Biscuits of Arse

Customed Yeti Tow Ball

Which I think we can all agree is an opportunity missed by the gel-setted 80s bands correlated by their terrible electric drum kits and rubbish names*

However today, we’re referencing a rather more contempory issue, although the photo above speaks rather prosaically to a thrusting medieval sex toy. Although such a toy could only be hoistedby two strong men going equipped with a block and tackle**

It’s a pretty meaty stressed member, even in a state clearly requiring alchemic viagra to return it to an original metallurgic state. For the towbar illiterate, these amusingly shaped rear end edifices are properly engineered to drag pointless lumpy caravans from a standing start to a speed perfectly designed to piss off 90{45ac9c3234d371044e23e276755ef3a4dde8f1068375defba7d385ca3cd4deb2} of the motoring population. They imbue the principals of robustness, strength and longevity.

Unless, and I accept this is a scenario far beyond the edge cases dreamed up by the original designers, you repurpose the entire mechanism as a battering ram. Those long suffering readers of the hedgehog may recall an incident early this year when I tested the efficacy of a subframe attached towbar by launching it into Carol’s car.

It survived. Carol’s car? Not so much. This time, no other vehicles were involved although this was more luck than judgement. Having parked up in a local car park for a swift post work pint, nothing could have been further from my mind than returning to the very same spot an hour later to find my car apparently stolen.

Firstly I assumed foul play from my friends Matt and Haydn. This is not some kind of latent paranoia, it’s EXACTLY the kind of thing that passes for japery for those seriously starved or entertainment. They strenuously denied any misdemeanour mainly on the grounds the car was five minutes from the pub, and none of us had ventured furthered than the loo.

Hmm. A good argument but not compelling on the not unreasonable grounds of ‘where the fuck is my car then?‘. We found it seconds later having cast our eyes down the slope to a useful wall, recently brought into action preventing a ton and a half of ice cream van parking itself into a innocent partys Friday evening.

Handbrakes are over-rated. For thirty years I’ve been pulling the bloody things before going for a belt-n-braces engage first gear – thenexisting the vehicle. That night, I failed to do either and certainly not both with the resulting farce of the car accelerating driverless into the aforementioned wall and not someones living room.

My relief at finding the car and finding it apparently undamaged was mitigated somewhat on discovering the brick-dust and strangely angled tow-ball the following morning. Since we found it six inches from the saviour wall, it probably smackedt it quite hard before rebounding to a shuddering standstill.

Could have been worse. A lot worse. Firstly there was a car parked behind me which my Yeti would have collected had he not had the presence of mind to move it, and without the tow bar I cannot imagine the physical and fiscal damage that’d have been inflicted on the non shatter proof bodywork.

I did consider getting a proper adult to check for further damage but decided against for three good reasons: a) I already felt stupid enough b) a quick poke about with a torch suggested most things were pointing in the same direction and c) I’m trading it next year and don’t want to look guilty to any perspective buyer.

The good news is the tow-bar is firmly bolted to the subframe so transferring the impact to a whole lot of chunky metal. The less good news is my ongoing stupidity in charge of dangerous wheeled goods shows no sign of diminishing. Maybe I should design a full car airbag.

* and I love 80s groups. But I’m not blind to their many failings. Rolled up suit sleeve jackets? Really? Spandau Ballet I’m looking at you.

** not that kind of tackle. And stop sniggering at the back.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.