Birvidik

Nowhere in Yottie World is the disparity between theoretical knowledge and practical experience more glaringly apparent than in the case of matters electrical. There is a long-standing tradition of argument as to whether medicine is an art or a science. The same can be said for dealing with electrics. My experience suggests that working on electrics tends less to science and more to an art – and a black art at that.

A prime example of this occurred during our most recent attempt to sell Birvidik. It was all going very well; the prospective buyers seemed very keen, even to the point of putting down a holding deposit and flying out to Greece solely to view Birvidik. Things were looking up.

The broker showed them round the boat and they made suitably encouraging ‘ooh’ and ‘aahh’ noises. He then cleared off and left them with us to answer any detailed questions they may have had. Mistake. We should not be left unsupervised and unchaperoned.

Everything went swimmingly at first. We got on like a house on fire and really sold the idea of the boat as a liveaboard. Then I got carried away with my own rhetoric. “Shall I start the engine and show you the bowthrusters in action?” I asked. They agreed, enthusiastically.

“Note that we’re starting from cold” I said and turned the key. The engine started within microseconds. I looked round and beamed. “First time, every time” I announced proudly. We moved on to the piece de resistance, the bowthrusters.

I pressed the button confidently. Instead of the throaty thrum of a powerful electric motor and a cascade of water and disorientated crustaceans as we expected, there was a feeble hissing noise coming from somewhere below, accompanied by a pathetic whirring. “They must be clogged up with coral worm” I said. So I tried running them in the other direction.

At which point the strange noises stopped. Unfortunately, so did the bowthrusters and the engine.

“Don’t worry” I said confidently, “I’ll fix that.” And I believed it, but I don’t know if my confidence convinced the prospective buyers. They certainly didn’t come back with an offer afterwards.

After they had gone I set about solving the problem. “Shouldn’t be too much trouble to an ex physics teacher” I thought as I opened up the electrics toolkit and extracted my trusty multimeter, which would be wielded by Severus Snape in Harry Potter and the Crooke’s Dark Space. I also dug out the wiring diagram for the engine. I shouldn’t have. It only discouraged and confused me. It looked like one of those flow charts that management consultants use to bamboozle their clients in order to try and cover up the fact that they’re spouting the bleedin’ obvious dressed up as piercing insight by being delivered through the medium of absolute bollocks.

The more I looked at it, the more possible reasons there could have been for the problem. I started to try to work things out from first principles and soon came to the conclusion that possible causes would expand exponentially. What I needed was not deep theoretical knowledge, but to have an idea of the most likely thing to investigate first, otherwise I could be here until the Metropolitan Police solve more crimes than they commit. Then it occurred to me – there were people who had such knowledge. They are called marine engineers or diesel mechanics. So I went and got one.

He came on board and listened patiently as I wittered away, describing the symptoms and showing him the batteries and the engine & bowthruster harnesses. I could have sworn he was trying to suppress a knowing little smile while I blethered on about all the readings I’d taken with my trusty multimeter.

When my pathetic ramblings finally petered into fading incoherence, he politely paused for a millisecond before pointing to one of the eight battery terminals and saying confidently “It’s that connection there.” He then proceeded to prove himself right and me incompetent by tightening it up; at which point everything sprung back into full working order.

I asked him how he managed to work it out so quickly. He replied that nine times out of ten a failure on heavy current demand is due to a faulty battery connection. “But how did you know immediately which connection it was?” I asked. He just smiled and pointed to the small, shiny drops of lead at the base of the terminal and the sooty mark on the case above it: both dead give-aways of a poor connection that’s arcing under heavy load.

Twenty five euros minimum call-out well spent I reckon. I gave him thirty. At least I know what to look out for if it happens again