Lowtie's rant

Mon.05.06.06. We have had another frustrating day trying to make the screen fit the scuttle top. The screen sits well on the scuttle in the upright as well as the resting position but when required to operate the folding mechanism forces the lower corners open. Just when we think that all the problems have been solved another one jumps up and bites us on the arse. By the end of the day we suspect we have mistakenly attempted to set the screen too far back on the scuttle. We have concluded this for several reasons. The width of the scuttle increases towards the rear edge, which causes the screen, when opened, to track the profile. But by doing this it opens by an intolerable amount. We had built our calculations around the screen in the folded position assuming once raised its ‘travel’ would be the same. But, when raising the screen the lower corner joints split squeezing the sealing rubber onto the scuttle top, which also prevented the folding mechanism to operate effectively. Alas, it has been a wasted day. Two forward, three back.

The dark mood continued at the Oak with dull, matter of fact banter. Only brightened by Andy Lewis description of Lowtie’s house (Andy is converting his flooded cellar into a flooded Granny flat). “Every evening we empty the cellar preparing the groundwork for the next day. But when we pitch up for work the following morning there are dead birds and other critters hanging up all over the fucking place, which John has either shot, netted or trapped. It’s quite common to see Lowtie endlessly banging away on his PC writing poisoned, bitter letters to his principal targets, the NW water board, indifferent, incompetent councillors, his indolent, corrupt, shady MP, his bent, slippery insurance company, who in spite of everything, persist to drag their feet even after ten months of ‘reasoned’ negotiation; in fact, anyone vaguely connected to his present plight. Yet, he still finds enough time to simultaneously murder local wildlife as well as periodically leaving his desk to verbally abuse traffic wardens. Waving a pointed finger at the cowering metre maid he explodes forcefully into, there’s the fuckin’ fascist bitch who booked my car last week. Welcome to Planet Lowton”.