I Am Going To Put Something Back Together ... But What?

This week, while cuddling my pillow, I watched the last episode of "The Reassembler." If you have no light bulb moment now: basically you watch James May put a thing back together in half an hour. Those things included but weren't limited to: a lawnmower, a food mixer, and a mini motorcycle. Unlike you while reading this, I had a light bulb moment after finishing the show.

Middle-aged man who likes working in a shed 

In the past I have written about how much I enjoyed putting a bench together. It is incredibly therapeutic, and only thinking about putting a bolt in helped me to clean my mind. However, if I would use this as therapy, it is going to end in a living room filled with wooden benches. Later this would spread into the hall, bedroom and even the bog. Slowly but steadily wooden benches would take over the house!

The Bench of Victory these days

"The Reassembler" fixed this problem for me: Why build something new? What stops me from taking something old apart, seeing where what goes, learning about the witchcraft that is technology and putting it back together? I only had to find a suitable object for this project. Since there is the possibility that it MIGHT not function properly afterwards, I had to be careful. I ruled out all electronics, because I almost electrocuted myself by changed the bulb in my boss's office. On top of that, I tend to use everything that runs on AC.

No matter, there is enough rubbish left that I could take apart. Armed with a screwdriver, I set out to search for the perfect object. I was striving to return to this comfort zone of peace and quiet. Finding the object that needed taking apart was the smallest problem ... or so I thought. The only thing in my room that looked worthy for taking apart was an electronic guitar. Sadly, this has been taken apart before by May so I'd be copying him when reporting about it. Hence I was forced to move on.

I gingerly crept into the kitchen. There I would find many objects: Coffee machines, tin openers, and an old hand-held mixer. "Yes, this would be perfect." The thing has lived for 40 years and still works. It would survive my fiddly fingers. Suddenly I heard a stern voice behind, "What are you doing with that?" It was the only mixer in this household that worked, and hasn't exploded yet. As I tried to very reasonably explain my objective, it had been snatched out of my loving arms.

There was nothing worthwhile in the shed, even if I could be bothered to fiddle with small bolts when it has -8°C. I trundled back into my room and flopped down at the desk. A sigh escaped me ... would this be another adventure that starts bright and cheerful but ends in a depressing conclusion?

Suddenly my gaze caught onto something sparkly: a pair of scissors! It was big enough that someone put a bolt/screw through it.

I grabbed the screwdriver, undid it, and was left with two separate parts.

I hope I can put it back together!

Then I put it back together, and tightened the screw as tight as it would go. This caused the small fault that it became motionless and you couldn't cut anything. So I loosened it by a bit, and voilà it worked again.

In all its glory

Victory was mine! I put a thing successfully back together!