Perils of a single garage
Before I start.... my dad is a diy genius.... Everything he does is to the highest standard - he and my mum have been in the same house 40 years, and he has done absolutely everything himself, central heating, wiring, plumbing etc - he just seems to know how to do it (I, on the other hand, am a numpty, but enough of that)

The other thing he does is restore old racing cars (usually single seaters) which gives me some nice things to play and crash in....

As he spends approximately 99% of his time in the garage, inevitably the occasional accident happens. When such an occasion occurs, he is usually compos mentis enough to present himself before my mum, pouring with blood, before he faints (re: a famous screwdriver straight through hand occasion).

But to the QOTW! We used to have a single garage - it had 3 racing cars in it (2 hung from the ceiling) and a whole load of crap (sorry, tools and bits) in it. The result was there was about 1m squared of floor space. Now as I have mentioned, my dad restores old race cars, and he tends to wear old jeans. These get oily (important point).

One day, he's stood at his vice, angle grinding away at a bit of vitally important flange sprocket or suchlike, and as per the norm, the sparks are falling in the 'upper thigh' area. On this day, it appears that the jeans have reached their own critical mass of oil saturation - 'hmm' thinks dad - 'my leg is getting a bit warm' - and looks down to see his crotch massively alight, due to the accumulated mass of hydrocarbons. His angle grinder at the time didn't have a dead mans switch, so he is left holding it above his head, revolving at approx 1 million rpm, while he flaps around trying to put his 'leg' out, in the process of which he slams the side of his hand on a sheet of steel, impaling himself.

'Hmm' thinks he (OK, it might have been a bit more extreme than 'hmm'), I wonder what I should do now? Cue him pulling his hand off the steel, hurling the angle grinder off (straight through the closed garage door) before putting his 'upper thigh' (OK IT WAS HIS TACKLE) out frantically, then walking to the back door and promptly fainting in an orgy of smouldering jeans and singed pubic hair.

I would tell you about the fibreglass resin and closed atmosphere story, but I was only 3 and it burned all my neurons...

(apologies for length, but the cord to the angle grinder was about 20 feet)
(Chevron71 is oscillating wildly...., Sat 5 Apr 2008, 1:13, Reply)