Under pressure...
Reversing out of my parking space at Binland yesterday afternoon, I realised that I could see nothing out of any of my side windows and the rear window might as well have had a roller blind, the amount of vision it afforded. Now because I have a convertible, the car wash is a no go area, so I decided to head up to my local garage which had a pressure washer, and I'd clean it myself.
Now I haven't used a pressure washer for at least twenty years - this is probably down to the fact that my last few cars have been most happy in the carwash, unlike the convertible diva I now drive. I was glad to see that nothing had changed (except the price). The pressure hose still leaked sideways, giving you an unwanted shower, and the broom attachment was still covered in grit, and swivelled on the pole, what with it not being screwed on tightly enough. But at least the obligatory dirty bucket of water and stiff brush were nowhere to be seen. These were used for cleaning the alloys/wheel trims, and used to add more muck than what they removed.
Being my normal optimistic self, I reckoned that perhaps the pressure washer was now powerful enough to get rid of a little brake dust but unfortunately, technology on this front seemed to come to a grinding halt around 1992. The only good thing was that the water was hot, so at least my hands, legs and face weren't assaulted by cold water.
I sprayed the car, rinsed the car, brushed the car, rinsed the car (a buzzer tells you when to swap attachments, and to be honest it was worse than learning to dance) and I then sprayed hot wax over it (everything about that screamed out to me 'What a waste of money', but it didn't stop me from splashing out on the Platinum wash when buying my token). I reversed out of the bay (could see everything again) and headed home, driving really fast down the main road to dry off the car before it went streaky.
After half a mile, it became apparent that my brush handling had not been as thorough as it could have been - great swathes of dirt splayed across the front window, but this was just a hint at the full horror which awaited my getting out of the car.
Oh dear.....my mum would call the bits missed 'holidays', whereas I would call them a year out travelling around the southern hemisphere with a rucksack and a pair of dodgy looking trousers. Something had to be done.
Luckily, son number two had cleaned ELL's car last week (I think he needs to remember who does his ironing), so there were various potions and sprays in the garage. Fast forward an hour, and my car looked too lovely to drive.
If it rains over the next twelve hours, you can blame me...
Now I haven't used a pressure washer for at least twenty years - this is probably down to the fact that my last few cars have been most happy in the carwash, unlike the convertible diva I now drive. I was glad to see that nothing had changed (except the price). The pressure hose still leaked sideways, giving you an unwanted shower, and the broom attachment was still covered in grit, and swivelled on the pole, what with it not being screwed on tightly enough. But at least the obligatory dirty bucket of water and stiff brush were nowhere to be seen. These were used for cleaning the alloys/wheel trims, and used to add more muck than what they removed.
Being my normal optimistic self, I reckoned that perhaps the pressure washer was now powerful enough to get rid of a little brake dust but unfortunately, technology on this front seemed to come to a grinding halt around 1992. The only good thing was that the water was hot, so at least my hands, legs and face weren't assaulted by cold water.
I sprayed the car, rinsed the car, brushed the car, rinsed the car (a buzzer tells you when to swap attachments, and to be honest it was worse than learning to dance) and I then sprayed hot wax over it (everything about that screamed out to me 'What a waste of money', but it didn't stop me from splashing out on the Platinum wash when buying my token). I reversed out of the bay (could see everything again) and headed home, driving really fast down the main road to dry off the car before it went streaky.
After half a mile, it became apparent that my brush handling had not been as thorough as it could have been - great swathes of dirt splayed across the front window, but this was just a hint at the full horror which awaited my getting out of the car.
Oh dear.....my mum would call the bits missed 'holidays', whereas I would call them a year out travelling around the southern hemisphere with a rucksack and a pair of dodgy looking trousers. Something had to be done.
Luckily, son number two had cleaned ELL's car last week (I think he needs to remember who does his ironing), so there were various potions and sprays in the garage. Fast forward an hour, and my car looked too lovely to drive.
If it rains over the next twelve hours, you can blame me...
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