The advantage of sleep deprivation

Comments Off on The advantage of sleep deprivation

So, I would like to post about work; obviously. I mean, who wouldn’t? My job’s dead interesting – and I get to see all sorts of things I’d love to talk about. Some people seem to have this art of writing about nursing, paramedic/tech-ing, doctor-uh-ing (er, some of those didn’t work very well) in an interesting and entertaining way, and they also seem to have got down the art of not-getting-caught-at-it pretty well. I, on the other hand still exist in a world of paranoia, where talking about work is something I rarely do on here, and when I do it’s often a password protected, friends only post.

Which is a shame, really. Because if you get me talking about it, I seem to be quite entertaining. This is apropos of nothing really, but I noted that I seem to (if I get in to it) be able to amuse Kathryn and my mother (and my friends) with my tales, but when it comes to putting them on paper they always feel dry  and uninspiring; like week-old-bread.

But hey.

There are several advantages, for me, of sleep deprevation (which is what I do to myself after my nights, and which is why my stomach currently feels like someone’s turning it inside out, I suspect. After all, I’ve been awake for 23 hours, 12 of which were spent at work). One of those advantages is I get to look back on these pseudo stream-of-consciousness rambly posts and go ‘my, my head really is not on right after nights’, and the other is something I discovered when I was MZ’ing in to London to get the Bike MOT’d.

If you recall, the bike broke down, and although my approach to fixing it was initially dumb, I gave myself a lot of leeway because I knew I was phenominally tired. I took much more time than I normally would, and didn’t berate myself for mistakes so much. And when I felt that deep frustration welling up because it wasn’t working or going right I stood back and spent a few minutes contemplating the sky, or the huge amount of traffic, or just how truly rusty the petrol tank is.

I’m actually a better mechanic when I’m exausted, because I’m more careful, and more willing to step back and re-examine where I’m at and what I’m doing to check that I’m not being dumb. When I’m full of energy and not so self-aware then I tend to assume the object is just being stubborn.

So, anyhow, I got home to find that the Hub Puller, ordered 2 weeks ago had finally showed up. My convincedness of her postage costs, and the fact it took her 2 weeks to send it to me mean there’ll be some less than positive feedback on e-bay. But anyhow, finding it there meant that I could attack Jejy. And so, having scrambled some eggs, read my interweb and sat for a bit I set to on the brakes. Hub pullers are really very handy when removing splined on hubs. Thankfully the previous owner’d used copperslip, so the hub actually was only stuck on the brake. Having freed it, and adjusted it, I examined the other side and found it was just in need of adjustment.

At last, the time had come. With some trepidation I set off to the MOT centre, and the journey containing such exciting discoveries as “oh, the brakes really are very 70s”, and “mmm, isn’t sitting in traffic fun (accident and lunch-time rush)”. By the time I got there I was convinced Jejy would fail, the brakes seemed only just adequate to me… and this is what I got:

MOT Cert!

I am still in awe. I look out and can’t quite believe that the DAF that has languished in a garden for 3 years passed it’s MOT first time. There were a couple of issues which he mentioned as needing sorting (while it’s not an MOT failure, because there’s no catagory for it, he didn’t like the missing indicator repeater, and the brakes passed the G-force meter test that the DAF has to go through (it can’t go on a rolling road, they damage the transmission) he felt the handbrake was weak (it is a bit)).

I can count the number of MOT’s I’ve passed first time on one hand…. so it was quite a shock :)

She, incidentally, performed flawlessly in the heavy traffic…

She is, however, full of twigs – many of which have been blown up through the vents, and down through the vents, but moving the little ventilator thingie still feels crunchy in a ‘crushing dried leaves’ way. :-/


Kate is lord and mistress of all she surveys at