"Have you heard the one about the two Irish fellows made redundant from their factory jobs and queuing for their job seekers allowance?
Two good mates Paddy and Murphy wait in line. First Paddy gets called forward and at the counter the lady informs him that the allowance he will get is based on the skill level of his previous job.
So he very proudly explains that he was a panty stitcher at the factory and it took him two years to train for the job as an apprentice.
Our lady looks up the job in her book of job descriptions and informs him that it’s a semi skilled job and he would receive 50 euros a week.
“Right you are” he says, and tells Murphy he’ll be next door at the pub.
Murphy steps up to the counter. Our lady asks him what job he did before in order for her to look up the skill level in the book.
He proudly tells her he was a diesel fitter.
She looks that up and tells him that it’s considered a skilled job so he’ll receive 60 euros a week.
Happy with that, he skips next door to join his mate for a pint.
As they discuss their allowance, Paddy is disgusted to hear that his mate Murphy has been given more than him. He marches back round next door to speak to the lady behind the counter and demands an explanation.
Well, sir, you are semi skilled as a seamster, stitching panties. Your mate there, he’s a diesel fitter, which is a skilled job. According to my book here.
Paddy, quite animated now responds to her,
“My mate there was in quality control! How skilled do you have to be to put a pair of panties on your head and shout ‘diesel fit ‘er’ ?”
For the duration of June, July and part of August I have taken on the additional role of diesel fitter, alongside the usual hobbies of sewing, guffawing, drinking wine, writing cod -shite on here, researching for a masters degree major project and attempting to hang onto my current full-time job as a lecturer. (not necessarily all at the same time)
It all started back in Kinsale when the engine cut out just 3 or 4 minutes after we started it, having crossed the finish line of the first leg of the Triangle Race after a particularly choppy Irish Sea crossing.
Since then it has been a catalogue of sporadic running and annoying unreliability.
I already knew every centimetre of diesel hose and the tank fitment, having fitted it personally just three years ago. I thought, foolishly, that by running it on white diesel that I was keeping the chances of acquiring tainted diesel to a minimum as well as avoiding hassle when sailing to Holland or Belgium. Turns out, this isn't the case. *
I've been lucky, generally having engine trouble while moored up which has been mildly inconvenient, rather than in the middle of dangerous/tricky manoeuvres which could have been boat breaking or costly.
The engine had cut out enough times now that I had the process of re-bleeding fuel into the system down to a 30 minute art which included time for a drink and a snack.
On my last visit to the chandlery I had bought a short piece of extra diesel hose and a priming bulb.
It was while moored up rather clandestinely to a buoy in Poole harbour that the engine cut out once again. "No problem, I'll get that going again in no time." I thought, but after using the new priming bulb to bleed off nearly 15 litres of orange diesel it was increasingly apparent that the problem was tainted fuel and there was no point starting the engine again using dirty fuel.
|orange bacteria diesel on the left, clean white diesel on the right|
I got the dinghy out and called the local chandlery, Piplers of Poole to see if they had diesel treatment in stock. two bottles of Marine 16, a biocide which is recommended by the RNLI and neutralises diesel bug, were set aside for me. Now all I had to do was get ashore. It was one mile across the middle of Poole harbour. Life jacket on, waterproof vhf radio clipped to me and a dry bag with phone and wallet in the dinghy, I set off paddling.
Almost half way across the harbour a friendly jetskier came over to ask if I was alright. You don't see people rowing small dinghies, everyone has engines. I tried to reassure him that I was fine, but he insisted he give me a tow across the busy part of the harbour. (where the ferries go through)
I accepted on the condition he go slow.
what resulted was something like this:
"I arrived at the chandlery somewhat earlier than I had anticipated and soaked to the skin, mostly down my left side. I asked the chap behind the chandlery counter not to judge me as a I squelched off with my two bottles of diesel treatment."
|a cheap childrens gardening mat is great to save the knees on a hard floor.|
There was no point getting the engine going there and then a day before the appointment to get the diesel filtered, instead waiting until just two or three hours the before heading to a marina that I had arranged a berth at the following day. There was some misplaced confidence that the engine would be running again in record time.
|using a flexible funnel as a way to give some "head" to the diesel which allows it to flow easily into the engine unassisted.|
|A sewing machine oiling bottle makes a great mini diesel primer for filling up the air gap in fuel filter bowl|
|modification, using an outboard primer bulb|
I called a Yanmar specialist. I explained all of the steps I had taken. He suggested removing the banjo bolts from either side of the lift pump and clearing it with a cocktail stick or needle.
As luck has it, I have kebab sticks, cocktail sticks and a variety of needles on board.
But nothing seemed to be working. What I wanted to do was blow through the lift pump but it's impossible to access.
Then as I was on my knees praying to the sacred Yanmar, something caught my eye.
Next to me, hung my bicycle frame, complete with puncture repair kit and pump.
|useful for inflating tyres, clearing diesel lines and lift pumps|
I took the pump off the bike, quickly disassembled the valve fitting to reveal a simple tube, which as luck would have it, was a perfect fit for the diesel hose. I put a banjo bolt on the end of the short piece of spare diesel hose, then attached to the fuel-in side of the lift pump.
Attempting to pump air through was met with solid resistance. No air would pass through at all. I figured I had little to lose by insisting a bit. It's a high pressure pump. So I gave it some effort.
A couple of pumps to build up pressure and then PAFF! Splat. Out blew a black gob of shite and diesel spray.
Fuck yes! We were back in action. Reattaching the primer bulb, it easily and rapidly had fuel wooshing out from every open orifice. Close them off, fire up the engine and we were good to go.
|temporary fuel tank allows 45 minutes of motoring|
|diesel polishing system, by http://www.cpfuelpolishing.co.uk/|
Highly recommend this mobile service covering most of the south coast.
|this was a pristine new fuel tank just three years ago. thankfully with inspection hatch. |
That black stuff is dead diesel bug sludge.
|fresh engine nappy.|