Clouds of smoke, a puttering sound that clears to a regular shriek akin to an unattanded lawnmower gone awol down a moderately long and slightly downhill grassy area, and we have success.
What sort of success this is and in which way that it furthers the cause of mankind is lost upon us as I 'power down the beast' and we proceed to fall around the place with laughter. Is it the release of the previous hours anxiety as we strove to fire up this leviathon, is it the heady smell of success, or have we forgotten to provide adequate ventilation and gone plain balmy?
We'll never know folks cos we soon calmed down and had a nice cup of tea.