Finding joy in fixing things

Perhaps it’s because I have – to quote my Army mate “Buffalo” – bunches of bananas on the end of my wrists, as opposed to proper fingers, that I have avoided working with my hands as much as possible.

And it’s left a bit of a void… especially as I watch (thank you YouTube) craftsmen, mechanics and technicians working wonders with their hands.

I envy them, because, although I have learned a lot about things mechanical over the years, I just haven’t had the guts to get stuck in and do it myself.

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So, I pay mechanics to service our cars, plumbers to unblock the drains and electricians to get the lights back on.

Attending a “technical” high school – which had an extraordinarily good academic record – I only managed to fumble my way through things like O-Level engineering, producing a basic vice from scratch as the exam project.

I paid a bit of attention to technical drawing and can find my way around some simple blueprints. But, I employ my fingers on keyboards – first a typewriter, then computers – to earn my daily bread.

I watched a video recently with awe-struck respect as an Asian man cut up 10 single-cylinder two-stroke engines and combined them into a 10-cylinder monster.

He skill was amazing, but one had to respect the thought pattern which came up with the idea in the first place.

These days, too, if something breaks, it will often be thrown away – thank you, built-in obsolescence – or the supposedly defective part will be removed and replaced.

Nobody fixes anything any more – or so it seems. There is an immense amount of satisfaction to be had in fixing things.

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A few weeks ago, my old Datsun sports car had developed such a bad misfire and severe lack of performance that I had almost fallen out of love completely with it, leaving it to gather dust in the garage.

Then, after some advice from my brother-in-law, I found out which spark plug was defective and replaced all four, along with new leads, having set the all-important electrode gap with a set of “feeler gauges”.

Old school. The engine – always a reluctant starter thanks to 1960s carburettor technology – fired up first time. I rewarded myself with a little blast along the highway as the romance resumed…

Maybe when I finally hang up my keyboard, I’ll do a course in basic car mechanics and home maintenance.

Then, I suppose, I’ll have to put my spanner and my screwdriver where my mouth is…