When I bought my car (which seemed good at the time), the bloke I bought it from reckoned when the fuel light went on, you had about another 50K on it. So far it’s never caused me trouble — I’ve never tried to do a Krameresque “how far will it go”, and it’s never actually ran out.

So I was driving along on Tuesday, and noticed the petrol gauge was almost empty, but the light was off. I was in a bit of a hurry, and decided not to fill up just yet. Parked at my mum’s place, and after a nice cup of tea, went to head home.

The car wouldn’t start. I was pretty sure the battery was okay, having replaced it just last year, and I didn’t think the fuel gauge would suddenly start being super-sensitive. The light hadn’t even gone on.

And of course, having let my RACV membership lapse, they’d be no help to me.

Thankfully Peter wasn’t far away, and after theorising that maybe the tank was empty enough to stop the car starting, went to look for a jerrycan. He found one all right, but didn’t have a funnel, just a rolled up piece of newspaper. He remarked that it was like Bush Mechanics.

After buying $10 of petrol from the nearby 7-11, we managed to get some of it into the tank, and then started the car. It worked.

I rolled it over to the pump and filled the rest of the tank and drove home.

It’s not a long drive, about ten minutes, and a bit over halfway there, the engine stopped. I didn’t realise what had happened at first, as we were still moving. The power steering went, making the wheel sluggish, and changing gears wouldn’t do anything. The electrics worked, and I indicated and drifted over to the kerb and cruised to a stop.

Blargh.

The engine started again straight away, and got us home.

We didn’t drive anywhere yesterday or today, but tonight I took another look. Thought I’d take it for a short test drive, and see if it happened again or if it was some freak occurrence that I could ignore.

It happened again.

Dammit.

This time, it took a couple of goes to start again.

So I’d better ring the mechanic first thing in the morning and take it up there, and hope it doesn’t stall too many times along the way. In fact I’m half inclined to drive it up there tonight while there’s no traffic around that I’ll get in the way of.

I think something similar happened a few years ago. Don’t remember what it was, but the alternator rings a bell. Or the spark plug? Okay I admit it, I have no idea.

And just as my bank account is almost looking healthy enough to get rid of it and upgrade, too.

Bloody cars.

11pm. Drove up to mechanic. Of course, performance was flawless. Will ring in morning and hope they can look at it.

On Monday I took an early lunch and met my mum and Peter and the kids for a jaunt up onto the Eureka Skydeck. My mum had won tickets for four, but didn’t want to go up herself.

The lift had buttons for 1, 2, 86, 87 and 88. Hmm. The automated voice reckoned we were going up at 9 metres per second. Once the doors opened, we saw the view — impressive to say the least.

Quite spectacular views across the bay, along the river, and over the city. Toy trains and cars moved around below us.

The prize included tickets to The Edge — that vulnerable-looking glass box that you get in and it slides out so it’s sticking outside the building and you can look in any direction — including down.

From the nearby verandah, which was isolated from the main deck by an airlock, and damn windy, we saw it slide out. And having read Rob’s description recently, I was keen to go on it.

But there was a queue of at least 15 minutes — at least they say 15 minutes, but they really mean 30+ minutes — and I had to get back to work. And the kids were… uneasy about it. Peter stayed and queued, and enjoyed it — but the rest of us declined and scarpered. I definitely want to try it another time.

On the way down, the lift automated voice revealed that in high winds, the top of the building would move up to 60cm. I think I’m glad I didn’t know that on the way up.

Attention: Tracey and Joanna Hoyle, and Tracey Anne Tobias.

None of you live at my house. (I checked; these aren’t aliases the kids are using.)

So please stop giving my address to people.

The mail for you has gone back to the sender.

(Unlike last time, I did check the White Pages to see if the names matched to similar addresses nearby. … Okay okay, I admit it, I remembered to check this after I’d mailed them back, but there wasn’t a match anyway.)

I do wish the owners of automatic doors would think more of us fast-walkers.

Obviously if doors are next to a lot of passing traffic, the sensors can’t look too far for moving people, but if they’re in a corridor, it shouldn’t be too hard to detect oncoming speedsters.

As it is, at places like the Port Phillip Arcade, I have to slow down to a fraction of my usual speed to avoid bumping my nose on the glass.

I guess I could wave my hand or briefcase ahead of me to give it some warning that I’m coming, but it would look pretty silly.

Or is it just me that has this problem?

So, Eastlink is open. Whoop-de-do.

And even though it was meant to be the solution to eastern Melbourne’s traffic, it’s already clear it’s just moved the problems elsewhere:

Opposition leader Ted Baillieu said congestion on Eastlink could cause problems at both ends including at Hoddle Street and at the Frankston end at the Cranbourne Road intersection, which the government had not dealt with. — AAP

Even the RACV is saying the same thing, using it to ask for yet more roads to fix the problems caused by this one. Masterful! I mean, why did we bother?

As for the claimed $15 billion in economic benefits, that little myth is predicated on all sorts of false assumptions.

Normally I’d say that just like any other motorway, it’ll be chocka within 5-10 years, like all the others. And it may well be, with tollway operator ConnectEast happily pointing out in a corporate briefing on 13/6/2008 that: “Even if economic growth slows, many motorists don’t have much choice; they still have to drive … Certainly in the Eastlink corridor, there aren’t a lot of other options”.

But with Vicroads data showing rising petrol prices are reducing road demand, instead it may become a multi-billion dollar white elephant.

Over in the west, however, they’ve got the right idea: Huge rail expansion for Perth.

Cartoon: Ron Tandberg, The Age 11/11/2004

On the 12th of August 1990, I sent out an email. It went to a handful of friends, under the name “Toxic Custard Workshop Files.” It was the first of many, initially made up of (allegedly) humorous writing, though these days it’s mostly the previous week’s blog posts.

Tonight, 30th of June 2008, I’m sending out the 900th of these emails (more or less; the numbering isn’t exact). For some reason, I’m not sure why, people are still reading them.

• Toxic Custard — I haven’t had time to update it much recently
• History of Toxic Custard
• Subscribe to the weekly emails

The over-arching rule is: Don’t waste people’s time.

Don’t invite everyone in the known universe, unless they’re all genuinely needed on the phone at once. Talk to them individually if possible; it’s often more efficient.

If plans change and some people aren’t needed after all, let them know.

If you have people in different states/cities, use a service with a frecall 1800 number dialin, or at least a local 1300 dialin. People dialling in from home don’t want to incur a long distance bill just to sit on the phone for an hour to say their ten words.

Start the conference on time. If you intended to kick things off at 10 past, schedule the damn meeting for 10 past.