The Doctor

With Ed staying on for a few more days and me delaying my return to London, the build was definitely back on track for completion in time for the arrival of our visitors on the day before Bastille Day on the fourteenth of July (now known as Bastille Day minus one or 'BD-1')

What a ridiculous thing to assume. What utter nonsense. No sooner had that thought passed through my head than the cordless drill packed up. It is perhaps the most versatile and therefore most useful tool in my new collection of power tools that I can't actually use very well but it's loss would be disastrous and expensive.

Just as I was becoming resigned to another €150 bill, 'the genius, who for the purposes of today's report will be called 'the doctor', stepped into the breach. He may be an annoying bastard in many ways but there is no doubting his building expertise - hence his nickname and praise where it is due. This was a new side to his talent not previously seen. He may have been powerless to do anything about the family heirloom hammer and scraper but he wasn't going to give up on the cordless drill without a fight. After all, whilst I am just the apprentice, he is the master of the use of the drill and he and it had built much to be proud of, together.

And so it was that the fairly innocuous comment "Peter, can you get me that can of WD40 from the kitchen cupboard", led onto my own real life episode of Casualty. 'The doctor' had laid out his tools on an improvised chipboard table resting on a work horse. He was sat on the old painted black stool (the one my wife had tried to throw out several times over the years - the sulky teenager and me wouldn't let her - and thank God given it's vital role in this operation) gently lowering the stricken drill into the centre of the makeshift operating table.

With time in short supply until BD-1 every second counted. 'The doctor', with swift but sensitive hands, quickly removed the outer casing and checked all the vital organs one by one.

Bearings - moving freely.
Motor - no sign of burnout.
Electrical connections - all intact.
Trigger - jammed!

'The doctor' snatched the WD40 from my hands as I returned from the kitchen and immediately administered the required dosage directly to the affected component. Now the moment of truth. Carefully he worked the ointment around the joints. Then, having checked that the battery was charged, he gently squeezed the trigger. A slight hesistation and then 'wwhhirrrr'. A firmer squeeze led to a more feisty response. Relief all round - the drill was saved to build again.

'The doctor' had done his job and with a modest dismissal of his efforts he resumed his role as 'the genius', resurrected drill in hand.