promised to pop over whilst the generator is being fixed (all pray) and give me a quote on my poor car door. So now I am feeling very competent.
Puppybird is beside himself with joy that we are home and flew into the house this morning at 8am to demand cheese. I did an experiment today to see if he’d eat bread and he completely snubbed it. Cheese is all he will accept. I hope this doesn’t mean his life will be a short fat happpy one - I want it to be long fat and happy. I took this photo ten minutes ago, sitting here at my desk.
The Car That Ate…
Friday, 6 August 2004
Our Day! Today was smeared into nothingness by my car traumas… Oh, but first, apologies to people who thought I was coming back to Melbourne, because of the little quote at the top of the page. I have to explain, shamefully, that when I fail to update the quote, you basically get what I wrote there on this day…last year. So this time last year was my first trip to Melbourne since arriving in Queensland. To trot out an overused statement; time has flown.
TANGENT: I was just in the kitchen listening to the radio and heard George Bush rip out yet another faux pas. How can someone so dumb be in charge of so much?
Oh. So I had to get my car into town at 8am this morning. Once we’d dropped it off we went to get a muffin and a juice to try and recover from the terrible nights sleep I’d given to both of us. (I tossed and turned all night having terrible recurring dreams that M and I were driving around a picturesque seaside town and I had to get to the dentist by 5pm. The clock kept jumping forward, and we kept making wrong turns. I called the dentist to apologise for my lateness but could only get his message service which told me that they had enough lobsters, thanks anyway. Horrible.) After that we hit the op-shop and scored some mo-fo seventies headphones which will be very good for recording. We also went to the supermarket and the tip shop. By the time we got home it was time for lunch and the auto electrician called with the Bad News. They needed to send my armature to Brisbane to get rewound. The regulator was cactus, and they hadn’t checked the brushes in the generator - but they might be buggered as well. All up? About $400.
Gah. I did what I usually do when I’m having a car spasm. I called my dad, who asked, derisively, how they could tell the armature was broken if they hadn’t actually taken the generator off and looked in it? Anyway, the result was that we then had to drive back into town and deal with it. I told the Auto Elec that I was taking my car away and looking for second hand parts. Then I went next door to the panel placed and the very nice man told me that to fix my poor door and front panel would cost less than the electric work! So that was good and I left my car with him (as driving around without a generator is not something you can do indefinitely). So now I’m on the lookout for a regulator and a generator. My dad just messaged me and said he’s found a couple of generators and will get them tested. I think I’m going to play mechanic on this one. I have the manual. I have the means. [cue some stirring music]
Right. Now I’m off to make something out of the wonderful Bowl Food book. Chicken with Thai basil Thai corriander, chili and cashews toasted pinenuts. The day I have every indgredient for a recipe will be…well, I don’t know what it will be, because I doubt it will ever happen. Gah.
Ebay Saves My Life
Wednesday, 8 September 2004
Buying things on Ebay gives a strange kind of satisfaction. Although you’ve actually paid hard cash for your item - it almost feels like a present when it appears in the post. The money that changes hands is intangible - usually flying through the air via Deposit Express - and because I don’t tend to buy hugely expensive items (after The Case of the Stolen Laptop) the impact on my bank balance is fairly minimal. My Saint magazine from the other day cost about $3 and my new Humber Poster was about $6. It arrived yesterday - an original advertisement for my exact model - it is soooo funny. There’s a picture of a chauffeur driving an older man in hat and glasses reading an ‘important document’ while smoking a cigar. Pure class. Then the advertisement reads:
As it happens, more Humber Super Snipes are chauffeur driven than any other car. But most Super Snipe owners are selfish [yes - it’s true - I’m selfish, and that’s why I have no chauffeur]. They want the thrill of piloting this beauty for themselves. And in the case of Humber, beauty is not just skin deep. every Humber is precision engineered to the last nut and bolt. That’s why Humber is the accepted name for quality - an image justly earned by two great cars, the fully automatic Super Snipe [mine] and the compact Vogue [my sister’s - it’s so dinky]. Got your eye on a Humber? You’ve got your eye on the finest car in Australia.
Also - it has the prices of what the car cost in (I’m assuming) about 1965 (it’s a 1964 model). So now I’m scouring the web to find how to translate £2,039 into current value…Oh - and if anyone is living near Sydney - there is a car the same as mine, but a different colour, for sale on ebay for only $1000. I swear - if the house was sold and I was back in Melbourne I’d snap it up. [mope].
Humberiffic!
Thursday, 9 September 2004
Oh. My. God. Kartar bought the Humber! Congratulations! Join the Humber Club!
Scraping the Floor
Monday, 13 December 2004
OK. Today I have posted more posts than anybody who isn’t a complete social loser should ever admit to posting…but I have to say a BIG FAT THANK YOU to someone for donating me a decent chunk of their livelihood to supporting [miaow]. It is more, more, more than nice. It is positively dizzifying. Watch me bow. And again…
Humber
Wednesday, 13 April 2005
I may have mentioned before, M’s policy of ’sticking to one job until it’s done’. He seems to go quite well with this unless the job in question involves something of mine. Thus, my little green lamp. And thus, the Humber has a beautiful new walnut dash (created and labored over by M - full points), but the wiring to the particular bits and pieces on the dash has never been finished, the glovebox door has never gone back on and nor has the interior windscreen trim. He is going to curse me for writing this online, but truth is my defence - and besides, he has promised to have a look at it all for me, before I embark on The Great Drive South. Obviously I could have had a go at fixing these things myself…but really, one should stick to the job that one began, so it would just be like interfering.
The Humber, incidentally, was today my passport to goodwill. I bypassed the Urangan petrol station, which was stuffed full of backpackers topping up their 4WDs (or juicing them up so they can crash them on Fraser Island while fanging at great speeds) and went to a little one a few streets away. The man there did my petrol, chatted about the goodness of premium unleaded (I am a convert), topped up all my tyres, and even recommended a good place to go to get the slow leak fixed. The lady who took my money gushed her approval, and I drove home smiley. If only I was a millionaire and could get all the rust cut out…
Some attention…
Wednesday, 20 April 2005
M is giving the Humber some much needed attention to ready it for my fang down south. He is a bit twitchy about it, saying don’t just shove anything up behind the dash…I put my heart and soul into that you know.
Yes M, that’s fine, I’ll just keep out of the way and say nothing facetious until you think you’ve finished. God.
…oh yes. I have vision again - I somehow got my card reader drive working. Not sure how.
Hazy Shades of Winter: Part 1
Thursday, 23 June 2005
Where to start?! Arrived home [sob] last Wednesday and realised just how much had to be done before d-day (yesterday). I can’t even remember half the things that happened in between then and my dad arriving. I do know that we went out to a last dinner at Angelo’s (after I had replaced a headlight on the Humber, so we could drive at night) where I had my favourite spaghetti marinara that I cannot recommend highly enough. It was lovely to see M again after about a five week absence, even though we were instantly submerged in logistics and goodbyes to his side of the family.
Thursday morning saw M turn into an anxiety ridden alien. He had to get the van to the auto-electrician at 8am and at 7.30am he was shrieking around the house in a complete state…
“Where the f@#k is my wallet? Someone must have got in during the night and they’ve stolen it. Either that or it fell out of my jacket at Angelo’s….maybe it’s in the van…”
He ran from the house, while I croaked from under the doona;
“We didn’t take the van out last night.”
He returned inside, still ranting, now looking to deflect the blame elswhere.
“It’s you. You. You came home and distracted me. This kind of thing didn’t happen while you were away. Goddamn it. Meet me in the cafe near the auto-electricians. The van could take all day.”
I had, by this point, shoved my head under the pillow, wondering what it was that I’d actually missed about him as I whiled away my time in Carlton.
“OK, I’m going now. F@#k it.”
“Remember to take the spare wheel of the trailer so we can get it checked for a leak,” I replied romantically, through gritted teeth.
And the back door slammed.
I eased my way out of bed, walked to the coffee table, picked up M’s wallet, had my first rainwater shower in quite some time, fed the cats and drove out of the driveway and up the hill. As soon as I got halfway to the top, mobile coverage kicked in and there was a text from M.
Bring wheel.
As I turned the car around, I pondered on ways to intensely annoy him for the rest of the day, and dabbled along these lines of thought until another text popped through as I (and the spare wheel) reached town.
I am sorry I was in a flap. I have separation anxiety.
I found M, threw his wallet at him, and wallowed in his apologies for at least ten minutes. After that, we went and found a toasted cheese and tomato sandwich, and made our ‘to do’ lists. They were scary. As we left, to begin to tackle the lists, the electrics on my Humber started going crazy. Dodgy indicators, mainly. We fiddled with the fuses and they came back. Then the left indicator died. The switch had broken. I managed to massage the indicator into performing, but it was getting worse. Perfect timing really, considering that it was being driven to Melbourne in four days time…
Hazy Shades of Winter: Part 2
Friday, 24 June 2005
M and I were packing up the house like chickens with our heads cut off for the first half of the day. The hideousity of packing cannot be understated. I am particularly bad at it, because I always think that if I throw anything out I will need whatever it is desperately in approximately three days time. Argh. I infuriate M by packing stuff that we don’t really need - an unused packet of jelly crystals, a candle… while he drives me mad by not packing with any system or precision (this is the same guy who once chucked all our crockery into a box, taped it shut, and called it ‘packed’). Anyway, we muddled through with no arguments, but a growing sense of desperation.
Later in the afternoon I drove M to the auto-electrician (we had to take the van back, as the dash-lights didn’t work), and I left him there while I went to pick up my Dad and his friend Rick from the bus. By then, the Humber indicators were no longer ‘indicators’ they were ‘indicator’. The right one. So we drove home, via three six packs of Coopers, and I showed them around the house. Which was in a state of disarray. We had a night of beer and looking at photos of the house - before and after.
The Humber Whisperers
Sunday, 26 June 2005
Our last full day in the house. M and Rick were somewhat green around the gills. I provided tea, coffee, boiled eggs and buttered bread for sustenance. It rained steadily. M rigged up a tarp over the Humber, and Rick began to prove his worth. The electrics needed to be working for the trip down south, so while I packed away the remaining contents of the house, and M finished packing the trailers, Dad and Rick began working their magic on the Humber. If they hadn’t been there, we would have been fairly stuffed. Dad called a few Queensland members of the Humber club, in an effort to source a new indicator kit, while Rick tried to discover what was throwing all the electrics out. All day they tested some things, ruled out others, and finally traced the problems to a dodgy fuse and an suspect connection on one of the headlights. By 6pm they had cracked it. Thank GOD!
M and I were duty bound to go and do ‘final dinner’ with his family. We took along some pizza and headed over to his mother’s place, where we were certain that we would be met with an atmosphere of hushed mourning. Instead, we ate dinner while the tv blared on about ‘Guiness World Records’ and I wished silently to be at Angelo’s eating another spaghetti marinara (which is what Dad and Rick were doing). I had thought that our dinner at M’s mother’s house the previous Thursday was our ‘last hurrah’ - but, unusally, I was mistaken. After an hour or so of pizza and television, we met up with Dad and Rick, said goodbye to our favourite restaurant, and went home for our last ever night in the house. 
Fixing the Humber
Tuesday, 20 September 2005
So yesterday I decided, with the looming necessity of getting myself to Preston on Friday, to fix the Humber. The headlights have been playing up since we arrived in Melbourne; one of them works when on normally, and three of them work on high beam. Excruciatingly well. Although, of course, the one that doesn’t work normally is not the same as the one that fails to shine on high beam. I am now on my second week where I only work three days, no one was home and the house was mine.
I stole the big mirror from the loungeroom and propped it up against the roller door so I could see which lights were and weren’t working. I fiddled for quite some time with different wires. Then I thought a little bit more laterally, turned the lights on and went and poked the connection at the back of the headlamps with my finger. The lamp flickered on and off. I repeated the process on the other suspect. Same thing.
All of this also involved me getting out of the car, fiddling, getting back in the car, swearing when I realised I’d left the bonnet up and couldn’t see the mirror, crawling back out, shutting the bonnet, getting back in. Obviously if the car hadn’t been wedged into the carport in such a way that I could only get to the drivers seat via the passenger door, it all might have been a lot easier. Why didn’t I move the car? More on that later.
Armed with some screwdrivers and gaffer tape, I fixed the headlamp plugs as best I could. One of the headlamp connections had already had it’s plug thing taken off and was attached to the lamp via some solder and little socket things, which I reckon should be a future step for the others. Anyway, I got it all working.
Generating Postage Profiteering
Tuesday, 27 September 2005
Ah, what a weekend was had! With the Grand Final (finally, an interesting one!) and soireeing and driving to Heathmont, I did not touch a computer for Four Days. 1, 2, 3, 4. Horrifying. In the meantime I have also been pursuing the Humber generator issue. My dad found one on ebay. See what fun you can have if you get your parents addicted? They find things you would never presume to be on offer. So this guy has a generator on ebay that suits my car. At the moment it’s hugely expensive… not. It’s sitting on $5. Thing is, he’s charging $40 for postage. FORTY DOLLARS. I already know how much it is to post a generator, as my dad sent one to me in Hervey Bay last year. It cost $22 - that’s almost half what this guy is asking.
I emailed him and asked if, on the slim chance that I won the auction (it being so popular and all) whether I could just come and pick it up, as he’s in Melbourne too. He replied:
thanks B, there are quite a few very nice humber restorers out there from all over aust, i think ive now met most. on postable items, i start the bid off low and offer fixed postage so all the interstate club members and others can have a fair aussie crack. all items are available for pickup if you wish, but any postage would stand. if an iten is unsold, make an offer, im full of suprises, if not.. i have pickup only items now and coming, where us vics have the advantage.
happy hunting. S.
This made no sense to me. I emailed back and asked point blank - did I still have to pay postage even if I came and picked it up?
hi B, too easy. you would have to pay full post normaly, too be fair too all.
love your keeness, for this one, we’ll make it end price less $10.00 for you. i also have another coming up next week, if you miss.
take care. S.
So, for the pleasure of picking up the generator, I get to pay thirty dollars, plus whatever it goes for. I can’t believe it. And the thing is - I NEED IT! But I don’t like this man and his profiteering bastardry. Gah. Will continue my inner turmoil.
Top Gear
Monday, 28 August 2006
Slightly squiffy on three Coopers Sparkling and adrenaline from Top Gear I decided to expose my treacherous thoughts to the Internet and confess that I’ve been clagging up the keyboard with drool while staring at this on ebay…
Breakdown in important posessions
Friday, 1 September 2006
So the Humber is sick and won’t change up to its highest gear. It’s going to be looked at by the Humber guru who dropped in my original engine about a bazillion (ten? yike!) years ago. Everything was going OK in the world of my important possessions for, um, about four days. I’m not sure whether installing Dragon Naturally Speaking 9 update or Google Notebook extension was responsible for the death of my laptop, but there’s nothing else I can attribute it to. Sad, deposed Thinkpad R40.
As L and I cooked white wine and drank risotto on Wednesday night, I tried to start it up. I tried many times. A couple of times I got the option to go to ‘last good config’ or ’safe mode’ - but it wouldn’t really go any further. I stayed up last night wrestling with the same problems and somehow even got through to do a system restore to take it back before the Dragon install - and it was successful, but the problem persists. I press the power button, the cdrom drive does its spinup noises, the hard drive makes a few noises, the screen stays ominously black, and all is quiet until I switch it off again (when it gets even quieter).
My aquaintance, Murphy.
Sunday, 3 September 2006
Previously, on “let’s watch all the mechanical things in my life go into spasm” there were at least four days of gorgeous weather. On every one of those days I had to work, or attend to other appointments - osteopath, car fixing, computer resuscitation etc. Now, on Sunday morning, with my laptop declared dead and my car waiting on a rebuilt carburettor and my old Palm IIIx showing no signs of life, I have nothing in particular to do and it is rainy and cold. It is the law of Murphy.
Thus, we have shelved our plans to go to Kongwak Market and then on to rummage through our shed at Loch for things we are missing. We’re just going straight to the shed. And probably, as we have no breakfast-like food, via Tooradin - where all the cafes are uniformly terrible. Which is why we go to the bakery, where they make excellent salad rolls, and coffee you can drink if you don’t think about it too much.
The laptop situation has crystallised. It’s the motherboard - pretty much the worst thing that could go wrong (besides losing everything on my hard drive - at least a hard drive is easily replaced!). Because it’s an IBM Thinkpad, a new motherboard, and the labour involved in installing it, would cost near enough to $1000AU. As I can buy another R40 Thinkpad for about $600 on Ebay, there’s little point in going down that path. I am forlorn.
A MacBook would be my ideal replacement, but I received an email from my mother last night saying ‘your sunscreen arrived, PLEASE DON’T send anymore stuff’ - which seems to indicate that she probably wouldn’t bring me one from the US, where they are substantially cheaper. And there is no way I can throw money at a new one - their start price is the same as a new Humber. Gah. Am thinking secondhand Toshiba via ebay. Sigh.
Car? Various things amiss with the Humber. The oil leaking from the diff, the carbie issue, air filter and oil filter, the door that wind whistles through (constantly reminding me of my idiocy). Oh, and I forgot to mention that the boot is stuck shut. I took my sister’s Humber Vogue for a short spin a few weekends back and remembered what it was like to drive a car with four solid doors. It was comforting. So here I am musing over what is best to do and watching a wet ostrich out the window.
Quick catch up
Sunday, 8 October 2006
I caught the train from Cranbourne into the city yesterday afternoon and then out to Collingwood to go to Mungs for dinner. Not just any dinner. Jen and Small C were down from their NSW north coast idyll to say hello to Melbourne. I hadn’t seen them since we parted after holidaying together at Diggers Camp. Lovely to see them! We had a fabulous dinner of proper potato chips, salad and a mushroom and leek tart. Rach and I finished off with a portello spider (which Jen attempted, but could not continue with). This morning I comandeered Mung & Rach’s long wheel base HiAce van - known as Wilma - and drove Jen and Small C to Camberwell Market. Although she didn’t go as rabid as I had hoped, Jen did OK, and I got a pair of $2 leather thongs, while Small C ate more in two hours than I’ve seen her ever eat - a jam donut, a cinnamon donut, and a hot dog!
After a cafe lunch we headed back to Collingwood, where our hosts were about to leave to attend their second kids birthday party that day - and it was only 1pm! I got back on the train to Cranbourne, where I was met by M, and by 4pm was sitting on the couch of Des the Humber Whisperer, drinking tea and watching the end of the Bathurst 1000. Freaky. Although the Humber needs new back brakes and a reconditioned carby, Des made it purr like a feral kitten. We duelled over his fee, and I left a secret extra $20 under the doily on the coffee table. That’s what you get for having doilies.
The under-estimation of M
Monday, 9 October 2006
I may have mentioned before that the boot of the Humber has been stuck shut for over two months. The last time I used it was to put an oil column heater in it to stave off those cold trailer Winter mornings. The heater, along with my excellent toolbox, has been stuck in there ever since, and the cold mornings are pretty much over for the year. The Humber Whisperer tried to open it. I tried to open it. I was becoming resigned to the fact that I was either going to have no boot, no toolbox and have to buy Lee a new oil heater or weld a hole underneath the license plate to free up the lock. (My father screamed like a girl when I floated the last option, and stated with renewed vigour that ‘there must be a way in, there must‘.)
All along I refused to let M touch it. He asked a few times, and I narrowed my eyes and shook my head. It was OK for me to trash the lock with a screwdriver, or the Humber whisperer to snap something essential as he poked around, but not M. He has a love/hate history with the Humber - having removed and reveneered the dashboard with proper walnut (that’s the ‘love bit) and then replacing the dashboard, but none of the heater switch handles, losing the little turbo wooden plug button and neglecting to refit the wooden door trims (that’s the ‘hate’ part). He also cut out rust and rebogged it after removing the back windscreen and dealt with other bits of rust elsewhere (that’s more love).
The thing was, I just didn’t want him to get frustrated with the boot and then force it and damage it. I already have a very healthy dose of self loathing about driving backwards past the gatepost with my door open, and I really don’t want that to spread and envelop him. But today I seem to have contracted some interesting strain of NSW north coast flu that Jen brought down with her and obviously spat into my beer on Saturday night. Grrr. 
…which is sitting nicely with some other symptoms that the local doctor suggested may be the onset of shingles… Gah. So I am in a weakened state, and when M offered to take a look at the boot this morning, I aquiesed - and then ran inside so I didn’t have to watch.
I’d only got half way through brushing my teeth when he came in, looking woebegone. It had taken him less than 5 minutes to get it open. He wasn’t even mad that he’d had to put up with me whining about it for two months and borrowing his tools, it was worse - he was sad.
“You don’t trust me to fix things. You don’t. I can build a whole boat and you still wouldn’t even let me try and help you with your car.” He looked stricken.
I felt like a very bad person. A bad partner. I didn’t even come up with an excuse. I just said I was very sorry. Very sorry. And then he made me feel worse by driving me to the doctors, buying a bag of oranges, squeezing me juice, making guacamole for lunch and pesto for dinner and putting out a plate of kiwi fruit and mandarines with instructions for me to eat them all. He has finally been able to head over to the shed and I am sitting here feeling garlic and orange juice and antibiotics whisking around my interior. Thank you M - you are worth more to me than a showroom Humber SuperSnipe and a matching egg shaped caravan, and I shout it to the Internet. I would have you over the yellow Wiggle any day.
Only on Tuesdays & Wedesdays
Wednesday, 15 November 2006
I would like to point out a phenomenon. It rains rarely at the moment (that is not the phenomenon). But when it does rain, it is inevitably on a Tuesday or Wednesday when I am at work, or at my mum’s place, and the Humber is not undercover. Thus, I am solely responsible for the rain patterns that affect Melbourne. I wonder if they know that, down at the bureau? I’m tempted to think that I am thus a better source of weather prediction. I call it Humber-ology. The science of rainfall frequency in direct relation to the leakiness of your classy automobile.
Christmas ate my brian brain.
Monday, 18 December 2006
I am plummeting headlong toward Christmas and can feel it all whistling past my ears. It’s my last week of work. My radiator has called it quits. The price of copper is up. My remaining finances are down. I owe M big time for driving an hour into town this morning to drop me off at work. And then driving another hour back to boat land. Saw fabulous fireworks last night at Caulfield Park (odd, really, considering the total fire ban) and hopefully will have some interesting fireworky pictures to post when my sievelike brain can locate lead for camera. Can hardly type due to overflowing neural pathways. When car is back, things might become more cohesive. Or not. Depends on whether I remember to make potato salad for Christmas Day and to do copious fruit and vegetable shopping on Christmas Eve and whether I can find my proper Victoria-is-freezing-except-when-it-is-42-degrees -why-do-I-live-here-can’t-remember-oh-that’s-right-boat-building -opportunities-with-shed-and-slipway wetsuit. It’s all relative. But that’s the thing about Christmas.
My way on the freeway
Monday, 22 January 2007
I set out yesterday at noon feeling stout of heart, but somewhat underwhelmed. We had driven into town and back again the night before (about two hours of driving) and I was about to do it all again. [whimper] So I Humbered toward band practice in Coburg, and once I got there, it was all peachy, and we got a lot done. I left at 6pm to head home to the Trailer, with thoughts of working on my caravan the next day.
It was on Auburn Road that I saw the red light on my dashboard come on, and stay on. I immediately assumed that the generator had died and was no longer charging the battery, as has happened once or twice before. I didn’t think it would be too problematic, as it wasn’t dark and I knew I’d be able to get home way before the battery drained.
I kept driving. By the time I’d hit the Monash Freeway, the red light was still on. About 500 metres from the Warrigal Road turn off I noticed the temperature gauge was heading toward HIGH. HIGH is bad. The Humber temperature gauge is always a steady sober halfway point between low and HIGH. I pulled over and popped the bonnet.
Having traffic whizzing past you at 100 kilometres an hour is a great way to feel like you’re really alive. In this heightened state, I looked under the bonnet, and noted that everything - and that would be including my very recently installed FIVE HUNDRED DOLLAR RADIATOR - was exceedingly hot. Horror!!
I sat and mused for a while in the car, waiting for it to cool down. Decided to call the RACV, and realised I had to top up my phone in order to make a call. After topping it up I waited for ten minutes for the transaction to clear. Nothing. Spent a very entertaining 13 minutes on hold to speak to someone at VirginMobile, who then informed me that my card had been rejected. I paid with another card. More on the rejection later…
Then I had to call the RACV. And change my coverage from the HiAce van back to the Humber. “That will be sixty eight dollars to have two cars on your account” chirped some chick who was lucky not to be anywhere near me, “I’ll just put you though.”
I hung up. I called the accounts area. I swapped the cars, for nothing. And obviously sounded like my tether was getting shorter - either that or the traffic in the background alerted the service agent to my situation. “Shall I put you throught to roadside assist?”
I thanked her, breathing deeply. For some reason the RACV no longer has the word ‘Humber’ on their databases, leading to fraught conversations where they scream HONDA? and I, increasingly irate, shriek back HUMBER - H for Hotel - U for Uniform - M for Mike - B for Bravo - E for Echo and R for Romeo and G for GAH!!!
When roadside assistance finally understood that it was not a Honda in distress, they then told me that the RACV don’t service cars on freeways, as it’s too dangerous. Instead, they send a priority towtruck, to take you anywhere in a 20km radius - and every kilometre after that is something like three dollars. Fine. I waited for an hour, and during that time established that I knew a few people in my free towing zone. I also discovered that the fanbelt, looped disarmingly over the fan, was unscathed and that the pulley that it used on the generator had a big nasty sheared sort of crack in it.
My emphysemic towtruck guy turned up and had the Humber aboard in less than three minutes. He told me that he and/or his truck had been hit three times doing freeway pickups. Which made me feel better about not attempting any repairs while I was stranded. I got to ride in a cool truck, and we settled the Humber gently eleven kilometres away, outside R&D’s house.
M and HumberFather agreed to come down in the morning with new generator pulley bit. R&D agreed to let me sleep the night, and even gave me dinner and a glass of red - and then took me to breakfast the next morning! M and HumberFather fixed the pulley in about 40 minutes, with me as a mechanical assistant, and then I took everyone to lunch. The End.
The man who understood
Thursday, 14 June 2007
“Hello, I’m after a carburettor gasket set for my Humber.”
“OK. What year?”
“Sixty-four.”
“Right, a single carby, is it? Probably is.”
“As far as I’m aware.”
“That’ll be $20. I’ll post it out tonight. Should reach you tomorrow.”
“Thank-you.”
“No worries. Goodbye.”
“Bye.”
[The airy feeling it gives me when I say the word ‘Humber’ and the person on the other end of the phone doesn’t say “Honda?”]
Lesson of today. Battery chargers.
Thursday, 5 July 2007
This morning I learned that when you charge your car battery overnight and then go and check the reading on the charger and it says ZERO this does not necessarily mean you should;
a) shrug in resignation and sigh forcefully;
b) blame the ‘stupid’ charger for sucking life from battery;
c) make you grumpy enough to accuse the one that puts up with you that they snored all night and kept you awake…
Because…while I assumed the ‘zero’ reading on the charger meter meant “Ha – sucked in, you’ve had me for so long without using me, now I’m going to get my own back. Neglector!!” M patiently pointed out that it meant that the battery had charged and the meter was kindly communicating that there was NO NEED to charge it anymore. Of course. And the Humber started first go, and with its new reconditioned carbie, it barely used a whiff of petrol as I drove it into work.
I was karmically repaid by my humble acceptance of battery charging voodoo by finding the world’s oldest exercise bike in Hampton op-shop for $20. Watch out butt! You’re about to be pedalled into shape! (N.B. Must remember to post pic of exercise bike in back of car. It took ten rain soaked spatially challenged minutes for me to get it into the back seat. Am not sure if it will now agree to come out.)
And I thought yesterday was bad…
Friday, 21 September 2007
Yesterday I chauffeured M around Cranbourne while we left the new Merc at a muffler joint to get it’s last bit of roadworthiness attended to. It felt excellent to be back in the Humber. Kind of like putting on an old, well worn pair of Italian leather boots back on after a few months. I’ve been driving the new car to and from work for the last two weeks, because it’s cheaper and it’s got a heater that works.
So I was cruising around. Two different sets of people talked to us about the aceness of the Humber (and this is in Cranbourne - a place not reknown for the cultural appreciation of anything except more McMansions and bigger four wheel drives). I left M to pick up the new car and headed back home via the post office box. I stopped for petrol on the way, and everything seemed fine. It was in the last eight kilometres that the car started to get hot and a bad noise began.
I pulled over in Tooradin, and as soon as there was no free flowing air and I was stationary, the temperature gauge cranked to eleven. The Spinal Tap kind of eleven. The ominous, evil, this looks pretty bad kind of eleven. I sat for a bit. Checked the post box. Let it cool. And then very, very carefully took off the radiator cap, and dodged the fountain of coolant that geysered out. So lack of coolant wasn’t the problem. Neither was lack of oil. I was stumped.
Consulted briefly with my dad, and then waited another 20 minutes to get it cool enough to start up. Limped down to the servo where there is a man who regards the Humber kindly. He told me he was busy, to take it home, wait until it was cold, fill up the water and then run it for 15 minutes and watch the temperature. I waited overnight. During this time I had decided that the problem was with the thermostat. I was convinced it had carked it. This morning I was so whacked out on no sleep I disconnected the radiator hose without draining the level of the coolant below the thermostat point. Turns out I didn’t need to bother.
After M had helped me sort out my radiator mess, we couldn’t get the thermostat off. I ran the car for 15 minutes. It got a bit hotter than normal, and the noise came back when I accelerated. The noise was still not a good one. I drove back to the servo, with M following behind. I told the servo man my woe.
“Right,” he said, “I’ll jump in it now and see what it sounds like. You might have cooked it. I’ll know when I listen to it.”
He didn’t even have to drive it anywhere, just revved it where it was. The noise was still there. A kind of knocking sound, deep down. I started to feel the fingers of doom. He got out of the car and shook his head.
“Sorry,” he said ruefully, “It’s fucked.”
I thought he was joking. He wasn’t. “You’ve cooked it.”
I was emphatic in my denial. “I did NOT cook it. It overheated. I stopped. It had heaps of coolant in it. The oil level was fine.”
“Well something’s gone in it. Dunno whether it’s a gudgeon pin or what, but it’s gone, and it’s deep.”
At this point I was staring fixedly elsewhere thinking, don’t-cry-at-the-petrol-station-that’s-just-stupid - but I didn’t do very well.
“Don’t worry,” he said, “Everything has to cark it at some point.”
I shook my head. The Humber has had such vast opportunities to cark it in spectacular style. On one of the four trips to NSW and Queensland. In the depths of Tasmania. On the Great Ocean Road… It’s just indicative of it’s goodness that it has carked in a way that it will just continue to drive, but will become increasingly unhappy. I don’t begrudge it the new radiator or the reconditioned carby that it’s just had. It deserved them. It’s done more than well for 15 - FIFTEEN years. It’s a 1964 model - and I would guess that there aren’t many cars circa 2004 that will still be chomping up the highways in 2044.
So, anyway. M took me out for lunch, and we ate apple pie for dinner as an attempt at consolation. I am going to pursue other opinions on the evil death rattle noise, but continue to feel very bad. And in the same week we will get the Merc roadworthied and proper, we are back down to one car again. Which would be fine, if we didn’t live on a horse farm.
