Once more with muscles

I know you’ll be dying to find out what’s going on with the mower. (Oh, shush. Humour me & I’ll go quickly.) I had to call in the big guns: Dad. This makes me feel like I’ve fallen into Helpless Woman Syndrome, but on the other hand, Dad does actually know what he’s doing, and it’s his bloody mower. The fact he’s just had a knee operation and should be at home recovering makes me look selfish and mean, so I won’t tell you that bit.

The story goes like this (and please keep in mind yesterday’s three bloody hours). The entire operation was successfully completed in just one hour, two minutes:

- Dad drives up to the farm (half an hour)
- looks at the mower
- bashes the universal joint back on with a hammer (two minutes)
- I say thanks very much; he says no problem, see you later
- Dad drives home (half an hour), possibly even whistling a happy tune.

Now, why didn’t I think of that? (Why? Why?) Bash things with a hammer! That’s the answer!