So because the Volvo has decided it needs a new part (small, difficult to obtain) I decided to run Rebecca to the MOT centre today. The journey there went entirely smoothly until I got lost… and then Rebecca decided to stop. She stopped outside a random bloke’s house who seemed under the opinion that he knew more about cars than me.
He was quite nice, but irritatingly condescending.
Having turned over the engine a few times, it became apparent that something was amiss. I knew I’d put fuel in, and had a worry that I’d managed to suck enough crap through from the tank into the carb that there wasn’t any fuel getting through. A quick check suggested that there was at least fuel in the carb. I had a quick look over of the wiring and nothing seemed amiss, then I disconnected and reconnected things optimistically. Retrying it and praying didn’t seem to work.
I finally gave in and rang the breakdown company, and then sat for a few minutes. Tried again. No dice. Then I thought this is ridiculous, you can perfectly well fault find a Minor. A more thorough look revealed what should have been instantly obvious.
The rotor arm looked like a bucket load of crap.
A quick rub on a passing cobble, and she started instantly.
And now she’s at waiting to be squeezed in for an MOT.
Whilst I wandered back in the sunshine.
