…when your clocks are misbehaving. Aunty Jessie’s clock somehow lost the pin anchoring the hands to the hub some time ago, so I took it along to the local repair café, where clock-fettler Peter managed to sort it by scrounging a pin from the sewing table next door, his usual paper clip job being too coarse. All was well for a while, but a month or so ago it wouldn’t stay running for more than a few minutes. Back to Peter a week past Saturday when the repair café was in town again. He administered a squirt with some solvent which has got it going. I mentioned that Martyn’s grandmother’s clock had taken to striking 4 at 13:00 and 01:00. ‘Ah, I know what that’ll be, said Peter: bring it in!’. In we brought it, and Peter did the necessary, so it dutifully bonged once at 1 o’clock. Unfortunately, it then stopped…. Well, Martyn administered some WD40, and it’s now going and bonging comme il faut. Said WD40 being on the gummy side, I dare say we’ll be back ere long for a squirt of Peter’s magic solvent.
The repair café is a likeable institution: volunteers come along and do their stuff for a donation to their charity, and they’ll sell you tea and cakes while you wait. Our neighbour Rosemary was officer i/c kettle, so we got to have a nice chat with her while we waited. A former bench colleague’s husband does the electrical safety testing of stuff brought in for repair, so we were among friends. A good experience, helping to restore one’s faith in one’s neighbours.
In our rented flat in Bern, there were clocks in the kitchen and living room, and neither was working. The kitchen one just needed a new battery, but the problem with the living room was that the hands were clashing (and probably that it too wanted a new battery). New batteries administered, hands unclashed, we left them in working order. What with that and my dead-heading of the pink rose outside the living room window, I think we’ve compensated the landlords for having broken one of their wine glasses.
No comments:
Post a Comment