Wyn Drabble: The day I broke the golden rule

Wyn Drabble.

With guests coming the next day, it was time to mow the lawns. Isn't it funny how visitors prompt all sorts of alien behaviours: dusting, weeding, scrubbing the grouting? But that's another story for another time.

I gave the little nipple five presses as per the on-board instructions. If I tell you that doing this helps to feed the fuel through from the tank to the intricate workings of the engine, you will already be starting to see what a technical/mechanical whizz I am.

I then turned the throttle lever to full and pulled the guy rope (probably not its real name). Seventy per cent of the time, pulling the guy rope starts the engine and there is a pleasing splutter of ignition. Sometimes not.

This time was a not. Nothing.

I tried again. Nothing. I did not fall into the trap of pushing the little nipple another five times as I knew that would flood the engine (though whatever flooding means I shudder to think).

Instead I opted for the time-tested method of yanking the guy rope again. And again. And again. Yank. Yank. Yank. Nothing.

Beads of perspiration were starting to fall from my brow onto the appliance so I decided there was only one thing for it: I went inside for a nice cup of tea. The mower needed time to sort itself out. Normally, letting it rest a bit solves the problem.

Back outside. Yank. Yank. Yank. By now my shoulder socket was playing up (though I know that's not the correct medical term for it). But there was still no sign of life in the appliance.

In the past, it has, on occasions, taken more than one tea break so I had another. As I sipped my orange pekoe, I'm sure I heard the uncut grass sniggering.

It was on the next starting attempt that my brilliance came to the fore and, if you needed further proof of my mechanical prowess, this was it. This was the sort of thinking that sorts the sheep from the goats, the wheat from the chaff.

What say, for argument's sake, it had simply run out of petrol? Using my best unscrewing action, I undid the cap and peered in. My hunch was right. There was no petrol. I had used my intuition and my technical nous to find the source of the problem. Around me, the grass stopped sniggering.

But I had broken the golden rule. I had not checked for the simplest solution first and that is my message for you today. I had done the same thing in a different situation only a week earlier so I should have known better.

I'm sure there are people reading this who have paid a serviceman's call-out fee just to be advised that they hadn't turned the appliance on. Not me, though. I solved my mower problem myself.

As a 15-year-old youth, I sat my practical driving test in Havelock North. To start the Humber 80 you had to turn on the ignition then press the starter button which, for your convenience, was located on the floor.

Mr Plod and his clipboard sat beside me and I pressed the starter button. Nothing. I grew more and more nervous as each press yielded no result. Finally the ploddery advised me to turn on the ignition first.

That was better. Immediate result. And I passed. I guess that was where the foundation of my more recent lawnmower success was laid.

So the lawns were done without further problems. Unfortunately I used up all the petrol so there was none left for me to do the dusting.