Out in the recycling room lies a fan. There are six apartments on this floor, and I am not the one who threw it out.
Why did it get thrown out?
Well, it is a bit dirty.
I plugged it in long enough to see the blades turn at speed.
Here is a close-up of a blade of the fan; caked with dust glued on by some kind of oil. Not the kind of thing I’d like to have blasting up my nostrils on a hot night.
So I dismantled it, plunged the lot, motor and all, into a large bowl of dishwashing-detergent hot water and made myself another cup of coffee and did a crossword puzzle.
A bit of a scrub with my long-handled dishwashing brush and the casing turned from khaki-brown to pearly-white. I wish my teeth looked this good.
Here it is re-assembled. Looks quite nice doesn’t it?
An “Airworks” desk fan. Three-speed control knob (cleaned up with an old toothbrush)
The model number will give me a rough age.
The two-core cable cleaned up rather well too.
I figure that the gunk was condensed tar from cigarette smoke. Now who, on my floor, is a smoker? (heh heh!)
Later: I read on the label “01/2008” so my guess is that this fan is at most eight years old. So now you see what cigarette tar does to a fan whose blades are moving at high speed, can you imagine what cigarette tar does to lungs, where the passage of air slows to zero – high rate of deposit then – on each breath?
The Toronto Star
Full marks for whichever editor laid out this page for Saturday’s edition.
The first article blasts the concept of zoos, bad places, insidious, no one in their right mind would go there, blah blah blah ...
The second article blasts Queen Elizabeth and the Royal Family and Royalty in general.
And pussy-cat, pussy-cat, was the queen at home when you went to visit her?
Where was she then?
At the Zoo, the Lion Cages, since you ask!