Wiring and other demons

Well, there hasn’t been much to report of late, except this… I hate Electrics, or more precisely I hate those switches and things I got from a rather large motor part retailer which is named afer a combination of a certain computer that went mad, and a certain car company that just aquired Land-Rover from BMW.

For the past few months I’ve been having issues with the electrics, mainly the ones in the cubby box, which now houses switches for headlights and various other bits. These problems can be traced back to a single mistake on my part, buting things from the above (unamed) part supplier. Usually I get all my electrics bits from Dean Beal (UK) who are brilliant, and sell really good bits. However when I rewired the cubby box I needed parts quickly and therefore didn’t get them from Dean Beal.

This was a mistake. The female spades from Dean Beal have a strip of metal that extends along the sleeve, so that when it is crimped onto a wire the metal “grabs” at the sheilding on the wire and makes sure it doens’t fall off. The ones I got from the *other* company don’t and rely on the mutilated remains of the plastic sleeve to stay attached to the wire. As you can guess this DOESN’T work especially well, and with me occasionally putting things into the cubby box most of the bloody wires have now fallen off.

The second problem I have with said parts is that the switches are utter shite. Pulling the spade off the back (after the wire has fallen out of it) will usually pull the blooming pole out of the switch, leaving you with the option of removing the entire thing and spending ten minutes putting the switch back together or just screaming out loud.

The past few months have been a little fun though, We went playing and got Petro Mucky for a start, so that’s nice anyhow. The details of this are that Ian, Alex Scott and myself (myself being last in accordance to the English language, and in accordance to my importance in this) were setting up a trial, which is the usual play in a field on a saturday and wath other people play on it on sunday.

It was, to put it frankly bloody good fun, and Petro’s suspension now actually bends which can only be a bonus. Although it tends to be a little scary going round roundabouts now…

On the saturday night, back at Ians we decide to a) take note of why it keeps cutting out :( and b) look at the batter cage, in lew of fastening the battery down so that I can enter events properly.

Not sure why it keeps cutting out, so we adjust the timing, points, clean things up and thing bugger it. Ian then, rather foolishly asks me if I want to look at the Battery cage, I rely yes, and so we take the wing off. Now I’ll attempt to make this story reasonably short. The cage itself has both been modified from the original design, and has been holding on for the last goodness knows how long using only a quarter of the advised number of fastening points.

I’m a little dismayed about this, and being a complete and utter swine persuade Ian into fabricating a new one, which kinda to my suprise (and placing him firmly on the christmas card list) he agrees to in a most well tempered manner. By the time the clock hits midnight Ian has built one of the most stirdy battery frames I’ve seen, it’s fitted and the wing is back on. Oddly enough we give up at this point.

Well, the sunday comes and goes. Ian and myself come last (which as a tip of the hat to his splendid battery cage I shall blame upon my naff nagivating rather than Ian’s naff driving).

The journey home, well back to Ians is fun as it appears that I have no exterior illumination. Switching on the sidelights results in a brief but rather exciting flash from the fusebox and little else.

Not to put too fine a point on it the wiring is shagged, and needs to be replaced. Ian lines himself up for a christmas present (not just a card) by bodging the wiring sufficiently so that it will do untill we descide to do it properly, I’m uncanilly tired, have the beginings of the Flu and am in a really shitty mood, so the fact that I write this, and don’t have half of Ians garage embedded in my head is testiment to his ability to put up with shitheads, it certainly isn’t a good indication of how truly awfull I was being.

Sorry about that Ian, I shall buy you a box full of Sherbet flying saucers next time we meet.

Anyhow, as I said the problem is *kinda* cured, but not in a perminant way… Looks like I’ll have to dig out that Dean Beal catalogue after all…