On the road again

A short day at work at the end of last week, then I was off to Melbourne. I took some audio books borrowed from the local public library. This was great. I should have done this ages ago. I do enjoy the open road stretching in front of me, but sometimes you get fed up with the same stuff over and over again, and any delights there might have been while driving during the day are lost at night. I found the audio books filled the gap really well. You can get audio tapes as audio books as well as CDs. Some are read by the author, but I gather most aren’t. It sounds a bit weird with the reader trying to take on different accents and voices, and the gender difference can be just a bit too difficult for some readers and is kind of funny to listen to then trying to emulate another gender. But, for all that, I can thoroughly recommend you give audio books a try if you are involved in long distance driving. I was actually looking forward to the trip home when I could listen to the remainder of the book.

Anyway, at home, I had a tour of inspection of the house. The house was looking great. It was strange to see it looking so tidy. And the lounge, with the settee in a new position simply looked weird. Still, if that’s what our stylist thinks is a good thing, who am I to argue.

I experienced a few open inspections while there on this visit, so had my share of cleaning up the house prior to the inspections. There seems to be a virus in the house that keeps blowing light bulbs. It was really weird; perhaps it was just a bad batch of globes, but what can you do. You wouldn’t be very successful going back to the retailer, even if you did have the receipt, saying it’s blown, give me another one. You’d be laughed at. One of the car head lights also went out on the drive down to Melbourne too. We took a trip to one of the local lighting specialists. You’d think it would be easy to buy a fluoro tube, but no lighting shop had any in stock. It was a slim line thing for the kitchen bench, under the cupboards.

Still, we got some stuff done as well as having some fun. Got some rubbish to the dump. The bastards at the dump wouldn’t take our unmarked chemicals or paint tins. They wanted the old paint tins opened before accepting them, but flatly refused the chemicals. What are people supposed to do? This was the Eltham Council. Is the council trying to encourage you to wrap them with the rest of the household rubbish? It seem like they are. I don’t know how a Council can become so short sighted. They have an obligation to accept everything and accept the cost of disposal. Stupid twits. I don’t know what to do with the stuff. Does the Eltham Council want me to dig a hole in my back yard and dump it there? That would be dumb, but this council is certainly encouraging that.

We got some more stuff into storage. Through the garage is still pretty full. I fixed the bathroom cupboard door that threatened to fall off before our first inspection. These modern bathroom fittings are made of crumby materials. It’s a wonder they last as long as they do made out of the stuff that gets used now a days. Longer screws in the door fixed the hinge.

We spent some time tidying up the place. We spread some cream pebbles around some of the plants in the garden to tizzy them up a bit. The ferns growing out of our driveway repair that I’d mentioned earlier were all doing very well and were looking really good, the lawn was looking surprisingly lush too, and despite S saying the vegie patch looked rough, seemed fine to me.

I gave the drain at the side of the house a couple of vigorous pumps with the plunger, and it seemed to drain slowly. There is something mysterious going on down there. If I had more time I could do something better than poke bits of wire down and attack it with a rubber suction plunger. Digging up the place is something you don’t do in the middle of an inspection period. On the positive side, the drain was only to take away a few drips from an overflow pipe.

We bought some new plants and put them around the place, and put some flowering pots around by the water tank. The water tank was not one of the properties best features. It has seen better days and is showing a few rust spots here and there. Interestingly, when the tank is full it doesn’t leak and in fact the rusting slows. However, when the water level is very low, the rust spots grow. I guess that’s because air is circulating.

S’s becoming friends with the wildlife. There always have been a lot of birds (lorikeets particularly), possums and lizards in Warrandyte. The two lorikeets here are being fed with a preparation that’s available in the supermarkets. It comes as a powder and when mixed with water into a watery paste and put out in a bowl they just go mad for it. They fight each other off and the pecking order is very evident in their behaviour. But besides their nasty temperament toward each other some of the more bold, like these two, can come so close you would think they were tame. They are so cute. They stick their little tongues in and out to suck up all this nice sweet tucker. Also while I was there, I watched her pick up one of the possums that come onto our block. It was a baby when she first started to pet it, when I saw her I was shocked by what she was doing. It was almost the size of its mother. It probably has some very sharp claws and teeth. Still, if you are kind to animals they may well be kind in return.

I had mentioned earlier that the car had kept smoking following the repair to the turbo. On the trip back to Melbourne this had gradually cleared until there was no smoke at all from the exhaust. All it needed was a good drive. And the extra power was great too.

But on the way back the car began jumping out of overdrive. If I lent on the gear leaver I could keep it in gear. The teeth on the synchro must be wearing round edges. I got fed up with it after a while and stopped using overdrive and left it in fourth gear. It its not one thing it’s another.

Minor frustrations

The first Thursday open inspection happened. Five couples visited. The property hadn't been on the market a week, and the real estate agent is talking about reducing the price. Could this be a method of trying to soften us up; conditioning us for an argument to lower the price?

The for-sale sign finally went up out the front. I couldn’t help thinking that this was a bit late. Something that should have been done weeks ago, or at least on the first day the property was listed. Despite the fact that the house was meant to be listed as Sale by Tender the sign read Private Sale, whatever that meant. We were considering selling privately, but in the end opted for an agent. So how can this be a private sale? The agent suggested listing the property as a sale by tender. Presumably, any punters interested in the property would lodge an offer prior to the deadline. After the deadline the highest offer, that is acceptable to us, wins. So what’s this about a private sale?

I got the car back from the garage today. I took it for a drive with its good-as-new turbo, and was disappointed that it put out almost the same amount of smoke as before. The smoke wasn’t nearly as bad as before, but it was still polluting the air in a bad way. The mechanic had been talking about the drain holes in the lower (oil) rings. He was talking about a major engine overhaul, but didn’t actually say that. He explained that sometimes the piston rings can get their drain holes blocked preventing excess oil from escaping, and when that happens the engine produces a lot of smoke. I wondered if it was because the exhaust pipe was full of oil. He conceded that that could be the problem. I took the car for a good long drive. The smoke began to ease somewhat after about 40 minutes on the road. At the end of the run, it was just like a smoky old car, rather than the attention getting smog making machine it was a few weeks ago. This was an improvement, but not an impressive improvement. I expected it to be smoke free. But in fairness to the people who repaired the turbo, it was now quiet and the car had a lot more guts.

It’ll be interesting to see what it’s like on the next Melbourne trip. At least it’s no longer a target for the police. So, after spending $960 for the turbo repair and $445 for removal and replacement I have to consider whether it was worth the $1400. Anyway, I like the car.

The car's ready

The car is ready to pick up. That took a while. Cooma Diesel described it as a ‘new’ turbo. I just have to keep the rest of the car together. S has used up her $200. I’ve set up my salary to deposit a regular amount in her account. I hope it works.

Mind you, being car-less for a few weeks gave me the opportunity to see a few of the attractions in Canberra. I visited the Old Parliament house. It gave me an eerie feeling walking up the steps at the front of the building. Everyone remembers or has heard of Whitlam’s sacking with him standing on the steps and the media huddle around him. I was outraged by what had been done. Though, it was more than just anger I felt. It was shock. Disbelieve that this could happen in Australia. Didn’t this country have a Constitution to prevent this sort of thing?

In the weeks that followed the incident in 1975 I conducted a pop poll. I was a taxi driver at the time, and there were often conversations in the cab, and with this news and the impending election on almost everyone’s lips I was curious to know what other people were thinking. I asked everyone who got into the cab how they would vote. A bit cheeky, perhaps. Most people didn’t mind. In fact, some people would volunteer their information before asked. It was my impression, wrongly as it happened, that Australia would return the Whitlam government to power. I thought this would have been done to protest the manner in which Whitlam was removed, if for nothing else. Oh, how wrong I was. My taxi poll clearly indicated the Liberal landslide that eventually took place, and placed Malcolm Fraser in power. I was so disappointed in the Australian public. I felt so let down. I was disgusted with Australians, and my disgust surfaced each time I saw an image of Fraser or Kerr. There is a suburb here in Canberra called Fraser. I would find it difficult to live there. So strongly did those events affect me. Though, I must say that I very recently heard Fraser speaking on ABC radio on Phillip Adams show. He actually sounded quite reasonable, and I was surprised at myself for sharing his point of view. If he tried a bit harder he might stop being a Liberal.

Anyway, here I was standing on the same steps where all this took place in 1975.

The Old Parliament House has been preserved and a tour of the building is very enlightening. The building houses the National Portrait Gallery which is a must see when in Canberra. I was surprised how small the various offices and rooms were. Apart from the PM’s offices, which were surrounded by a variety of cramped, horrible offices some of which were little more than alcoves, and many without windows. The people who worked there must have done so for the love and passion of politics than for the job. The working conditions that staff had to put up with in that building must have been horrible.

I gather there were discussions along the lines of demolishing the building when the new Parliament House was built. I’m so glad this did not happen, as the building offers an excellent snapshot in time. And, if you do happen to get there, have a look at the ABC section. When I was there they had a wire recorder on display, which was the forerunner to the tape recorder.

D-day minus one

S and I were editing the text that was to appear in the ad. The convenience of email, with S in Melbourne and me in Canberra. Though, with the first open insepction tomorrow I can't help but wonder if the real estate agent has left all this stuff a bit late. We got the term ‘rustic’ out of the text quickly. Why do people use that word so often? I think everyone puts a different meaning to it. So it doesn’t really mean anything anyway. S was relieved when they hadn’t used the “first home buyer” phrase. Curiously, we had both chosen the same photos to be used in campaign. Poor S is finding it a hard slog, and is considering an all night session of cleaning.

• The bedroom needs a tidy up
• The shower and sinks need to be cleaned
• The laundry needs a tidy
• There are piles of boxes stored in the end bathroom that have to go
• The study is neat but has a few boxes remaining, and
• Everything needs to be vacuumed

The widows need to be washed, perhaps tomorrow, but with that line up there may not be time nor the energy left in her body.

My landlady has seen her solicitor, and is signing papers for the sale of her house – the contract. They will then contact the buyer’s solicitor. As far as I know, there is no firm date set for settlement, other than a possible end of the month.

I rang the mechanic. No car until possibly Wednesday. There was no gasket provided, hence the delay.

The magic of plastic

The car has been out of action for a few weeks. Fortunately my landlady has been giving me a ride to and from work, which has been really good. We both work at the same company. So it’s convenient. S thinks house share arrangements are destined for failure, and after about six months things start to fall apart. I’ve been in this arrangement for approaching that amount of time. Anyway, if all goes to plan my landlady expects to sell her house and my accommodation from under me within a few weeks. Anyway, Cooma Diesel rang to say the turbo had been repaired and was ready to pick up. So that meant another early morning bus ride to Fyshwick for me. And, oh wonderful credit card, the magic plastic saved the day; I could actually pay for the repair. A significant experience with this second trip, besides the turbo being nice and clean, was that when I got off the bus with it, I had to lug it from the bus stop to the workshop. It was only a little more than a 1 km walk, but by the time I got there, my arms felt as though they were about to fall off, and I felt as though I’d walked ten times that distance.

Our real estate agent was trying to talk S down in price, but she stood her ground. Setting the price to suit ourselves would allow us the opportunity to test the waters. To see how many bites we get from the punters. But the agent, no doubt, just wants a quick turn-a-round. Sell it within a fortnight, then move on to the next property, and the only way you can do that is to have a reduced selling price. It’s understandable from a real estate agent’s perspective; they only have eyes for their commission.

There is now a 2 metre wide pathway through the garage. That’s the best that can be done. There is a smell coming from the garage side board. Opps! That’s where the rats had taken up residence. I thought I had cleaned it.

Telstra's lousy service

I stayed at home on Sunday to tidy up some of the stuff I had in my landlady’s shed. To make sure I knew where everything was prior to my moving out. That didn’t take long. While I was busy I was thinking about the car.

The quote I got from Cooma Diesel had been playing on my mind. I’ve been worried about how I was going to cover the cost of the repair to the turbo. There’s only one real solution and that’s to increase my credit card limit. So, I thought I’d give the finance company a call and see what they say. I’d do it straight away rather than waiting until Monday.

I have a prepaid mobile phone. Being well aware of the time you can spend hanging on the telephone line in a queue before someone half way across the world eventually gets to you, and as I did not wish to use up all the credit on my phone on this type of exercise, I thought to myself, find a public telephone. The local shops were only a 20minute walk from where I lived. So off I went to find a public telephone at the shopping centre. It was a nice day for a short jaunt.

Canberra has catered for foot traffic like I have seen no where else. There is a myriad of footpaths crisscrossing Canberra suburbs. As well as the concrete pavement at the side of the street, which in some suburbs in some states, doesn’t actually exist, these pathways can be found at the back of properties linking one suburb to the next, meandering through parks, and with street underpasses to keep you safe from vehicles. The state of some of the concrete paving is showing its age, but I have to give praise to the idea. It’s a simply wonderful planning feature of Canberra.

Anyway, off I trot strolling under the shady trees to the local shops. I found the public telephone without trouble, but was disappointed to find it out of order. These things happen from time to time. Fortunately, I had my trusty street directory in hand and could see another public telephone marked on the map about 3km away. Anyway, it gave me a chance to explore more meandering footpaths, and see a few more suburbs at a rather more sedate pace.

With a drink in hand I set off. After about half an hour of up hill climb I got to the location marked on the map where the telephone box should have been, but strangely could not find the telephone box. At times like these you begin to doubt your own map reading skills. It’s so easy by car to drive up and down the street. Perhaps it was hidden behind a tree. Walking around the block takes a bit longer. I was wondering if the street directory was wrong and the telephone booth might have been in a slightly different place from where it was supposed to be. And then I spotted something.

Exactly at the place on the map where the telephone was indicated, and a little further away from the roadway than where I was standing I spotted a flat square of concrete on the ground. It was partially hidden by long grass. A closer look at this concrete slab revealed it to be, in my estimation, about the dimensions of a public telephone booth, having what looked like bolt holes on each corner. The only problem was that there was no telephone booth on top of the slab. I was wondering if this was the fault of the map maker or whether Telstra has just come along and removed it without telling anyone. I was getting annoyed.

I knew I was relatively close to the neighbouring suburb's shops, but getting further and further from home. Well, shopping centres do have public telephones located at them. So, ignoring the sweat that was beginning to pool in spots under my shirt, I once again set off toward the shops. I rested at the top of the hill and took in the view. The rest of the walk to the shops was downhill, and in half an hour I located the shops and public telephone, only to find it too was out of order. I flopped in a nearby park bench staring at the shuttered windows and boarded up doors of the closed shops, and wondering what sort of lousy dung heap of a city I’m living in, and about the lousy service Telstra is providing. The phone wasn’t vandalised it was just making noises other than having a dial tone and it wouldn’t accept my coins. That was it. Give up. Go home.

My sour mood lightened, when crossing a road near a bus stop but what should happen but a bus comes along, and the very bus that would take me home. I’m beginning to hate Telstra.

A sick turbocharger

Money was the focus of this day. I got the turbo to the repairer in Fyshwick. Fortunately, I got a lift to my repairer’s workshop from my kindly landlady to pick up the turbo, and she dropped me off at the bus stop on the way to work. It must be about a 20 minute drive to Fyshwick but on the bus this turned into something in excess of an hour trip. The bus wound in and around so many back streets and byways that I almost lost my sense of direction. Still it was good to be able to see a few places I hadn’t seen before. It was an interesting joy ride. Though I suspect the few passengers nearby were wondering what I had on the floor by my feet as when I went to pick up my turbo, despite it being in a plastic bag and cardboard box, it had begun to loose a bit of black engine oil, leaving a little grease spot on the floor. Thankfully, the repair workshop, Cooma Diesel, wasn’t too far form the bus stop. I began to feel the weight of the thing as I reached the place.

I didn’t really expect the $460 that was quoted when I rang some months ago, with a general enquiry. What can you expect over the phone when it can’t be inspected in any way. I was expecting something in the region of $600 because of the amount of smoke that had been billowing from the back of the car. However, I didn’t expect to hear mention of $1000 for the repair. They suspected that the core was entirely worn out. With a new core installed I’d essentially have a new turbo on the car. I only have $600 in the bank; S has already used up her $400 and needs more money.

Anyway, at least its happening and I’ll be getting my car back on the road shortly, and as I walked back to the bus stop I was wondering how I can possibly pay for this. I’ll try and extend the limit on my credit card. If I can boost it by $1000 I could give S all the cash I have, then we’ll both be okay.

I managed to jump back on the same bus that I came down to Fyshwick on, which was rather nice as it’d save an hour or so wait, and it gave me a chance to clean up the greasy mess I’d left on the floor of the bus on the way down. It’s funny how some things just work out. All is right with the world.

A few troubles

Pay day at last. We were both hanging out for it. Though when I transferred $400 to S’s account she only noticed about $390 in her account. Banks are accountable to no one. While I was at the bank a request to transfer funds to another bank, my building society account actually, was refused. Funds transfers I had been doing for years were now no longer possible.

The pleasant young clerk explained, after consulting with one of his colleagues, that my requested transfer could not take place because the account number was invalid. He lost all his confidence when I asked why it was that I could transfer funds to this account in the past. A further discussion with a larger group of colleagues revealed that the bank had decided to discontinue supporting some accounts which just happened to include mine. I was not happy with Westpac.

The mechanic rang. The turbo has been removed from my car, and ready to pick up. Had I been in the position of having more than one car I could have driven to the workshop, thrown the turbo in the boot, and zoomed off to the company to get it repaired. Or had I a bit of spare cash I would have asked them to get a courier to take it to them. A bus trip will be on the cards.

A few developments

S was beginning to flake out with the workload of tidying the house constantly, and finding it difficult to find places to put everything. The photographer was delayed and couldn’t come, which is probably a blessing in disguise as there is now more time to tidy up.

At work, I asked my boss (by email) about extending the period for claiming removal expenses. He was confident it wouldn’t be a problem, but asked me to raise the subject again later, whatever that means. That’s not the most reassuring of responses, but at least I got a response, and its good to have these things in writing. It’s a great help that the company will cover some of the cost. The HR department said that I must make a claim for the funds within six months of starting employment. Not a chance of that, and I don’t want to miss out on the money just because I might exceed the deadline.

I felt lost without the car. The garage said they wouldn’t be able to get to it until Friday. I went to the National Library of Australia on the weekend, using Canberra’s bus services. It’s strange using the buses after so many years. The library has a rather nice café – now that’s a lovely idea. This library was a strange place. There were hardly any books on public shelves, most having to be retrieved by staff from storage. Though it resolves the problem of books being incorrectly re-shelved, but it limits your browsing ability. The 30 minute wait for materials to be delivered seems a bit much. All the books are referenced by an online catalogue, which is okay in that you can check things out from your home computer if you need to, but was a problem in that you have to compete with the web sufers who sit monopolising the computers, preventing others from using the catalogue. It's easy to whinge. I shouldn't really as it's a wonderful place and must see for everyone.

My landlady has had an offer on her house and a deposit has been paid. The sale will be pending the sale of their own house, and the settlement is expected to take place at the end of March. Now this is a problem. I’ll have to find somewhere else to live. Anyway, it was on the cards and mentioned when I moved in. I was rather hoping that I’d be in my house before she sold her place. That’s the way things go. It does go to show that private house sales do work. She said she got a price she’s happy with and has no agent’s fees to pay. She said when first put on the market not so many people showed interest. A few punters came by, but it wasn’t until she posted the house for sale on the allhomes web site that things took off. And, if that was her only cost then that’s not bad indeed.

Making smoke

I had a great drive to Melbourne. It would definitely seem to be an eight hour drive with Albury as the half way point. It wasn’t such a great trip back. The smoke coming from my EXA had increased, and on the way back to Canberra the situation became much worse. Well, what do you do? Stop in the middle of nowhere or keep going. Well, keep going of course. Thankfully, it was in the late evening when I noticed the smoke. The headlights of vehicles approaching from behind lit up the pall I was making as though driving through a dirty fog. It was embarrassing.

I knew exactly what was happening. The turbo was worn out, and the oil from the engine that’s used to lubricate the turbine was leaking into the exhaust gasses, which as you might imagine are very hot. Hence the smoke. I had been trying to pick up a second hand turbo from the wreckers, but without success. Up until this point I would drive the car gingerly, feathering the throttle which prevented any smoke from being issued. Anyway, most of the smoke would occur when decelerating, with steady throttle openings there was little if any smoke, and acceleration producing only a little smoke. I would drive steadily, accelerate gradually, and put the car into neutral when coming to a stop. It was manageable.

On the trip back there something must have gone wrong, and a steady stream of fumes began pouring from the back of the car in volumes akin to that of a steam locomotive. It looked as though the engine had ‘blown’ in some really bad way. Ironically, the engine performance was as good as ever, and if I could get my eyes away from the rear view mirror I would have had no idea this was occurring. The occasional motorist that would catch up to me might flash their headlights or wave madly at me on their way past. I wasn’t sure whether this was to indicate something of the notion, “excuse me sir, I think your engine may have a problem.” As if I didn’t know, but more likely, “Pull over you stupid bastard. Stop polluting the environment.” Well, sorry but I need to get to where I’m going.

I was about half way home when I spotted the problem, which meant I had another four hours drive to go. Was I going to pass a police petrol car along the way? Well, I didn’t as it happened and I promised myself to get the car to a repairer with a priority.

Driving through country towns became precarious. Reducing speed from 100k/hr to 60 meant decelerating. And when did this little car put out most of its smoke: when I decelerated, of course. I tried various strategies for driving through country towns. Braking hard a long way from town and powering through helped somewhat. Freewheeling only got me so far and was a plan doomed to failure. When I dropped it back into gear an even greater cloud of smoke issued. I think the oil may have been dribbling, building up in the turbo, and when I put my foot back on the pedal there was even more oil to burn. Under the city street lights, and bright lights from shops and service stations of the towns I drove through I could see the smog trail. I would have likely left the streets in a cloud of pollution and stink that would have caused a few people to look up and wonder what was going on. Thankfully, there were hardly any people around and little traffic.

I took the car to a repairer the next day, but driving in bright light of day was a sight to behold. I could have cringed, and I apologise to the unknown motorcyclist who had little option but to ride behind for part of the way and breathe my smoke. I had previously been getting quotes from companies that could repair the turbo, none of which were cheap, but there is no choice now. At least I know where to take the thing. I wonder how I’ll be paying for it. Most of my money is going back to Melbourne to fund the renovations.

Getting around

There was a Nissan EXA advertised for $150 in the newspaper. The turbocharger in my EXA needs to be replaced. And for that price I might be able to remove the turbo and throw the rest of the car away. Well, that was my idea in checking it out. There must have been a lot of interest as it had been sold by the time I got there. Anyway, it didn’t have a turbo. The turbo had been removed, extractors fitted, and the air inlet pipe that would normally have gone to the turbo went straight to the inlet manifold. Now that’s an interesting idea I could use if my turbo gets much worse. The car is beginning to put out some smoke when I decelerate, to say nothing of the noise that comes from the engine when the turbo kicks in under hard acceleration. It sounds terrible and I try to avoid it. Consequently, when I accelerate from traffic lights I do so gingerly. I doubt if too many other road users appreciate my sluggish driving habits.

It was a nice day so I spent the time driving around the Canberra suburbs, ending up on Mt Ainslie, and what a wonderful view can be had from there. I’m pleased to be able to get around Canberra okay. Though, you can’t go to anywhere unfamiliar without a street directory. In fact, I saw a couple of people walking in a quiet suburban street one evening after work, and one of them was carrying a street directory in their hand. There’s hardly a straight street in Canberra, and with so many no through roads, crescents, and curved roads it’s so easy to loose your way or sense of direction.

My landlady advised me she is having the house open for inspection on Sunday. I’ll have to clean my part of the house beforehand. She's selling her house privately; no agents for her. They do take hefty commissions. So, I'll be interested to see how things go. It's an idea I have been toying with. She has a very plain ‘for sale’ sign in the middle of the front garden, and when she has an 'open house' places a sign at the end of the street directing any passers by toward the house, and another sign on the footpath out the front. And then just waits for punters.

I found the car wrecking yards. They seem to congregate in the nearby NSW town of Queanbeyan. Canberra must be too good for this type of business. Anyway, none of them had any turbos available that were suitable for my car. I’ll keep my eyes open.

There is a sharp contrast between Queanbeyan and Canberra. It doesn’t take long to get used to Canberra’s clean and tidy appearance with few electricity power lines on the streets, no corner shops, and curved suburban streets that generally don’t go anywhere. Most other places, including Queanbeyan, are built in a rectangular street pattern, where there is often a corner shop, with ribbon shopping strips on the main roads as you get closer to town. On the other hand, Canberra tends to have clusters of shops grouped into tiny shopping precincts. I went into town for the first time; they mostly call it Civic. The centre of Canberra is very unlike most other CBDs. The majority of the shops seem to be built into a mall, though I must say, a very large mall. But when I say mall, I don’t mean like Rundle Mall or the Bourke Street Mall. Think about your local Westfield shopping centre mall, and then think much, much bigger. It took me ages to find a petrol station in Canberra. You’ll seldom see any on a main road, as in most other cities. Usually they are tucked away in the suburbs out of sight. It must be something to do with having a clean tidy image.

One of the most delightful things about getting around Canberra is the system of main roads. They generally all have 80km/hr speed limits, which is very different from other cities. Travelling from one suburb to the next is best done by getting to your nearest main road, zipping up to 80, and the road signing is good here, and then getting off at some side street near your destination. I used to drive a taxi and you could often cut through just about any suburban side street and find yourself bypassing almost as many traffic lights as you wished, but you can’t do this in Canberra because so many suburban streets are no through roads or loops that take you back to the same road you just left. Of course, the advantage of that is that most streets in Canberra are quiet and serene.

Boarding

One of my new work colleagues, on hearing that I didn’t have a permanent place to live suggested putting out a request via email at work. I did this and very quickly got in touch with someone. So, I took a drive out to the northern Canberra suburb of Dunlop to see what might be my new home. The young woman seemed pleasant, and seemed happy to have me. It was all very casual and informal; which kind of surprised me. Well, I was a stranger, after all. Of course, she pointed out the obvious, “Well, I know where you work.” So we agreed that I was to move in on the weekend. I was good for both of us. She had her house on the market and I moved in on the understanding that I might have to move out at short notice. It was a dicey arrangement, but there wasn’t much else for me to do. She had a very nice house, and that made the decision to stay so easy.

I took the car to a local repairer, and got it fixed. A new tyre did the trick. The suspension wasn’t about to fall off the car, after all. The problem turned out to be a tyre fault. Part of the steel belting that runs through the tyre’s construction had popped through the tread, or a fault in the tread had exposed it; one or the other or both. It’s a wonder the tyre remained inflated. Presumably, as the damage got worse it reduced the speed that I could drive. I can only guess that each time I stopped that car on the trip that I had stopped with the dodgy part of the tyre on the road surface, and out of view.

I was generally impressed that this repairer didn’t see me as some out of towner and soaked me for work not done. He also seemed to think the turbo might need some work, and a turbo repair job might be in the order of $1200. That would be a bill that I don’t need at the moment. The turbo had been noisy for some time, but I always drove carefully.