Saturday (I don't want to blog about politics) night

We spent most of today working on Mrs Bucko's car. I think I mentioned she bought an old Sierra XR4i earlier this year from Essex?

She had spent weeks trawling ebay for the right type of Sierra and when she found it it was in Essex. I said Essex was way too far to go for a car but she insisted she wanted it, bought a train ticket and buggered off.

It's been leaking oil from the rocker cover so we fixed that, then we removed an old redundant alarm system and the old air box as someone has fitted an after market filter. We also tidied up some pipework that's been added for the new filter, then we cleaned the engine as best we could with a pack of baby wipes.

I also had to fit a new rubber exhaust fitting. I was lying face down on the floor with my head and upper body under the car when Mrs Bucko gave me a proper weggie. My undercrackers went so far up the crack of my arse, the elastic ripped. She picks her moments to be a funny fucker!

When it was all back together she tried to fire it up to test it. Would it start? Would it f%$£!

I pulled out a sparkplug to see if it was getting a spark, which was a job an half in itself because the plugs are buried very deep in the DOHC engine.

Electrics were working fine so then we discovered that it wasn't getting any fuel. This led me to believe that we had tripped a redundant immobiliser when we removed the old alarm so we put all that back together again. Still nothing.

I traced the fuel lines back from the engine and still got no clue. The job was now taking way too long and I had a haircut booked. I had to nip off to the hairdressers in my dirties and covered in oil. I got a few weird looks off the blue rinse brigade while I was there, they must think smart dress is required for a haircut. I must have looked pretty bad though because earlier I said hello to the little old lady who lives on the end of our street and she just ignored me and walked a little faster. I say little because she doesn't cover very much ground, even at full pelt.

When I returned home with the new cropped top, I decided to get the Haynes manual out. When you have covered all options it's best to look at the book.

I read the four sweetest words in the English language in that manual - 'Fuel pump reset switch'. Located in the spare wheel well. I think I have been away from engines for too long because I really should have known that. Schoolboy error and it cost me at least an hour.

It's all done now though. Mrs Bucko has had a long bath and looks like a girl again. I've washed my hands and opened a Guinness.