Weeds and Radios

Last year I found out the answer to an interesting and important question, namely, how does Cambridge University Site Management cope with the problem of unwelcome inter-cobbular herbaceous growth (weeds that grow between cobblestones).

If you asked me how I imagined that such problems were handled, my top 3 answers would have been:

1. weedkiller
2. gardener with hoe / trowel
3. team of specially trained rabbits

All of these are good answers, but not THE ANSWER which, as I discovered by chance when I was walking towards town, was to employ the use of an industrial-size blowtorch and vapourize those naughty weeds. They won't be growing back in a hurry!

Initially I was struck by the 'nuke-them-all' overkill nature of such an approach, but then I realised that it's probably as fast or faster, and more effective at permenant weed despatchment than the other methods (with the possible exception of 3 in certain circumstances - e.g. specially trained rabbits using rabbit-size blowtorches).


'Why are you telling us this Dr Joe?' you may well be asking... Well, it is because this is the first of two blowtorch-related anecdotes, and I think it rare for one man to have two blowtorch stories in such a short space of time. The first was a warm-up for the second, which I shall now relate:

For Christmas some people grouped together and gave Debs a smart new shiny car stereo, as the previous one had broken, trapping a tape inside, and even despite efforts to fix it by stabbing it with scissors, it remained broken. Stephen had asked me if myself and Dave would fit it, to which request I assented, making clear however that I was not a Dr of Car Radios, no, and had never done it before, but really how hard could it be... Stephen, with poetic licence, told Debs that I was an absolute expert and had done it loads before - 'that Joe, he knows what he's doing!'

And indeed this positive thinking rubbed off and that day as I borrowed the keys I was anticipating a 30 - 60 minute procedure - 3 hours later in darkness and near-zero temperatures we finished with a working radio! Or did we..?

It took an hour to remove the radio from the dash, partly because of incompetence/taking too much care, and partly because the plastic clips holding the wire sockets in broke, locking them in securely. There were more problems as the previous radio had been wired in using only tape, which, with the passage of time, had degraded and fallen off. The car wires, which were now a mess were not coloured following a standard code. I then broke the glove compartment. It was very nearly sweary-smashy time until Dave arrived with a BLT+ (I can't remember now, but there was an extra specialness - avocado?, do remind me).

Off Dave went to get some more kit: his multimeter, a light to allow us to see, some tape, some solder and of course, the bit you have been eagerly anticipating, his blowtorch - a small and easily manoeuverable chef's one for making a crisp creme brule.

So there sat Dave and I, in a parked car in east London, with the windows all steamed up, a miner's light lighting our confuse'd brows, which were further highlighted in brief bursts of blue light as we used the blowtorch to solder wires together. To the casual passer-by / policeman it must have presented an interesting although generally non-remarkable sight. (Only one man was excited enough to make any form of inquisition - and that was by shouting "Alrigh tmate! Wokin hadd mon? Yeah", on both forward and reverse legs of his journey to the shop. I of course responded customarily "Hi, hmm, yeah!").

Being more accustomed to soldering with a soldering iron, using a blowtorch instead presented a steep learning curve for both Dave, who wielded it and myself Joe, who stood to lose a number of non-essential yet desirable faculties if Dave should err. After a number of failed trials, an effective blowtorch solution (EBtS) was arrived at, which minimised the production of noxious burnt plastic fumes, and also the frequency of Joe's fingertip burnings and molten-solder-on-Joe's-hand incidents. Even though it was a cold evening, my hands were, at least on average, at a pleasant temperature.

So we soldered the speaker cables and power cables in, and all was well, until we found that the double wire joints installed further up by the previous wirer were all faulty. So we had to start again, but with a much shorter dashboard clearance and consequently a much higher potential for flesh burning. Thankfully this was not one of Dave's psycho-days.

Refreshed by cups of tea (which reinforced the steamed window effect), we finally reconnected all the wires, and put the central dash back on, and slotted the radio in. And except for the glove compartment which was still broken) it was finished! Or was it..?

Off we went for some more tea, some cake and Lord of the Rings RISK.

However, this is not the end, oh no. For later that week I received a TXT MSSG, informing me that the radio had now ceased working! Disaster. The levity and feeling of fulfilment which accompanies the success of such ventures was dashed. We had not done the job properly, and naturally both Dave and I, being male, took this as a personal failure, and a blow to the old self esteem.

I am happy to say has now been resolved through the further use of a blowtorch, not only to solder some more wires together (dodgy fuse casing and connector), but also to melt/burn the glove compartment hinge for to embed reinforcing washers - in case you were interested. The infused molten plastic has mainly rubbed off my fingertips now, only to be replaced by a strange blackening associated with handling artichokes (another king amongst foodstuffs). So the job is now done, hopefully, and both radio/cassette player and glove box function properly.

In celebration Dave took me on a shopping binge - first to IKEA, where he ran off and got lost in 'Plasticware' and then blamed me, and where I purchased a tenderising hammer, a giant ice-cube tray and some candle flares to fill Dave's front room with smoke, and then a man and his ladyfriend attempted to appropriate my trolley so as to take my £1 coin, but I soon put a stop to their dirty tricks!

Thence to Tesco for victuals and wifey-treats. Indeed there was more excitement there as I, returning from a biscuit scouting mission, was told by Dave, already ensconced in the queue, to take his place as he ran off. The queue shortened and then it was 'our' turn and then time for me to pay for all his shopping! But then, like in Chariots of Fire, day came sprinting along in apparent slow-motion - bar of chocolate in one hand, pot of fancy yoghurt in the other... And all was well, until I filled his front room with flare smoke...