The Theory Of Doing Nothing Till It's Knackered

Blessings generally come in such small packages that you have to snuffle through an awful lot of crap to find them.

So when I wrecked a bit of expensive equipment due to equal measures of incompetence, laziness and downright stupidity recently, I had to trawl through a quagmire of personal guilt and heartache to find a silver lining. But find it, I jolly well did.

The tale centres on a shiny red tractor mower, like the one pictured. The sort that lords of the manor in green wellies are seen steering around the rose garden while milady entertains the village spinsters in the drawing room. Mine is eight years old and is mainly used for keeping the clover, nettles and brambles under control. It was performing its functions adequately until a few weeks ago when it exploded.

To cut a tediously long - and embarrassing - story short, it transpired that I had been woefully remiss in the oil-topping-up department. Apparently my determination to make it continue its duties without lubrication had resulted in a catastrophic seizure. They told me the con-rod and crankshaft had somehow been dragged into the metal-on-metal conflagration with devastating consequences.

The motor had ceased to be. It was an ex-engine.

Quickly putting aside - for the sake of brevity - my sense of shame over this sin of omission, I have eventually arrived at a rationale which has soothed my tortured breast like a gallon of cool Duckhams poured over a red-hot piston.

Swiftly reminding the reader that the mower was bought eight years ago, it had been treated to an “annual” service by experts.....once. Well, it cost £180! For a mower! I mean!

So I vowed to do my own “servicing” in future and I do vividly remember changing the oil at least once. Probably cost me £5. A bargain. Ha-ha, says you. False economy! You saved on servicing but look how much it cost you when the plucked turkeys came home to roost.

Total cost: Just short of £900.So here’s the gist of my Theory of Doing Nothing Till It’s Knackered.

In eight years, if Grumpy o'Man had done the decent thing by his steed, annual overhauls would have cost around £1600, assuming an average of £200 a throw when allowing for inflation.
He actually shelled out £185, say £230 when we include a couple of drive belts which he fitted. So the family pension fund is up by £1600 minus £230 minus £900= erm £470.

So he's actually £470 richer because he’s been a lazy, good-for-nothing tosser.

And here’s the real bonus. The shiny red stallion now sports a brand-new, incredibly quiet, reduced-vibration powerpack with an extra 50cc of muscle compared to the old model.
However you slice the courgette, the glass looks very-near full to me. I’ve got an extra £470 in the pocket and have secured an upgrade to a Rolls Royce among mowers.

And it is all my own fault. Great!

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