To me, accordians always make songs sound French, like in “Last Century Modern” by Towa Tei… “Last century modern, modern, modern…”
The engine starting to loudly tick and the only things that ticked that came to mind were clocks and timebombs, and this car wasn’t exactly telling the time. The engine started stalling but I was about a quarter of a mile from Yogi’s place so I decided to risk it and let the car crawl the last few legs. By the time I got there, the engine had completely overheated. I’m not talking in the red. Oh no, the arrow was pointing directly at the “H” on the thermostat and since the “H” didn’t stand for “Hallelujah” I was really worried. I was surprised at the absense of smoke and spontaneous combustion, and we decided that it was best to let the whole thing cool down before popping the hood, so Yogi and I headed off to the British Museum.
I love The British Museum. It’s possibly my favourite museum in London (and perhaps the UK, but I don’t want to reserve that statement till after I have visited some of those wacky sheep museums in Wales). I tried not to get dizzy whilst trying to think of a number that approximated the total value worth of the antiquities and art held within. What would it be, hundreds of trillians or what? Yogi reckons way even less so in actuality because some of the other countries just send fakes to overseas museums. This was amusing because I don’t doubt that this fraudulent routine is practiced all over the world, and at the same time Egypt wants the Rosetta Stone back whilst Britain is running out of excuses.
I had wanted to visit mainly because of the Rosetta Stone, Tibetan paintings and the selection from the Korean Foundation Gallery. The British Museum is a 20th century cat burglar’s wet dream with several floors devoted to ancient history from all over the world. The security seemed to be as minimalistic as the decor there and Yogi joked that he could just walk in and take some of the treasures there (if he in fact had the cojones to try lift a half ton bronze Buddhist bell).
I’ve never really ever been enthusiastic about modern history. It’s ancient history that does it for me because I like the study of time and the changes it facilitates. The idiosyncrasies of the ancient world have been so little documented by the people of its time, that it all remains a mysterious lock of sorts. Mystery is the stuff that drives people to seek out the truth. Ever had a friend tell you “I know something you don’t know,” or profess to you, “It’s a secret, I can’t tell you?” Yep, that used to bother the heck out of me too.
I am particularly fond of ancient theological art, particularly the Buddhist pieces like the bodhisattva dioramas and the portraits of God in his many forms in paintings and murals. Since Yogi can read Sanskrit, it was interesting to get a point of view on how much it has changed over the years. He could more or less read it and get the gist of it, but it was written in a different style he couldn’t elaborate on more than it being weird. It’s understandable since we’re hardly still speaking Victorian style English, but fascinating to know how much ancient Sanskrit has remained the same over the centuries. We also touched on reincarnation and its possibilities. I’m indifferent, but I love the concept of it. It’s like we’re God’s machines. At the end of our time, the memory slate is wiped clean and transferred to another host. I guess in those documented cases of people who remember past lives, that slate is not completely wiped clean and thus the next person inherits the old memories. Due to the presence of frauds in the world, it’s easy for someone to become sceptical. But when you have cases such as a 3 year old child being able to recite whole reams of text from a religious bible, that scepticism is itself questioned.
2 subjects that nearly always comes up in conversation with Yogi is street racing and weight training. That boy sure has them on the brain, but as a direct result, it’s somewhat made me quasi-knowledgeable on them. I’d noticed that street racing has taken off quite a lot in recent years; no doubt fuelled by shows such as Top Gear and films such as The Fast and the Furious. Everytime we’re out in his car, there’s always someone that wants to race. Yesterday we got to race an M3 but it got left behind the wake of our exhaust fumes. I don’t know what it is about racing that makes it so addictive, other than the adrenaline of course. There must be some sort of virtual point system at play because everytime he wins a race, it’s like another notch on the bedpost. It’s another reassurance of his driving and the power he’s in control of. I was never really into racing, I just liked taking the car up to high speed on straight flat road. That’s the buzz for me; to be in control of something so powerful.
Yogi’s off to Cancun on Friday for a couple of weeks so it’s going to be a couple of weeks of fun in the sun for him. He’s also going to go to the gym there everyday, so by the time he comes back pumped and well fed, he would be able to crack walnuts between his forearm and bicep. Sanje is also going to start training with weights too, to help speed up the weight loss and simultaneously build a more rigid frame. We’re all light years behind Yogi though, whose arms are like tree trunks, and coupled with his shaved head, he does somewhat resemble an Asian Vin Diesel. It’s a shame he doesn’t live closer to me because he’d make a good training partner. He always sets himself goals and a rough time frame to achieve them in. One thing I’ve learned is to set yourself goals, frequently. You need to know where you’re going and how you’re going there otherwise you may lose your way.
My triceps are catching up with my biceps, meaning I can nearly do the same number of reps on both. I need to set myself a new goal and I think it’ll be to get that “To die for” flat stomach, which literally translates as, “You will die to get that flat stomach.” Woe betide anyone who wants one, because unless you’ve been blessed genetically, it’s going to hurt. During my tricep curls I realised that the motions are almost the same as what the samurais used to go through when smiting their enemies with their swords, so I guess a seasoned samurai could be identified by the size of his triceps? The sword stance of samurais is to hold the sword over your head with the blade horizontal. This serves as an advantage to the wielder because it means your opponent cannot see how long your sword is and will thus have some difficulty in judging distance in combat. I am so full of useless trivia, it’s scary.
So after lunch, we opened the car bonnet and took a look. The dipstick reading was quite low and edging towards empty, which wasn’t a good sign. The coolant had nearly all gone too so it made sense for the engine to have overheated, moreso the fact that it was a non-sarcastic warm London day. The radiator seemed quite knackered but it wasn’t gushing, so that was a good sign. We fed the engine some more oil and refilled the coolant and after that the engine ran smoothly. This was actually the first time I’d done these things myself because it’s my mum who usually checks the car over regularly. We all vacuumed our cars in Yogi’s driveway and wiped down the windows and interior (mine was way overdue), which brought stares from Yogi’s aged, slightly mental neighbour. She signalled through the window to keep the noise down I think, which was her way of telling us to stop vacuuming andfind another postcode to congregate in. I don’t know why she was irritated and because we weren’t being loud, we wouldn’t have disturbed her trying to teach her pets to talk. She’s allegedly a bit senile. It sure looked that way, and you know how you’ve got to keep your eye out for those).
My car seemed to behave itself after its makeover and all I needed was for it to make it all the way home, after which I would give it a proper refill of anything it needed. The bugger lasted about 4 miles before it started to overheat again. The engine coolant temperature gauge was steady at the halfway “warm” mark for a few miles but then suddenly started to rise steeply and that’s when it began to stall and once again the engine malfunction light came on. In those few moments I was able to remember what sheer fear felt like, because the gauge went into the “H” category once again, right when I was on the motorway at a major traffic junction. I couldn’t really stop there so had to drive it past the junction. I crossed my fingers whilst I wished to no deity in particular to conjure up a hard shoulder within the next 50 metres, in addition to the wishful thought of the car not exploding in my face. I wound down the window as a precaution, because if I saw dense smoke escaping from under the hood, believe you me I would have exited my car pronto, Starsky and Hutch style, but not in a style of cool comparable to any cucumber. Luckily there was a bus stop a short distance ahead, so I pulled over and turned the engine off just as the car approached the bus stop’s shoulder. The engine malfunction indicator was glaring at me, seething and the engine coolant thermostat’s meter was spanking the “H” like it was into that kind of thing. I propped the hood open and called my uncle to come rescue me with coolant and engine oil. I was so relieved that the engine was now off and left to cool down because only moments earlier, I had a sudden thought that either the radiator or engine might explode, which in turn might make the car explode, which in turn might introduce me to my maker.
My uncle arrived in his car and had a look. The coolant had all gone, so he replenished that and topped up the engine oil. He fed the radiator some water too and checked it for leaks. It was looking alright and he told me I was really quite lucky that the car didn’t explode because when the thermostat reads in the red area, it’s a sign of things to go pear shaped, in an explosive kind of way, so I thanked my lucky stars and angels for allowing me to stay on this Earth. We went for the drive home with my uncle following but about few miles down the road the engine began to overheat again. I didn’t let it go into the red this time and this was made easier by the close proximity of a leisure complex and petrol station. We pulled in to take another look. The coolant level was OK and engine oil level was fine too, so that could only mean one thing was wrong: the radiator. It didn’t appear to be leaking because it was nearly empty! It seemed much happier after being filled again to the top and it appeared to hold the water. The car endured the rest of the journey home without resistance and I was so glad to see the inside of my room once again.
I guess the best way to learn things is by having bad experiences, because after all, good decisions come from experience and good experience comes from making decisions. This was a good experience for me because I lived through it and I won’t deny that the whole thing shook me up a bit. I was really sweating when the car went into the red and had hatched my “escape from a burning car” plan in advance. So yeah, yesterday was dramatic, today was OK.
My thought for the day: Life is a journey, thankfully with many hard shoulders.
