ot that this has anything to do with anything... in the 1970s I lived in a small bedsit at the top of a terraced house in Clapham South. It was nice and quiet; at least until the Council put a problem family in the house next door. They weren't a lot of trouble, though I was treated to the sounds of raised voices and breaking plates from time to time. (When I eventually moved the mother was peering round the curtain of their front window while we loaded the car, looking for all the world like something out of a cheap B-movie.)
Their kitchen window had one of those unpowered plastic fans set in it - they just go round in any breeze. It started to squeak, eventually turning into a continuous and rather annoying high-pitched whine whenever there was any breeze. I didn't care to approach the family myself, but I asked my landlady whether she could ask them to oil it.
She said she was on comparatively good terms with the adult daughter (the mother was quite unapproachable) and would ask. Apparently the daughter said, rather crossly, 'I was going to do that tomorrow!'. Yeah, right.
Anyway, she did put some oil on it. Cooking oil.
As you might expect, after a few days it solidified and the fan seized up. Problem solved.
Posted: Thu - January 7, 2010 at 12:13 PM by Roger Wilmut
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Published On: Mar 11, 2016 05:00 PM