Are you a fixer of things?

Pass me a screwdriver, and I can fix stuff. I always had the patience to ensure the screw didn’t fall before I had a chance to give it one small turn to lock it into place.

Example: Have you ever taken a desk fan apart to clean it? Two or three easy clips on the sides, but always a microscopic screw, usually at the bottom of the fan casing. You need to stand over a big white double sheet while you grapple with this unwieldy thing, because sure as eggs is eggs, that screw will be a positive Houdini and escape as soon as you reach for the screwdriver. But I can do it.

Years ago at school, I was a positive dunce at physics and chemistry stuff, and the teacher had me sit in the back of the class rewiring old plugs – don’t ask me why, but it was probably to keep me out of the way and stop me asking stupid questions, and I became quite a dab hand at the job, because I knew where the fuse would go, knew which wire went where – brown wire - live, blue - neutral, green/yellow -earth. Very useful in the days when hardware stores sold appliances without a plug fitted already.

I can take lids off jars without resorting to punching a hole in the lid to relieve the pressure. I can work a pressurised bottle opener without the cork disintegrating. I know how to read a pressure gauge on the wheels of the car, and even at a pinch, I could find the jacking points and change a punctured tyre. Rub a candle along the wooden drawer slides to stop them sticking. Yes, Mrs Fix-It will have a go at anything.

Skill Lost

But oh, this skill has deserted me in my latter years. I can’t even rethread shoelaces without one being longer than the other.

Flat packs from a certain Swedish company used to be a doddle, as you get pictures; for heaven’s sake, what could possibly go wrong? Let me tell you that a bathroom cabinet I built had shelves that were upside down and fell out as soon as I went to fix it on the wall. If I use a drill to make a simple hole to hang a picture, before I can say ‘boo’, it is the size of a moon crater you could get your elbow in, and some filler is needed first, which either sticks out like a big blister or sinks in and doesn’t flatten, or worse, it won’t stick at all, and I am left juggling sticky lumps trying to fit them into the depression with my thumbs.

My final sad defeat this week was a garden umbrella. The string attached to the crank handle broke inside the shaft, and it wouldn’t wind open anymore. Now, how simple does this sound? Buy string, insert it in the hole, attach the crank, and voilà: a working umbrella. But you couldn’t be more wrong.

I had a look on YouTube, and some clever geek talks through the process, and you have to pretty much unmake the umbrella to get the string in. Detach the finial on the top, carefully take off all the fabric ensuring the ribs of the skeleton don’t get displaced – remove the housing, unscrewing this deeply embedded screw here, then that one there, lay those bits aside, ease off the cotter pin (huh?) with a pair of pliers, lay all the screws, washers and bits in the order you took them off – jeepers, it would be easier to make the thing from scratch, this seems all backwards to me.

I gave up. The umbrella was a bit torn and sun-damaged and had a bend in it, so perhaps a nice new one for the rest of the season would be a good investment. Well, hello, that’s what I told myself anyway.

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