trixtah: (Default)
It must be said that working a 12 hour day - on the first day of your period ... when you inexplicably do not have any Neurofen in your bag ... when the shop you are able to duck out to at lunchtime only stocks poxy paracetomol, which barely takes the edge off ... when your dinner was a bag of potato chips, since there were no muesli bars in the snack machine ... when three projects underway today all had cock-ups of various dimensions - really sucks monkey balls.

Home now, finally, after taking 10 minutes to locate a taxi, since the pavement where the rank is usually situated was closed. The taxis, however, were queued over the road, with nary a light to be seen. How the hell are you supposed to tell if they're on duty - assuming you're lucky enough to spot them - with them lurking in the dark that way?

Still, home, finally, with ½ a gram of ibuprofen in me, which will undoubtedly be kicking in any time now.

trixtah: (ack)
There have been all manner of fun goings-on in my kitchen this last day or so. Last night, I had an encounter with one of those HUGE revolting American cockroaches. Ggggggh. I managed to trap it in an old Chinese food container and got rid of it that way, but man, they give me the shits. I've been here for 18 months now, and haven't seen them before, but maybe this weather has brought them out.

I've now festooned everywhere around my stove with long-life baits, and I'm hoping I won't see any more. I might prefer not to have too many toxic chemicals in my life, but when it comes to cockroaches, fuck it. I've been having mild (but sympathetic, honest) chuckles about people's encounters with spiders lately (not a problem for me), so perhaps this is Karma.

Then today I opened up my pantry, only to find zillions of moths flying out at me. I've had to toss out almost every nut and grain product I owned. I feel about as happy about weevils as I do cockroaches, and I'm normally pretty anal about freezing any nut or grain product to kill any potential weevils before I put them in the cupboard. I must have missed something (possibly some popcorn I bought a few weeks back). I had a few things in the thin plastic bags that I'd scooped things like rice and lentils into from the bulk bins, and the fuckers had eaten through the bags, which were actually well-sealed at the top. There were all these little tiny holes through the plastic. I'd left the lid of one of my plastic rice tubs slightly unsealed, barely a millimetre - that was enough. My screwtop muesli jar had suspicious amounts of flakey stuff at the bottom  and throughout the muesli (I only bought it a few days ago), so that was tossed.

Yuck yuck yuck yuck. I might have looked like a complete tool wearing rubber gloves to carry the two bags of stuff I had to toss to the big rubbish hoppers, but I don't care. It's better than letting any of that shit touch me. I've been "airing" the pantry for a few hours, and nothing further has flown out of it lately. I suppose I need to start scrubbing the shelves. Ick.

Geek fail

Jan. 17th, 2010 11:37 pm
trixtah: (Servalan)
I just watched the Star Trek movie, finally. Ok, I've never been a Trekkie, but I didn't mind the TV show as a kidlet (I liked it way better than Lost In Space). But am I the only person in the universe to think that the recent movie was essentially shite? Great cast, but the story sucked, the effects were trite and music was fucking annoying.

It was the story part that was the worst aspect - all the chicks in mini-skirts, James T Kirk driving sports cars (!) and futuristic motor bikes and being a Bad Boy™ until his True Worth™ is finally recognised and he is redeemed via the powah of finding his True Destiny™ as the Noble Captain™, because he Just Knows the Right Thing to Do At All Times™ (it's In His Blood™, don't you know). And he didn't even do the flirting with chicks thing well. Shatner at least managed to play the shagging-the-green-ladies bit with humour and actual panache, as opposed to the "How you doin'?'" style of this moron. And Shatner had better sideburns.

As for Spock and Uhura getting it on, WTF? And even more WTF without any backstory (or forwardstory) about their getting it on whatsoever (except for him getting a bit of a snog from her when Vulcan gets blown up - way to comfort someone) - so much for even bothering to try and sell that particular subplot. I've read fanfic from 17-year-olds that's more convincing in terms of character arc (and getting unlikely couples together).

Yeah, they threw in a couple of lines from the TV show and some visual gags (viz. green ladies), but it added up to a sticky half-melted mess of candy floss when you were hoping for nice buttery popcorn.

I'm even more amazed at the fact that this pile of crap was so highly rated. I think Roger Ebert's review was the only one that seemed near the mark, from my perspective. I would alter his final line: "If you want [shitty, bombastic, underdeveloped and unnuanced] space opera, you've got it." It's not even good sci-fi, even for the crappy standard of sci-fi in movies.

6/10, mainly for some good characterisation of everyone except Kirk (the Prodigal Bad Boy™ - there is a difference between pouty bad boy and proper mavericks) and Spock-the-younger (he's sooo emotional and conflicted and sad and girls want to kiss it better, gah!) and the baddie (let's get Eric Bana and waste him), and a couple of funny bits - Kirk running around an icy planet being chased by a giant bug seemed to be about the only scene that could have been seamlessly incorporated into the TV show.
trixtah: (Servalan)
Don't fuck with me, meat brain. No, I'm afraid it wasn't obvious that your skanky gym bag sitting next to the equipment meant that it was exclusively reserved for your "supersets". You were using another piece of equipment metres away, and, since I didn't see you using the equipment I wanted, I got to it and was able to do 2x10 reps and part of another set before you decided it was time to physically snatch the rope out of my hands so that you could do your routine. Actually, the time it took for you to do that, and for us to have a "discussion" about your behaviour, would have been sufficient time for me to finish my last set. I suppose it might have been challenging for you to calculate the time it might have taken me without having to correct for 5 minutes of serious mirror-posing per set.

Anyway, you fucked with the wrong person, you in your dicky little Warriors shorts and your stupid sunglasses on your head while working out.  I totally did report you to the gym staff, and I hope you enjoyed your telling off after I left.

FOAD, dickwad.

No love,


P.S. It might be juvenile, but I was seriously amused that you, Mr Meathead McBully, were using exactly the same weight that I was do to those tricep pulldowns. So strong and manly you are!
trixtah: (Default)
     to ANZ_cc_cust_service.,, AAA Techie. 19:19 (3 minutes ago)

Dear all:

I'm afraid I'm getting quite dissatisfied with what is going on here.

Here is the issue:

I purchased a laptop with the service tag 5XD???? on the 18th of August and got it at time specifically as I would be able to conveniently upgrade to Windows 7 when it is released. As part of the purchase, I upgraded from Windows Vista Business Edition to Windows Vista Premium Edition. I expected to be able to receive the Windows 7 Premium Edition upgrade.

1. Logged onto to register for the upgrade. Found that my machine is registered with having Business Edition and is therefore only eligible for the Windows 7 Professional upgrade.

...moan, grizzle )
trixtah: (Default)
My car windscreen blew out while I was driving up to Sydney this afternoon, so I'm stuck here in Goulburn for a few hours until I can get a train. I went for a walk to get some mags to read, and while I was walking up the main street, I heard a bunch of young men driving around yelling. Much to my surprise, as they passed, it turned out they were yelling at ME. 'Fuck you fucking faggot' was pretty much their repertoire. Charming. Now, I may be somewhat butch, but I do have women's hips (even if they aren't particularly broad); perhaps I missed them telling me I was a FAT faggot.

Something similar happened to me 15 years ago, but I was skinnier, wearing leathers, and crewcut. I'm sure I wasn't the only recipient of their attentions this arvo, but what a bizarre choice of epithet.

O well; off to the movies now.
trixtah: (Servalan)
...not to mention my PMP. But at least I have backup sounds on my work PC if I forget to bring my tunes.

I have a colleague who sits right next to me, who eats like a pig. Well, he actually eats like someone of his nationality, and it involves much slurping, chewing with mouth open and licking fingers. It drives me insane, as well as grossing me out. And he's a small guy, and eats constantly. At least every hour on the hour.

But I can't put on my music to drown him out today. WOEZ. It's 10:10am, and he's been eating something since 9:15. I really don't need this kind of penance first thing on Monday morning!

Speaking of cultural differences with food, though, I admit that I am far from being perfect. I can't make myself slurp Japanese noodles, although I haven't eaten them in Japan (yet). Also, I had a Japanese flatmate who didn't slurp, and she said that she thought it was "lower-class" to do so noisily. When in Rome, though...

If someone is of European descent, it's one of those things that I find very diffcult to keep politely quiet about. Not everyone has the same upbringing as I did, but keeping one's mouth shut while chewing is one of those rules that is adhered to (and broken) at all levels of the class hierarchy. I also blame American TV for encouraging the notion that it's cool to engage in long periods of dialogue while masticating - is it something they teach in actors' school? "Hey, show those punters you're really eating! Do big chomps! Open that mouth really wide while you're chewing! Talking at full bore while you're doing that shows masterful actorly skills!"

I have to say that it's a dealbreaker for me, if I'm interested in someone romantically, and they eat excessively badly. I am not a stickler for table manners per se - since I'm pretty crap myself, unless I'm in a formal setting - but watching food revolving around someone's mouth and hearing the entire process at volume LOUD just makes me want to vomit. Blech.

PS. My colleague has finally stopped munching. Peace is restored!
trixtah: (Servalan)
I'm sure it's supposed to be very "convenient" for us punters to do the self-check-in routine at the little kiosks instead of at the counter, but I'm afraid any ability to "save time" by using the service is totally negated if you have a bag to check, and your "bag drop" counters are also manual check-in counters.

So, people like me, who actually do have a brain and can figure out how to use a touch-screen interface with 2 buttons, don't save any time at all when we have to queue behind 500 other people engaging in all kinds of convoluted check-in manoeuvres for a stupid domestic flight (yes, the average time for the manual check-in was around 3 minutes, including some 5+ minutes jobbies I tracked while I was waiting. In the unnecessarily long queue.) Of course, by the time I got to the head of the queue, my bag drop took less than a minute - I suppose it helped all the legions of other people behind me waiting to do their manual check-ins by some minuscule proportion. Not. Please to be fixing this stupid "system".

No love,



Feb. 13th, 2008 09:59 pm
trixtah: (Servalan)
I'd just like to have a wee bitch about the seemingly prevailing opinion that not being an early riser is somehow less morally virtuous than those who enjoy waking at sparrow's fart. It really irks me. It annoys me that the construction across the road starts at 7am... and finishes some time around 3 or 4pm. It annoys me that the courier company sends their drivers out on the road by 8am, but I don't get the stupid card that tells me how to redirect the parcel delivery until after I get home from work... after 6pm (and of course I can't leave a message with the company until that 8am start time - making coherent conversation before I've had my breakfast isn't really the best thing).

So, I am normally awake around 15 or 16 of the 24 hours. I don't have afternoon naps, unless I'm extremely debilitated (ie. I'm sick or jetlagged). I work 40 hours a week, and often a bit more than that. I just really fail to see why the fact I'd rather start work some time around 10am and let my day go forward on that basis is somehow less "good" than being the 8am starter.

Ironically, nearly all of my partners have been early risers (not even "average" risers - early). I've only had one actually come the sanctimonious attitude at me personally. This was fine, because she was perfect in nearly every other way, and sorting out the fact there wasn't one "baddie" in that particular relationship was a nice balancing experience for both of us. What I'm objecting to more is the prevailing societal attitude that "early is better".

I'm trying to think what the basis of it might be. Monks get up at disgusting hours to do Matins - maybe that's where early = good came from? But where did they get the idea? It's not an at-one-with-nature thing, either. While the sun rises earlier in summertime, it also goes down later. So too with the sun rising late in winter - I don't see any particular advantages in getting up early (ie. in the dark) at any time of the year.

Anyways, that's enough of that rant. Just one of those things that bugs me every time I come across it, such as when trying to intersect with couriers, and sleep through construction noise. What was particularly galling about the courier is that he phoned me at work when he was looking for my home address - he was at the wrong end of the street. I asked him to divert to my workplace instead, rather than leaving the stupid little card - no, apparently driving less than 5 minutes from my home to my workplace would have fucked up his schedule more than eventually finding where I actually lived and scribbling his stupid card. I assume he'll be doing the same run again when I actually manage to get it redirected, since my work is less than a kilometre from where I live. I fail to see how this arrangement actually saved him any time.

On a non-rant front, he is delivering the new water filter I ordered. I pretty much drink only sparkling water, since I don't much like the taste of normal water. I was annoying myself at how many plastic bottles I was going through (the 1.5 litre ones, but still). I bought a SodaStream (once they finally got back into the shops after Xmas), so I can sparkle as much water as I like, and reuse the same bottles. However, even carbonated, Canberra's tap water tastes vile, so I hope the nice filter will improve it! (Athough while I'm on the grumpy rant thing, it annoys me that the filter site makes the stupid assertion about us needing to drink 6 or 8 or however many gallons of water a day it is to "stay healthy" - complete bollocks).
trixtah: (Default)

There's a guy in my new area - fortunately, there's a high partition between us - who has the radio on all day long. It is driving me insane. How can people bear to listen to the same 6 boring anodyne songs over and over and over, for weeks on end?

I mean, sure, we have our own music collections, so it's not like we listen to totally fresh new sounds all the time - and who wants to? Familiar favourites are fine. But given the hundreds of thousands of pop songs out there (if we're just talking pop), I really don't understand why a commercial radio playlist is so limited from day-to-day. And the cycles of "aging off" songs that they've been playing on high-rotate seem so long - weeks.

I suppose they have to play the top song on the charts more than once a day, and probably the top ten at least once, but otherwise, why can't they mix it up? Of course, it doesn't help that I find 95% of pop music boring at the best of times (sez she, listening to Scissor Sisters on the iPod right now - "Sheeee's ma mayun...").

Getting back to Radio Man, other than the fact he's obviously not capable of putting on headphones (heh, maybe I should feed some filthy dnb through my speakers.. on LOUD), he leaves the bloody thing on when he leaves for the day. So, not only does the noise pollution continue for a couple more hours until I finish work (I would feel awkward going into his workarea to turn it off with his other colleagues still there), it's wasteful. Ok, compared to the hundreds of other electronic devices in this area, the draw is undoubtedly miniscule, but it just adds to the irritation of the thing.

trixtah: (Servalan)
So, I get the acting "Technology Services" manager coming up to me today, saying "Is there an issue with the mail?" He is not my manager, he's one up and one to the side. I pause a bit, to let the stupidity of his question sink in a while (since I was calmly browsing the net at the time, and not pulling my hair out going fuckfuckfuckfuck), and reply "No."

"Oh," sez he, "$EXECUTIVE_PA went to $CUST_SERVICES_MGR and said that she wasn't getting any email from her Optus account. He told her to print out all the errors she was getting, and then he gave them to me to investigate." While $TSM was telling me this, he was standing there clutching a sheaf of at least 20 pages, presumably the errors that $EXECUTIVE_PA had carefully printed out from her home account. In colour.

I grabbed the top printout, and sure enough, it says in words of one syllable that the sender domain is being blocked by the RBL. There is even a dinky little link that the user can click to see what that means. At present, Optus has a whole network of their servers being blocked by Trend Micro, and if they can't be bothered getting rid of their spammers, Trend can't be bothered removing them from their RBL (they're very proactive when they get a removal request - it's a paid service). Evidently the $EXECUTIVE_PA didn't bother contacting Optus with regard to their problem but buttonholed $CSM instead.

What gets me is that none of the parties in this little chain of events went to the Helpdesk, whose job it is to log ALL technology-related issues, who (in this instance) would have known what the issue is (this isn't the first time, duh), known the fact that they can request an exemption, logged a call to me, and the whole thing would have been fixed in 1/2 an hour, tops. No. We have button-holing. We have a CSM who is a third-level manager, with the Helpdesk in his purview. There is in fact a Helpdesk Manager (who could have dealt with the problem if there had been no satisfactory resolution to the original call... if there'd been one). If $CSM didn't have the balls to tell $EXECUTIVE_PA to walk the three steps past his office door to the Helpdesk counter to log a call, he could have done it himself. So, after his "help", she trots home like a good girl, and massacres a few trees to print out multiple copies of the same error msg. The following day (who knows how long?), CSM still can't be bothered walking three steps to the HD, or 15 metres to my desk, no, he fobs it off to $TSM. Who isn't normally based in Canberra anyway. And then we get to me, finally.

I told $TSM to log the call. I fixed it in 10 minutes. Fuckers.

...By the way, I don't have any problem with someone like $CSM cruising by or asking me while I'm making a cuppa if I know of any related issues. I just object to the waste of time, and the involvement of one third-level manager and one fourth-level manager in getting me to do a routine part of my job. Especially when the established procedure would have been at least a day faster.
trixtah: (Servalan)
If there isn't a term for it, I'm inventing it now.

Dear people on mailing lists:

The people who dominate are called dominants

And while I'm here, to half the techies in the world:

Administrators administer their systems/networks. Nobody "administrates" anything.

No love,

trixtah: (Default)
Roll on Tuesday, when I don't have to listen to yet another bloody badly-rendered Christmas carol broadcast at 500 decibels. If they had nice choral versions of Here We Come A-wassailing and the like, I might be happier. Perhaps.

However, I just wanted to say something to the lovely woman who dressed her 6-year-old girl in a pink satin "princess" dress and then bought an ice cream for the child to eat while walking down the street... Get over yourself, bitch, because it ain't the kid's fault she dripped ice-cream over her dress. And lay off the heavy and martyred disapproval vibes after your injust chastisement of her. I won't blame the kid for resenting you like fuck when she hits her teens, as she undoubtedly will, if that's your usual parenting style.
trixtah: (Servalan)
I like my car, a lot. She might look like shit, but she runs nicely when she's looked after properly. And she doesn't require a lot of looking after.

So, I took it in last week to get a service. While I didn't think it desperately needed a tune, it wasn't picking up acceleration as well as it might, and was chewing through a bit more gas than usual, as well as requiring more choke. I thought the mixture might have been running a bit lean.

When they did the service, they said that the coil was the incorrect type (I knew this - I had an electronic distributor fitted and for some reason the guy didn't put in the correct coil at the time, although it ran ok. The proper coil delivers a higher voltage to the distributor), and then they mentioned that the rear brake cylinders had leaked all over the rear brake shoes, requiring replacement and remachining and new linings yadda yadda. Since I had explicitly asked them if they needed doing properly 6 months ago, this was irritating, to say the least. So, I agreed with them to bring it back in this week to get those two bits of work done.

It was still running not as sweetly as I wanted after the tune, so I booked it into the carburettor shop where I got the reconditioned carb fitted to replace the old POS that was in there when I got the car. The service guys obviously couldn't get the mixture right to save their lives, so better off getting the experts to look at it.

Cut to today, when I brought it in to get the brake and coil work done. New coil, rewiring, new rear brakes and cylinders... nearly $600. Then the guy pipes up and says, "Oh, we were having problems with the mixture with the variable jet in the carburettor, so we replaced it with a fixed one. And, you know, they can leak and stuff, it's a pain."

You know those moments where you're momentarily so angry that you can't say anything? And then you realise that if you open your mouth, you'll embarrass yourself so mightily, it's best not to. I don't mind if a mechanic tells me something needs doing in advance - but to run off and fuck with a carbie that had been fitted less than 12 months before, which was undoubtedly NOT leaking, just because they couldn't fucking adjust it properly... it pisses me off.

Anyway, I paid, grabbed my keys and stalked out the door. I took it for a longish drive - about 50-70km or so. I don't know how far I went or how fast I was going, because the bloody dashboard lights aren't working. They were working yesterday. If I put my foot down hard, it hesitated (it's been doing that for a while, but I expected that to be fixed). Going up hills at what I assume was 75mph was less grunty than usual. I got back to my garage, and sat there and let it idle for about 10 min - after a decent run like that, you expect it to be nicely warmed up and have blown all the cobwebs out. Alas, it was idling fast. I got my car multimeter out and found that it was idling at 750rpm too fucking fast. Being a 3 litre 6 cyl engine, between 550-600rpm is optimum - fucking 4 cyl 995cc Morrie Minors idle at 800rpm. So much for better fuel economy, eh?

So, I still need to take it to the carbie shop to get their fucked work undone. And I will so not be going back there to get it tuned again. Although, bugger, I need them to get the bloody dash lights working again (they would have had to remove the steering wheel to get at the coil wiring). GAH!

At least the brakes are better... :-/
trixtah: (Servalan)
Since your car is at least 34 years younger than mine, I'm sure that its superior roadhandling ability and torque makes it incredibly frustrating to have to knock 10 seconds off your transit time through the roundabout due to having to follow me through it in these wet and slippery conditions. I'm sure the fact you missed my front bumper by less than half a metre when you cut into my lane was a mark of your irritation at my going my normal speed out of the roundabout, which had thus required you to grind your gears for at least a minute in order to get past me. Yes, my brakes do work fine, thank you.

But why o why, after having expended all this effort and stress, did you have to immediately drop to less than 70km/h in an 80km/h zone? Although I was doing 80km/h at the time, it wasn't necessary to give my brakes another test right then, and it really freaked out the nice man in the truck behind me.

No love,

trixtah: (Default)
So, the thing about having more than one person in your life (in the lover sense) is that they can gang up on you, even when they're kilometres apart. I have now learned that I can't prefix any gripe with "I'm not that anal, but..." because it tends to make people crack up in gales of laughter, more or less politely depending on how long they've known me.

Maybe it'd be better to say I'm not anal about tidyness.

Anyways, to get it out of my system (and, I'd quite like to see other people's lists, if you feel so motivated):
  • Table manners, in particular chewing with mouth open. Ick.
  • People smoking or chewing gum and then discarding the results in a gross fashion (ie. in anything other than the rubbish bin)
  • Bad driving, whether aggressive or dithery.
  • "Its" vs "it's" and apostrophes in general (although, yunno, we all slip up occasionally).
  • People not picking up their rubbish (like food courts in shopping malls. How hard is it to walk 3 metres to a bin?)
  • Cracking the spines of my paperbacks, unless of course it's a crappy mass market edition, or it's so big you can't help it (in which case I would have cracked it first).
  • Leaving crap in my car. I don't like my car to be a roving rubbish tip.
  • Half-eaten food being left around.
  • Moving my stuff without asking first.
  • Taking food off my plate when you're not my lover/good friend, at least without asking first (and if someone looks interested, I'll offer a taste anyway).
  • Bad/rude service.
  • Waiters who remove your plate without waiting for you to finish your meal. (Specific pet hate).
  • Reasonably clean kitchens and BATHROOMS.
  • Protracted PDAs in places like bank queues, or anywhere on the street, really.
  • Noisyness in inappropriate settings, like concerts, movies, art galleries and so on.
  • ... (I'm sure there are more, but I can't call them to mind right now)
Gosh, I'm obsessed about food stuff. No wonder, it doesn't take much to nauseate me. Everything else, well, who knows.

Well, fuck

Mar. 20th, 2006 11:19 am
trixtah: (Default)
Pardon my French.

I'm back in Canberra, I wrote a big burble about home, complete with pics, and then Ubuntu did its interesting trick of locking up entirely with no warning when Firefox is running. And of course I wasn't using an off-line client with drafts saved locally, since I rebuilt Linux a couple of weeks back. And the Livejournal autosave is a joke.

I'll post up another burble when I'm not so grumpy.
trixtah: (Servalan)
Has played these songs on his increasingly out-of-tune guitar this week:

Eagles - New Kid in Town
Creedence Clearwater Revival - Proud Mary
Simon and Garfunkel - America
Simon and Garfunkel - Mrs Robinson
Simon and Garfunkel - Sound of Silence
Pink Floyd - Wish You Were Here
Eagles - Lyin' eyes
Creedence Clearwater Revival - Who'll Stop The Rain

You know, while I don't hate any of this music, all these songs give me a great big MEH feeling. With the possible exception of an unbutchered Sound of Silence, this kind of MOR bores me to tears at the best of times. This guy is at least 10 years younger than me. Doesn't he know anything from the last decade, or even the last 20 years?

There's plenty of more recent stuff you can play on a guitar - Ani Di Franco? Radiohead? Nirvana? REM? Smashing Pumpkins? Moby? Franz Ferdinand or the Scissor Sisters? Anything! Argh!

...Actually, maybe not. His singing is still utterly utterly vile, and I'd hate him to ruin some of their songs for me. Time for some fat drum and bass on the stereo then. Actually, I have a craving for some of Bach's organ music at the mo. I should go out CD shopping, replace some of my missing toccatas and fugues and give him a nice blast at volume 10.
trixtah: (Default)
I knew this was going to happen!!! Well, my car passed the inspection, although it apparently needed new pedal rubbers to pass. Who knew, eh? I thought it was traditional to drive an old Holden with bare metal under the feet.

However. I also asked them to do a full service and a tune-up. Ok, they changed the oil and put on new filters. Nice. Did they do a lube? No. Did they tune the car? Maybe. You know how I said it was running sweetly? When I got it back, I drove it for about 10 minutes, and thought, hm, it's idling a bit fast. On Saturday, I went for a longer drive, about half an hour, and it definitely was idling too fast, it chewed through $10 of gas. This wasn't good.

I couldn't wait to go to another mechanic, so I bought a car multimeter for about $250. Would you believe the largest car parts shop (Repco) in Canberra didn't have a timing light? Or, actually, one that is only suitable for electronic ignitions, which cost $600. Uh, no thanks. Hopefully another shop somewhere will have a plain jobbie.

So, the three base things for a tune are to have your idle speed and mixture (carburettor), dwell angle (distributor points' spark gap) and timing (distributor, when the spark fires to ignite the petrol), set correctly. These figures are kept in nice old fashioned car manuals. So I rigged up the multimeter and tested the idle speed. 900rpm! These cars are supposed to idle at 600. I tweaked it as best I could and have got it down to about 650, but I suspect the float level in the carb is too high (too much petrol coming in, so it's running a bit "rich"). But it's better. Then I checked the dwell angle. 50-something-random degrees! It should 30 degrees, +/- 2. Someone had installed the points and then tightened the cam screw so hard that the screw is somewhat stripped, and I can't undo it to fix it. I checked the invoice again, and sure enough, I got charged for a new set of breaker points, so they cocked that up too. And since the dwell angle is all wrong, they obviously got the figure for that out of the same place as the idle speed (their arse, by the looks of it). Even a small 4 cylinder car like a Morrie Minor or Mini idles at 800rpm. That is NOT how a 6 cyl engine runs. I can't check the timing without the timing light, alas.

So, don't go to the damn Braddon Service Centre if you have an old Holden. They may be fine if you have a nice late-model Japanese thingie, where they can just plug in the computer and tweak things that way. Not not for this kind of car. And you know, tuning these kinds of cars is about the only thing I can do mechanically (as well as oil filters and suchlike), because it's easy. And it just confirms my old theory: never go to a mechanic attached to a service station. They're always crap, in my experience. Unfortunately, I didn't know where they were before I booked the car. I should have followed my instinct on the day and gone elsewhere. Oh well, I have the roadworthiness thingie, I can now transfer the ownership...


trixtah: (Default)

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