Dag beste klussers,
Wij zijn net in onze nieuwbouw woning getrokken en ik ben een paar spotjes aan het indraaien.
Wanneer ik met de spanningzoeker de fase aanraak brandt het lampje, als ik de knop van de lamp indruk (dus uit doe) gloeit het lampje van de spanningzoeker wat minder sterk maar blijft zeker aan.
Ik heb dus de groep op de schakelaar uitgezet; maar merk nu dat zelfs als ik het spotje uitzet het lampje van de spot zelfs blijft gloeien.
Kan het zijn dat het huis niet goed geaard is? Moeten we er een electricien naar laten kijken? (liever niet :p)

Hoi!
Sinds vrijdag komt er in mijn app de melding dat mijn omvormer niet meer communiceert. Ik zie op mijn Solaradge WaveHD (zonder scherm) dat het blauwe en groene lampje snel knipperen.
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Ik heb geprobeerd om in te loggen via het eigen Wifinetwerk van de omvormer, maar dat werkt niet meer.
ik heb de omvormer uitgezet (30 sec, 5 minuten en 30 minuten) zelfde met de stoppenkast. Zijn er nog meer dingen die ik kan proberen, of moet ik mijn installateur weer bellen morgen?

Goedemiddag, ik zit al een hele tijd met een uitdaging om mijn auto thuis te laden. Ik heb een Tesla Wall Charger op een 3-fase aansluiting.
Als ik de lader aan zet krijg ik netjes een groen lampje te zien. Plug ik de lader in de auto dan springt deze op een error (6x knipperen van het rode lampje). Soms is dit niet en kan ik de auto gewoon laden.
Onze monteur weet niet wat het probleem is. Ik heb contact met Tesla maar gaat heel traag.
Output staat op 13A, verlagen van de output helpt ook niet. Het kan ook aan de auto liggen maar ik ken niemand in de buurt met een EV om die even te proberen. De auto zelf laad wel bij publieke palen.
Hoop dat hier iemand een idee heeft wat ik eventueel zou kunnen proberen nog.
Alvast bedankt!

The Vines came almost all at once, on a warm otherwise unremarkable summer night twelve years ago. Teddy didn’t remember their coming. He was only fourteen now, which meant he was two when they came. Actually, it wasn’t exactly accurate to say he didn’t remember their coming.
There were the dreams.
In the dreams he’d be asleep, peaceful in his bed, when suddenly, with the rending sound of a thousand angry zippers the snakes would punch through the walls, yellow eyes flashing, their mouths open wide and hissing, long saber-like fangs spitting luminous green venom. They would spill into the room like waterfalls and begin to coil around him in his bed. Tighter and tighter until breathing became an impossibility and the hissing crowded out even his own panicked thoughts and the world beyond his eyes began to grow dark.
He didn’t always wake up screaming from these dreams, but he did so often enough that his parents worried about it. He could hear them talking about it in low whispers sometimes when they didn’t think he could hear them. Sound carried well in this house. But that tended to happen in structures where the walls didn’t always line up, floors sometimes leaned crazily in every direction, doors had long ago been pulled permanently free of their frames, and windows were smashed and lying on the ground in twinkling shards of glass.
The vines had done all that.
Teddy lay in his bed in the eternal twilight of Vine World, which was what everyone called ground level these days. He knew that if he looked at the wind-up clock on his nightstand he would see that it was eight o’clock in the morning, give or take fifteen minutes. His brain knew what time it was, even if there wasn’t enough sunlight down here to confirm what his brain already seemed to know.
“It’s your Shark-Alien rhythms” his Dad had once explained. Whatever that was. Teddy made a mental note to look up “Shark-Alien” on his next trip to the library, though what sharks and aliens might have to do with waking up with the sunlight, he couldn’t possibly fathom.
The “ceiling” of his bedroom was a vine. Twenty feet in diameter Teddy guessed, big for sure, but not even close to the biggest vine Teddy had ever seen. The vine’s underside bowed freakishly down into his room. On the right side of the ceiling it coiled away and upward towards the sky. On the left it traveled back through the wall it had smashed twelve years ago and down into the ground. Teddy’s Dad had nailed some boards in around the places where the vine touched the walls in an attempt to weather-proof the room, but the vines were alive. They moved constantly, breathed almost, even if it was only barely perceptible, and the seals rarely held for very long. This morning, humidity poured through the gaps between the vine and the walls and a thin sheen of sweat broke out on Teddy’s forehead and in his arm pits.
Mostly the weather stayed on the right side of the “wall”, but not always. It got particularly bad in August, which was Hurricane season here in South Louisiana. But those only hit once or twice a year, and only that often in the really bad years. When they did he would simply move in with his parents, or his brother Bob, for a couple days until the angry wind blew itself out somewhere over Arkansas or Mississippi.
Teddy stared thoughtfully up at the vine. He wasn’t sure exactly what you were supposed to call the skin of the vines… bark he supposed. The bark was scaly, like a snake or a fish, each scale the size of a frisbee and shaped like the business end of a spade. The scales were generally brown, but there was a soft iridescence to them and a subtle shifting pattern of colors constantly rippled across the bark? Scales? Skin?
“Whatever”, Teddy mumbled as he pulled himself up to a sitting position.
It was the thorns you really had to look out for. Teddy was lucky though, there were only two thorns on the vine that had been his bedroom ceiling since just before his second birthday, a day he remembered only in his dreams.
The thorns were not conical like those on the ragged patches of blackberry bush that still somehow managed to thrive in the backyard places where occasional columns of sunlight fought their way down through the alien canopy. No, these thorns were more like the arrowheads his Dad had taught him to hunt with, though much larger. They were shaped like pyramids, with a point sharp enough to stab through wood and four symmetrical ridges so hard and razor sharp they could put a score on a piece of glass.
There was poison in them too. They’d found that out the hard way, hadn’t they? But the less said about that, the better, Teddy thought.
He could hear the house coming alive below him, now. A wood fire crackled in the cast iron stove his Dad had salvaged from… somewhere, and Teddy could smell the faint odor of the smoke working its way up to his nose through the many gaps in the crazy vine-altered structure of their house. Firewood was not a problem in Vine World. The trees that hadn’t been violently uprooted by the sudden appearance of the vines had long since been choked off by the canopy on top and the strangling alien roots below. As a result, there were thousands of dead trees laying in and amongst the vines, quietly seasoning themselves for the cooking fires of Teddy’s future.
Teddy’s short brown Cajun hair sat bolt upright on top of his head. In a simpler time, a time before the vines, his first order of business in the morning might have been a shower. But fresh water was much harder to come by now that you couldn’t get an unlimited supply simply by spinning a tap. His Dad had built rainwater catchment in all the places where the vines funneled water reliably down to ground level. But while rainfall remained as unpredictable as ever, the human need for fresh water did not. And so what fresh water they did have was reserved mainly for drinking and cooking.
He walked through his bedroom “door” which was more like a concept of a door than an actual one. The door frame leaned crazily to one side like something out of the Esher paintings that hung on the walls of the Library in town. He walked out into the hall and scrabbled down the floor which fell away from his room at a loopy downward angle before hitting a bottom of sorts, and then curving back up towards the stairs that would take him down to the bottom floor.
Teddy looked up and saw that Bob was just pulling himself up the last three feet of the incline and onto the landing at the top of the stairs. Always “Bob”, never “Bobby”. His parents had tried “Bobby” for a while but from the very moment Bob had learned to speak he’d begun to correct them. “Is Bobby a good boy?” they’d ask, and little Bob’s face would scrunch down into an expression of deep thought and consternation and he would bellow “—OB!”
And so Bob he had become, and Bob he would forever be.
He was six now and he turned to see his older brother negotiating the crazy rolling hills of their upstairs hallway and smiled. “HI TEDDY!” Bob almost always shouted everything. It was kind of his thing. But he loved his brother, and Teddy loved him right back.
“Hey Bob”, Teddy said as he lost his grip on the hard wood floor and slid back a couple feet. It occurred to him that it probably wasn’t very safe for a six-year-old boy to climb around on a crazy structure like this, but then again almost everything in Vine World was dangerous. You had to pick your battles.
“RACE YA!”, Bob shouted and took off down the stairs, which had somehow remained improbably intact. In addition to the shouting thing, Bob was always “racin’ ya!” everywhere.
Laughing and hip checking each other in a good-natured way, Teddy and Bob bounded down the stairs, their footsteps pounding a syncopated rhythm on the old wood of the staircase. As they neared the bottom they could hear Mom in the kitchen shouting “Hey, hey, HEY! Come on guys, slow it down!” She was worried about thorns, of course, they were everywhere. But after twelve years, six for Bob, the brothers knew exactly where they all were. As they ran, they ducked, bobbed, and weaved like running backs in a sport they would never watch or play, one that had died a quick and violent death on that awful day twelve years ago, like so many other things.
The boys skidded to a stop on the old linoleum floor of the kitchen, still giggling and elbowing each other in the ribs. A vine the width of an elephant’s trunk stood in the very center of the kitchen. It had erupted up through the floor like a demonic volcano and now occupied the room like a support strut holding up the ceiling. It was covered with razor sharp thorns, and Mom and Dad had done the best they could to wrap the lowest and most dangerous of them in old towels, ragged bits of clothing, and a few salvaged traffic cones so that there would not be a repeat of the “accident” that had killed Carthage.
Carthage had been the family dog. He was sweet and friendly and a mutt. “like God threw a beagle, a terrier, and a chihuahua in a barrel and rolled it down a hill”, Dad had often said. Carthage had been a great dog, but a hyper one. It was in his genes. And aren’t we all, ultimately, doomed by our own genetics?
It was his hyperactivity that had killed him.
Carthage was a jumper. All you had to do was look in his direction and even before his name had a chance to fall off your tongue he was up on his hind legs and jumping straight up in the air. Sproing, sproing, sometimes he’d clear three feet straight up, his little head wiggling back-and-forth at the apex of his leap like he was trying to squeeze an extra few inches out of it.
They’d been in the yard when it happened. If they’d been in the house there was a decent chance, Teddy thought, that Carthage might have remembered about the thorns and not jumped so enthusiastically. But they hadn’t been in the house, and Carthage had put everything he had into that final leap.
The thorn caught him just behind his right shoulder and Carthage yelped in surprise and pain, immediately thrusting his tail between his legs and cowering at Teddy’s feet, whimpering with fear and unanswerable questions.
Dad had come running at the sound of Carthage’s distress and at first the injury hadn’t seemed that bad… well not that bad for a severe puncture wound anyway. The thorn had slid into the dog’s flesh like a hot blade through soft butter. But it was not deep, and barring infection it certainly did not seem life-threatening. But something about the drop of green liquid that hung from the tip of the thorn like thick luminous dew had made Teddy’s skin crawl. And within an hour it was clear that Carthage was a very sick doggie.
He’d lasted the night, curled in Teddy’s lap, whimpering and looking up at his boy with big watery eyes that were full of confusion, pain and fear. And little Teddy had cried right along with him, not able to do anything for his dog except to be there for him. To let him know that if nothing else, he was loved. To bear witness.
Carthage’s end had come before the real end, and that, at least, had been a mercy.
There had been a few final labored breaths and Carthage’s nose, which had been resting on Teddy’s leg, rapidly moving up and down with his ragged breathing, suddenly began to weigh down on Teddy with the weight of something no longer in control of its muscles. And then a final breath came out as a whimper, and Teddy knew Carthage was gone.
But that wasn’t the end. Oh no, it wasn’t the end at all.
Teddy had been holding Carthage in a towel and that had probably saved his life. Carthage’s skin had begun to ripple and undulate like his body had filled up with giant hungry maggots. Despite his love for the dog that had been his only pet, Teddy pushed the corpse off his lap with revulsion just as the dog began to literally dissolve in front of his eyes. Here and there, Carthage’s skin burst open with steaming jets of glowing green goop. The skin melted away revealing the jagged curvature of the animal’s ribcage and then even the ribs began to run in gloopy white rivulets. Teddy had just enough time to think “those were his bones” and then, finally, nothing at all remained of the dog except for a putrid greyish-green puddle of bubbling slime slowly eating its corrosive way into the Earth.
And Teddy’s tears, of course.
It was hard, even now, for Teddy to see a thorn and not flash back to that difficult day. To the awful danger of the thorns.
The towels his parents had tried to wrap them in didn’t really offer much in the way of protection, either. The thorns were simply too sharp. If you were to forget yourself and stumble into one, it wouldn’t take much pressure for the tip to stab straight through like the pike thrust of an angry Spartan Hoplite. And from there, a slowly gurgling puddle of alien slime would be your ultimate destination.
You stepped carefully in Vine World. Very carefully.
But the wrappings did serve as a reminder of what was there. The incongruous pastel colors of the towels and the neon orange of the cones caught your eye and alerted you to the danger in a way that simply trusting yourself to notice the same damned thorns in the same damned places day-after-day could not.
Towels had not been their first idea, nor even their second. The towels were more of a last resort. Dad’s first idea, coming right on the heels of Carthage’s untimely and unlovely death, was to saw the damned things right off.
“Come with me”, he’d said to Teddy, who was only eight at the time. And Teddy had gone. Dad had been a contractor before the vines came and his workshop, really just a shed filled with his tools, had survived the coming of the vines mostly intact. Pulled along towards the shed by his father’s rough hand, they walked into the shop together and Dad pulled a two-foot wood saw off the wall.
They’d walked back to the offending vine with its offending thorn still dripping poison in an obscene parody of Teddy’s tears and Dad had lain the saw on the thorn at its base. With a roar of anger, he’d pulled the teeth of the blade across the thorn. Teddy heard a sound like a rifle being fired on full automatic as each of the metal teeth snapped off clean at the edge of the blade. Dad threw the ruined saw on the ground and stomped angrily back to the shed, shaking his head and cursing under his breath… something about “those Christing thorns!” Teddy thought. He’d come back with a fifteen-pound sledge and was swinging it before he even stopped walking. The head of the sledge came down perfectly on the sharpened tip of the thorn and…
PING!!!!
The sound of two heavy metal pipes being smacked together reverberated between the living canyon walls created by the vines, and the sledge bounced off the thorn like a kid jumping on a trampoline. The momentum of the bouncing sledge knocked Dad right on his ass. He pulled himself up off the soft ground and walked over to the thorn. He leaned toward it until his nose was almost touching its smooth surface, almost like he was trying to see it at the molecular level.
“Didn’t even dent the goddamned thing…”, he’d said angrily. And that had been their last attempt to destroy a thorn.
Mom pointed at Bob, “you, sit at the table, I’ll have your breakfast ready in a minute.” Bob happily ran off towards the kitchen table, his hands swinging back and forth above his head. Teddy thought the kid looked like a crazed chimpanzee when he ran.
Bob pulled himself up onto the bench seat at the kitchen table and Mom pointed at Teddy, “And you, put your gear on, I need some veggies from the garden.” She tried to sound like a drill instructor, but there was a nervousness on her face that gave the game away. For his part, Teddy hid his excitement as best he could. He didn’t want his parents to know how much he loved going to the garden. You weren’t supposed to enjoy climbing the vines.
You were supposed to fear it.
Teddy headed back to the “gettin’ ready room”, as in, “we’re gettin’ ready to go outside.” It was a room just off the back porch, the only room in the house where there were no thorns. The one totally safe room in the house. You could do The Macarena in here if the mood caught you right.
On the dozens of hooks Dad had installed on the walls hung gear that he’d scavenged from a demolished sporting goods store on the other side of town. Teddy shrugged into a suit of armor made of mis-matched gear from a half-dozen sports he would never get a chance to play. Football shoulder pads, a baseball catcher’s chest plate and leg guards, thick hockey gloves and a helmet. None of this would stop a serious thrust from a thorn of course, but it would protect against most everything this side of a glancing blow.
Looking like a rejected extra from a Mad Max movie (they had DVDs in the Library too) he pushed the screen door open past shrieking rusted hinges. Mom heard the door opening, hell the whole world could hear this door when it opened, Teddy thought.
“Watch out for the vents!” she yelled from a room away.
Teddy’s shoulders slumped and he sighed with obvious frustration. “Watch out for the vents” was the unofficial motto of Vine World. People said it to each other the way they might have said “have a nice day” or “Merry Christmas!” before the vines came. But Vine World left no room for such trivialities. There was too much danger, too much fear, and too much at stake.
“The goddamned vents…” Teddy said to himself. He tried not to curse in front of his parents, but sometimes, well… sometimes the right word was the right word. “Le mot juste!” he said, much louder than when he’d cursed. And in some weird way, he thought his parents might have been even more surprised to hear him say that than they would have been if they’d heard him say “goddamned.” But when your kid spent every waking hour in a library, that was the kind of thing your kid was apt to say.
Teddy stepped out into what had once been their back yard.
If you could forget about the danger for one moment, it was almost beautiful.
Above his head the vines twisted and coiled around one another in a vast Gordian Knot of alien bark and thorns. Iridescent color shimmered along their lengths and what ground cover had survived the sudden plunge into darkness all those years ago reflected the light as if the aurora borealis blazed overhead. Here in the eternal twilight of Vine World, lightning bugs didn’t know what time it was either, and their belly lights twinkled and shone in the darker corners of what was a living organic cathedral.
From the safety of the back door the scene looked like a magical glade from a Tolkien novel. If a Hobbit, a Dwarf, and an Elvin Archer suddenly appeared walking behind a grey-haired old wizard lighting their way with a magic wooden staff, Teddy thought he wouldn’t bat an eye. “Might not even be the strangest thing out here today”, he thought to himself, and smiled.
Across the glade, an asterisk drawn in bright orange spray paint beckoned. Teddy scanned the yard, looking for vents mostly, but also for the… Things… that came out of them. There were none, and that was something, at least.
He glanced back at the wall of the “gettin’ ready room” and saw his own compound bow hanging next to an empty space where a larger bow should have been. “Dad must already be out hunting”, he thought. Teddy grimaced. “Anything but a Scorch, Dad” he muttered under his breath. He was getting pretty tired of eating Scorch.
Welp, there was always the vegetable garden.
He made his way slowly across the… Teddy continued to think of it as The Glade, even though twelve years ago nobody would have ever thought to call it anything other than somebody’s plain ole backyard. He moved slowly because things could change in a catastrophic instant in Vine World, and things that changed here almost never changed in your favor.
His head spun as if on a swivel and he walked in a strange crouch, ready to run at a moment’s notice in whatever direction might lead to safety. Twenty steps, then thirty, then fifty…. He counted as he went knowing that it was exactly sixty-seven steps to the orange asterisk. Somewhere behind him, he knew his Mom was trying to keep one eye on him as she took care of Bob and got the house ready to face the day. He could feel her worry across the space between them but there was nothing she could do except hold her breath and hope for the best. Vine World was about surviving one day at a time and everyone had to do their part.
The vines had forced Teddy to grow up fast.
“Four thousand, three hundred eighty days…” he said out loud. That was how many days they had survived by taking survival one day at a time. You never thought about tomorrow or next week in Vine World. That kind of optimism could get you killed. The distant terrified shrieks that sometimes carried to Teddy’s ears when the wind was blowing just right in the darkest most silent graveyard moments of the night were an awful reminder of that fundamental fact of their existence.
Teddy reached the asterisk and put a sweaty palm on it (tag, you’re it!). Above him a dozen pieces of two-by-four marked the upward trajectory of a large vine in three-foot intervals. In another time, there might have been a treehouse at the top of those two-by-fours, a sign out front boldly proclaiming, “no girls allowed!!!!” But not here. Not in Vine World.
The ladder steps went up about thirty feet and then disappeared into the tangled canopy overhead. He began to climb.
A minute later he had reached the underside of the canopy and paused to take a deep centering breath. It only got hairier from here. He pulled himself up into the disorienting alien tangle and below him the Glade disappeared from view, lost in waves of shimmering brown scales.
Somewhere below, their visual connection broken, Teddy’s mom stifled a worried sob and tried to focus on Bob.
A few seconds later and Teddy was standing on a broad flat expanse of vine. Here and there thorns gleamed malevolently in the gloom. Dad had helpfully circled each one in orange paint, not that Teddy needed a warning to steer clear. He looked up and saw the route winding its way up through the tangles, marked with more fluorescent orange paint. Courageous beams of sunlight stabbed down through the canopy here and there and it almost seemed to Teddy that the vines shied away from them, like they were more comfortable in the gloom. In the dark. Where the monsters roamed free and ate their fill.
Teddy had no idea exactly how high the vines went. He’d asked his Dad once and he’d said “dunno Kid, more than a hundred feet, less than five?” It was six hundred thirty-seven steps to the top of the canopy, Teddy knew that much, but the twisting path his Dad had marked meandered all over and around the complex tangle of vines. Sometimes you even had to go down a ways before you could go back up again. Teddy guessed it was about two hundred and fifty feet from the top of the vines to the ground.
Teddy was relatively safe up here. The things that came from the vents couldn’t get at him up here. “As far as you know” he reminded himself. Every now and then something new did come out of the vents, and it would be dangerous to assume that the vents would never vomit out a creature that could pursue him into the canopy. A shiver worked its way down his spine despite the heat of the day.
Ten minutes later he had almost made it to the top and he quietly thanked his Dad for the orange trail markings. It had taken almost a year for his Dad to find, map, and mark this route, and even though he’d climbed it hundreds of times, Teddy knew that without the markings he would soon be hopelessly lost up here. And if you got lost in Vine World, the best you could hope for was that you’d die of starvation or thirst before the Things got you.
It was much brighter now. What had been tiny little beams of sunlight down on the ground had become great gushing waterfalls of gleaming warmth up here. Teddy followed one last looping path around a super vine, this one easily fifty feet across, and saw the final stretch of orange painted ladder steps at the end of a short, narrow tunnel.
Teddy laid on his back and began to push himself along this horribly claustrophobic space where a dozen smaller vines coiled tightly around one another. It was so narrow that if there were even a single thorn in this space it would be impassible. As he crawled, he thought of his dream… and the snakes. Were the vines sentient? Might they one day wake up, realize that a boy was crawling through this passageway and suddenly clench themselves into a crushing final embrace?
In the shadows, Teddy shivered uncontrollably.
A few more yards and Teddy pulled himself into the last chamber at the base of the final ladder. His face was bathed in pure white sunlight that forced him to close his eyes so tightly it hurt. Brilliant sun spots danced on the blood red insides of his eyelids and the complex networks of his capillaries stood out in stark relief.
Doc Hebert, the town doctor by virtue of the fact that he was the only doctor to have survived the coming of the vines, had once told Teddy that he guessed Human eyesight would adapt completely to the gloom of Vine World eventually, and that within a thousand years or so, it might be impossible for Humans to venture out in direct sunlight at all.
Teddy thought that sounded like a damned shame and he laid here a minute longer, letting the sun warm his face for a while in honor of his sun-blind descendants, whom he would never meet and who might never get this chance.
But there was a job to do. He opened his eyes to the sunlight again, pulled himself to his feet, and climbed the last few feet to the roof of Vine World.
He rose up out of the gap in the vines like a submarine Captain climbing out onto the conning tower of his ship and looked around. The view never ceased to overwhelm him. All around, in every direction of the compass, was the terrible evidence of what had happened that day.
Vines. Vines by the millions, by the tens of millions… blended and woven as if they’d burst forth from the loom of the fates. They covered, buried, choked off everything he had ever known. If he squinted, it almost looked like a vast shag carpet of brown and green stretching in rolling hills and valleys to the horizon. Up close, you couldn’t see an individual vine move, or breathe, or whatever it was that they did, but across the miles and miles, the subtle combined movement of all the vines together made this alien roof ripple with motion.
A thick mountain of vines rose, alarmingly, to the north. Dad said he figured that must be Baton Rouge, since there were no actual mountains here in the flat Earth of Louisiana.
The idea that this “mountain” might have once been the second largest city in the state was, well, thought-provoking. It suggested that the vines grew as high as they needed to in order to overwhelm whatever might be in their way. Like the Kudzu that had once threatened to choke off all the vegetation in the American South before the Vines had provided the final say in the matter.
Did the Eiffel Tower itself lie dead and rotting underneath a city-sized pile of vines like Tiger Stadium just a couple hundred miles to the north? What about The Freedom Tower in New York? The Burj Khalifa? The London Pickle? The Taj Mahal? the Pyramids of Giza?
Teddy didn’t believe that. Couldn’t believe it.
He just couldn’t believe that everything that had ever been, everyone that ever was, all that had ever been known, could really be buried under the vines. He thought that the day he did start to believe that, would be the day he gave up and let the vines have him.
Up here, the vines sprouted leaves. Massive, lime green and waxy, they were big enough that a married couple could use one as a blanket if they were brave enough to try. As far as anyone knew, the leaves were not dangerous by themselves. But the way Teddy looked at it, you couldn’t be too careful when it came to the vines. The leaves hung like massive organic solar panels, collecting the sun here on the roof and delivering its energy to the real bulk of the vines deep down in the darkness below Teddy’s feet.
Spread out before him were a dozen raised garden beds made of salvaged four-by-fours, anchored into the woody scales of the vines and bristling with summer vegetables.
“Vict’ry Gardens” his Dad called them.
“Victory over what, Dad?” Teddy had asked him once.
“Over starvin’ to death, Bub”, had been the reply, and they’d both laughed so hard their bellies hurt, even though there really wasn’t anything funny about it at all.
It had been hell getting all the wood and dirt up here, but Doc Hebert had told Teddy he thought the “Vic’try Garden” idea, which had been his Dad’s, had probably saved the town. Once Teddy’s Dad had proven the concept, other gardens had begun to spring up all over the “roof”, and Teddy could see other townsfolk tending to their own gardens in the distance. He waved to a distant figure he thought was probably Mrs. Hebert, it was hard to tell this far away, and she waved back. He tried to judge the distance and guessed it at about two hundred yards. “Length a two football fields, Bub”, his Dad might have said, even though Teddy had never seen a football field and probably never would. There was one in town, about two miles east of here at the city high school. But like everything else it was buried under the choking mass of the vines. The goalposts, once shining and white on Friday nights, now forever twisted and rusting in the dark.
Teddy wandered between the rows picking tomatoes, lettuce, and peppers and pushing them into the carry bag at his hip. He loved it up here. Despite the alien view, you could almost feel normal with the sun on your face and a warm gulf breeze tossing your hair around.
Was the Gulf of Mexico still there? Or was it just a memory, buried under the vines like everything else? He didn’t know, and in any case, it didn’t matter. Any place you couldn’t walk to in the hours between dawn and dusk might as well be on the moon.
Which reminded him. He checked the watch on his wrist. He knew it was still early in the morning, but he checked anyway, out of habit. You always needed to be aware of the time in Vine World. You could run into a… Thing, at any time of course, but at night… that was when they hunted.
His carry bag was full now and so he looked once more into the sun, letting it toast his face one last time. He closed his eyes and mentally prepared himself for the long walk down to the ground and the short dangerous sprint across the glade and back into the house. The summer sun was still hot, but Teddy knew that in a few weeks they’d be up here planting the fall vegetables… pumpkins and squash mostly. Over the years, a brisk trade in heirloom seeds had sprung up alongside the damaged church that had been turned into something of a Town Hall by what remained of their little community.
It's always easier to go down than to go up and Teddy got back to the final stretch of ladder steps almost before he realized it. He looked down through the hole in the canopy, down on the warm lights of his house so close and yet so far away. And again, he had that sense that he was looking in on an Elvish Glade. The way the vines had incorporated the house into their infrastructure, the lighting bugs flitting here and there like fairies, the preternatural silence, it was as if this house existed on the outskirts of Rivendell, rather than Southern Louisiana.
He climbed slowly down the last stretch of steps. His suit of armor felt heavy and cloying now that he was so close to safety, and he just wanted it off. His right foot touched the mossy ground and a sound like Armageddon drove a bolt of ice into his spine and nearly stopped his heart. A terrible ripping sound, like the skin was being torn off the world.
He turned slowly… very… slowly and saw it. A jagged crack had appeared on the ground halfway between himself and the house. It started as a single point and slowly grew, right to left, until it was nearly four feet long. The ripping became an ear popping whoosh and the crack broke open like a lanced boil, spilling a sickly green light into the glade.
A Vent. A goddamned vent.
For one crazy moment he thought about running for it, leaping over the vent and through that poisonous light like a horse leaping over a hedge in an equestrian event. His legs actually tensed up, ready to begin pumping themselves across the space between himself and the vent. And then he froze, all thoughts of a heroic escape suddenly and irrevocably banished from his mind.
Because now there was something in the light. Movement. A shadow. Something was coming out of the vent. Teddy leaned back against the vine and waited to see if he would die immediately, or if the vines would decide to give him a fighting chance today.
What came out of the vent was a nightmare mash-up of a scorpion, a lobster, and a spider roughly the size of a large pit bull. Its dinner plate-sized claws clicked together curiously as if searching the air for something to cleave in two. The six legs behind the claws were much longer than a scorpion’s legs, more like a spider’s legs, long, spindly, arching, and multi-segmented. Each leg ended in a needle-sharp point that dug into the soft earth as the Thing struggled to pull itself free of whatever Hell had spawned it.
It was a Scorch.
Plenty lethal of course, but there were much worse Things lurking in the depths of the Vents, and he’d dealt with Scorches before. There was still a pretty good chance he’d die right here at the base of this vine, but with a Scorch there were always… possibilities.
Sixty-Seven Teddy steps away, his Mom stood in the open back door, both hands over her mouth which was open in a terrified “Oh.” There was nothing she could do to help her son now, and she knew it. Whatever was going to happen in the next thirty seconds would happen whether she intervened or not.
Bob stood behind her, peering out between her legs. “WATCH OUT BRUDDER!”, he shouted, and Teddy almost rolled his eyes. “Yeah no kidding, Bob”, he thought uselessly.
The Scorch’s claws were moving ceaselessly, and their SNAP SNAP caused Teddy to flinch each time they closed on one another. But it was the stinger that commanded his attention. It was like a dagger at the end of a long retractable tail and it too moved this way and that, looking for something fleshy to plunge its length into. But Teddy knew that the stinger itself, and the poison it contained, were not the worst part of what that tail could do. At the base of the stinger would be two small holes…
POP POP… the sound of twin firecrackers and Teddy thought “here it comes!”
From those two holes jetted two completely different but complimentary chemicals. And as they mixed in the air they ignited a three-foot jet of blue flame, and any newcomer to Vine World would have known instantly how the Scorch got its name.
Teddy remained rooted to the spot just in front of the orange asterisk his Dad had painted, frozen in place. The Scorch’s alien red eyes, seated on top of long stalks that could rotate in three hundred sixty degrees searched for him, but Scorches couldn’t see very well, and as long as he stood perfectly still, there was a good chance it wouldn’t see him.
But just then a breeze rustled the hair at the back of his head and Teddy knew that he had a bigger problem. The breeze was blowing his scent directly at the Scorch, and a Scorch could target you by your smell as easily as a hunter with a rifle and a scope.
And sure enough, after only a few seconds, the time it would have taken the breeze to travel from Teddy to the Scorch, it suddenly spun on him. Teddy had been spotted.
The Scorch came at him.
Time seemed to slow to a crawl, seconds drawing out into hours, as every weapon in the creature’s considerable arsenal pointed right at Teddy’s most vulnerable spots. Its arachnid legs were a blur. The stinger came up and coiled back like a compressed spring, ready to strike. The claws opened wide and Teddy knew that whatever part of his body they targeted would soon be lying on the ground, detached and spilling great gouts of blood.
He put his arms up in front of his face. Maybe the hockey gloves would hold against the blade-like claws… maybe the umpire’s chest plate would deflect the stinger.
Maybe…
Maybe.
Across the glade his Mom screamed and for a moment it was the only sound in Teddy’s ears, except for the rushing sound of his own terrified blood. And then another sound cut off his Mom’s scream.
THWIP!!!
Followed by a shriek from the Scorch that was so brain-piercingly awful it was almost a weapon unto itself.
Teddy opened one tentative eye and saw a long shaft sticking out of what passed for a head on a Scorch. Both stalked eyes were bending inward, eyes rolling madly in their alien sockets, desperately trying to see what was causing it so much pain.
It was an arrow.
And now the high-pitched keening of the Scorch was joined by the THUMP THUMP THUMP of footsteps running towards the glade, and Teddy looked up and saw his Dad leaping over a low hanging vine, one hand reaching into the quiver on his back as he did. Without breaking stride, Dad nocked the arrow, drew back the string, and fired a second time.
This time the arrow thumped straight into the Thing’s cerebral cortex, or whatever it was that Scorches had rattling around in their skulls. The arrow had the desired effect. The Scorch dropped flat with a meaty thud. Dead before it hit the ground, its lights turned off as if by a switch.
Breathing heavily, Dad looked at his son, lost under a pile of second-hand sports equipment.
“You OK, Bub?”
Teddy looked back at him. “I guess it’s Scorch for dinner after all.”

This might be a long post, idk, sometimes I feel like spewing word vomit. Anyhow, the issues I've faced playing on FACEIT are numerous, annoying, and fixable (from my eternal perspective). The goal of this post is more of creating a dialogue but also expressing my frustration and gripes.
First and foremost, why does a platform like FACEIT exist? Simply because of the Valve's Inc inability or lack of desire (more probable) to fix their match making platform and providing incentives for those who have hit GE rank to continuing to play MM. So what do people like me who want a more competitive avenue that allows bragging rights, playing against better players, and grinding to an objective? We look towards 3rd party platforms.
Now you would think that this space would be one that offers something that is both of quality and consistency, I mean, lets think about it, what percentage of CS players use third party platforms like ESEA and FACEIT? a small percentage. This means that there is a need and requirement to produce a platform that is competitive and places the user at the forefront of every objective, there aren't that many of us out there and given the niche, users know what they want. They are deliberate and conscious of their needs. How does this look like? Offering 128 tick servers, an invasive anti cheat, regional matchmaking, toxicity/credibility level per player (I'll explain this in more detail later on), and an academy side that teaches players the smokes, nades, flashes, etc.
So given the arbitrary standard I've set above, how does FACEIT compare? Well let's exam each part in detail.

Servers

This one is a mix bag but leans more towards good. If I was to give a numerical value or a rating out of 10, I would say FACEIT servers are 8/10. Why 8? well because I cant remember once or even EVER that a server during a match has crashed or lagged insanely, maybe 1 or 2 times out of 1.2k games. More often that not FACEIT servers run well and consistently but that doesn't mean all the time. That's why it's an 8/10. I've experienced on more than one occupation of lagging on a server but my connection is great and my brother who shares the same room as me is playing Valorant and isn't lagging or even playing CS at the same time as me and is totally fine. The other issues that is annoying at first but you realise afterwards that is ridiculous is starting a match where none of your skins are present. Now, I don't need skins to win, but starting pistol round on CT side with a p2000 and not a USP is stupid and it throws me off completely. Nonetheless, from my experience servers are good.

Cheating

Now this is where I'm sure, you the reader, can given a plethora of examples of people cheating. Lets quickly define cheating, someone who uses an exploit, cheating software, or deliberately benefits from untended consequences routinely in order to get an advantage, pretty common sense. Another form of advantage that I consider cheating is boosting. Not a lvl 7 Playing with a lvl 5 or lvl 6. Now I mean this person, the cheater, is significantly better than everyone else, and is clearing boosting someone on their team or smurfing because they are VAC banned or FACEIT banned and playing on a new account. This is egregious and down right criminal. When I play FACEIT I want to play against others of similar level and skill so that it's challenging, something that pushes your limits regularly is exhilarating and fun.
Why are there opponents playing FACEIT premium with 10-100 games? There has to be rule that you need to play at least 100 games before joining FACEIT premium. Now is this a reasonable request? from the perspective of the players yes, but to ask FACEIT to do this? no, why?, because FACEIT is a for profit company, so eliminating a portion of their player base not being able to give them money is not what companies do nowadays. Not only that, but most companies only care about their bottom line and their customers are a path to that, they provide services and products that we want and in return we given them our money, no issues on that part. How do you fight accounts what are low in games? Every new players pays a one time fee of £5 (adjusted to each country so its relative to peoples income and currency strength, prevent VPN abuses of course) to download FACEIT and participate, this makes making accounts an expensive process if you're doing a boosting service, and until you reach 100 games played, you are shown adverts on the platform, this will help FACEIT alleviate some of the cost of players that not playing a monthly subscription using their platform and servers until they reach 100 games. Once you reach 100 games you get 1 month of FACEIT premium for free and can join premium queue.
But guess what? there's no more premium queue. Cool, y'all renamed it to super match, wtf does that mean? is it premium queue with a cool hip name? No. Explain to me why the F*** I'm playing with accounts with 30 games that are not paying for FACEIT? are the amount of people using FACEIT that low? that the matchmaking system is left with no choice but to force players of different avenues (paid and none paid) to play together? I don't care if i queue for 20 mins. Don't bloody give me these new accounts that play fishy, clearly smurfing, and have no incentive to play serious, the amount of these ogres that started to troll and throw games away is ridiculous. Sort this out, stupid system.
Last , and not least, if someone cheats, that means its a perm ban, not account ban, what the point of the banning their account when they can make a free steam account and be back to playing FACEIT within 15 mins. IP ban or MAC address ban them, idk if that's even possible, maybe with an invasive AC. those more knowledgeable can explain if it's a viable option

Regional MM

This one is the most frustrating thing. The amount of posts I've seen complaining about queueing with people who are geographically far apart is a lot, lemme just say that. I'm a Brit, now please explain to me why the f*** im playing with someone whos connecting, or appear to be based on their ping from the MOON, huh? why. The amount of mofo ive seen with 90+ ping is insane. One guy I played against was connecting from Taiwan, someone else from Saudi Arabia, and lets not get started with the Russians.
I have nothing against Russians but with 5.5k hours, the recurring pattern with Eastern Europeans, particularly Russians and Ukrainians is that their ping is atrocious, so a mofo peaking you with 80 ping while your holding an angle with your 22 ping is a mismatch and difficult to play against, is this a fact? no, i haven't done any conclusive or scientific tests to determine this so its all experience and feel, and these mofo with their ping peak like Ferraris and its almost impossible to hit, you have you change your play style to match against them. ENABLE REGIONAL MATCHMAKING OR AT THE VERY LEAST ALLOW ME TO CHOICE WHICH REGIONS I WANT TO PLAY IN, I DONT WANT TO PLAY AGAINST RUSSIANS OR UKRAINIANS THAT LAG. OR IF THEIR ON YOUR TEAM REFUSE TO SPEAK ENGLISH OR USE THEIR MIC. this doesn't just apply to Russians or Ukrainians, to be fair anyone that plays FACEIT needs to use their mic and speak the English or the most common language, so if im in a team with 4 Spaniards, i cant complain if they are speaking Spanish but give me occasionally English comms.
Russians and Ukrainians? ОДИН ДВОРЕЦ И ОДИН ПУШИНГ МИД ? wtf does that meannnnnnn, so you ask for a drop and they ignore you. or say, ''Green can you drop'', and they respond with NOTHING 🤬😡
please im begging regional mm pls, if you take anything away from this post it's Regional mm, im begging you. The only reason why this hasn't been added is because FACEIT dont care or their isnt enough of a player base to implement this and will result in really long queue times.

Toxicity/Credibility level

ngl im toxic, not like this guy is an asshole LEVEL toxicity but more like shit talking and teasing. Im not rude. But for me toxicity is someone that is throwing, deliberately doesn't drop to team mates (i hope people like this have violent Diarrhoea 😡🤬), or being racist. The amount of players that are toxic and receive no bans is stupid, using filters in chat that catch players swearing and banning is even more stupid and I can say the most violet and horrible shit without triggering it. That in of it self is ridiculous. So players that are more than 60/100 in toxicity only play with others that match or exceed their tox levels. Your tox levels go down by 10 points when you have 5 games in a row with no reports or abuse detections. once you get 100 tox level you get 7 day ban, then it resets your tox levels to 70. Each report or abuse detection is 5 tox levels, however, if you get reported by 2 or more team mates that didnt queue together, so random players, this amplifies your tox levels, so the first report is 5, then the next report is 7 and then next report is 10, then 12,, bringing the total to 34. Ofcourse if you get one report in a game that's only 5 tox levels. the more reports in the same game from players that are not part of a team the more you get tox levels. if they are all queued together, to prevent abuse, the max tox levels you can get from 4 reports is 15.
I hope this makes sense.

Conclusion

So what's the conclusion. If every company listened to their fan-base and customers, then there would be no innovation , we wouldn't have iPhones, our phones would have a million things on them and we would still have blackberry type physical buttons. Companies need to innovate in a way that their view and vision is different but also factors the needs of their customers, Being passionate and forthcoming with integrity and dedication, does FACEIT have that? I would like to think so. Do they frustrate their fan base? Yes.
Only those with in the company can truly know the answer we as a community want and I hope things turn out for the better. In the mean time, y'all stink and are terrible at producing a good service, sort your selves out.
P.S.
If you think this post is ass cheeks let me know and flame me
sorry for the typos and grammar, im not writing a paper or essay so im really idk :
P.P.S.
if y'all have any graduate IT roles in London, please let me know, ive been applying for 2 months and no luck, i got a 1st class degree in computer science and have some personal projects under my belt, but i don't have any relevant experience but my dedication, enthusiasm, and problem solving skills are something i take pride in

Ik heb PC zelf gebouwd. Alles werkt etc, behalve het moederbord. Heb die toch wel een beetje nodig helaas. Oranje debug lampje blijft branden en ik heb zo'n beetje alles geprobeerd wat het kan verhelpen. Ik geef op.
Is er een bedrijf in Almere die er naar kan kijken evt en het zou kunnen oplossen?

Nadat je gebotst bent blijft je motor downgraden terwijl je rijdt zou het niet handiger zijn Als je engine pas schade krijgt bij crashes/botsingen inplaats bv je zit in een politie achtervolging Politie beukt je een beetje je krijg geel lampje vanaf dat punt is het letterlijk afwachten tot je motor uitvalt wat wel een beetje lullig is tijdens bepaalde scenario's heb het zelf al gehoord van agenten "beuk hem lichtelijk tot die lampje heeft en dan ist afwachten" Dit geeft een beetje die winnaars mentaliteit als ik heel eerlijk moet zijn Dit kan de anwb ook wat meer kalmte geven als mensen weten dat een geel lampje niet onmiddellijk hoeft gefixt te worden Dus versimpelt Schade bij je voertuig ook pas bij een botsing en niet tijdens het rijden dit kan bepaalde scenario's wat versoepelen en niet op een timer manier laten eindigen

From a Slack thread that went off the rails:

• Yo momma's so fat she's a /4
• Yo momma's so fat that ping times out crossing her
• Yo momma's so fat that her TCP stands for "Totally Consumed Pie"
• Yo momma's so fat her legs are hosted in different AWS regions
• Yo momma's so fat that when she leans over it's called regional failover
• Yo momma's so fat Equinix uses her body heat to power datacenters
• Yo momma's so fat that her "hello world" took 4000 lines
• Yo momma's so fat that SOX compliance requires a disaster recovery document in case she walks in your business
• Yo momma's so dumb her memory is written in Visual Fox Pro
• Yo momma's so dumb she can't even register on a MIPS benchmark
• Yo momma's so dumb she tried to clean the carpet with a VAX terminal
• Yo momma's so dumb she tried to eat a Blackberry she got off eBay
• Yo momma's so dumb she printed out and ate the Apache source because someone told her it was spaghetti code
• Yo momma's so dumb she sent a stool sample to Linus Torvalds because she "heard he was interested in embedded kernels"
• Yo momma's so vain I'll bet she thinks Windows ME is about her
• Is your momma the GCC? 'Cause she compiles down anything she sits on

...I am not sure I'm proud of this or not

In november 2021 hebben we een huis uit 1932 gekocht. In het begin hadden we problemen met het afvoeren van vocht in de badkamer na het douchen. Na een paar maanden ging het ingebouwde ledspotje (IP 44, 230v, GU10) dat direct boven de douche was, uit. Na verloop van tijd begon ook het spotje boven het bad te knipperen. Aanvankelijk brandde deze alleen wanneer de lucht vochtig was, maar later ging hij ook helemaal niet meer aan.
Er zijn nog twee van dezelfde spotjes die wél goed branden op hetzelfde groep aangesloten.
We hebben toen niets gedaan, omdat het mij geen zinvolle taak leek om te ondernemen voordat het vochtprobleem was opgelost. Vorige maand heb ik dat opgelost door een grotere opening onder de badkamerdeur te maken, en vorige week heb ik het spotje boven het bad vervangen (IP 65, 230v, GU10).
Na de klus te hebben afgerond en het licht weer aangezet, brandde het heel zwak voor minder dan een seconde. Daarna heb ik het (nieuwe) zwarte doosje twee keer opnieuw aangesloten, geprobeerd met een 2.3W-lampje, een 6.9W-lampje en vervolgens meer draad afgeknipt en alles een derde keer aangesloten.
Waar moet ik nu verder zoeken? Het lijkt alsof de oorzaak ergens anders ligt dan bij het spotje/de transformator.

Ok i saw a post saying boring names for specific pets.. (i dont wanna ping the user) so.. what about creative names for pets?
Bat dragon - Bloodmoon, October and Berryshake (i mean dont their colors look like a blackberry and a raspberry?).. or Ice scream (kinda looks like a mix of chocolate ice cream with some chocolate and strawberry topping)
SSBD : Cranberry, Smoothie (not that creative but not THAT boring), McFlurry, Cherry Pie, Gelatin and Shantilly
CCBD : Ahoy (chips ahoy), Hersheys, Crunchy, Waffle, McFlurry (again), Sugarcube and uhm... i ran out of ideas
Turtle : Emerald, Chlorophyll, Tennisball, Scalees, Poison... uhhhhhhhhhhhhh.. i forgor
Owl aka the farm egg blob : Featherball, Truffle, Stone and Cereal (that one type of cereal that are chocolate balls)
Pretty much any ice-related pet : Glacierbreath, Frostbite, Hypothermia, Zero (yknow the absolute zero), Flake (snowflake) and December
Shadow dragon : Blackout, Null and Void
Cow : Beef.. theres literally so much unoriginal cow names i can only think of this one (But if u have 4 cows they can be named Eenie, Meenie, Miny and Moo)
Elephant : Baobab, Allears ("i'm all ears")
​
Used all of my braincells, bye

Citroeninkt is de autobiografische debuutroman van Maral Noshad Sharifi over de jeugd van hoofdpersonage Talar als Iraanse vluchteling in Nederland.
Talar belandt als vierjarige in Moerkapelle met haar moeder Sepideh en haar pasgeboren broertje Cesar. Hier ervaart Talar al snel dat ze anders is dan de andere kinderen in het dorp en ze moet zich daartoe zien te verhouden. Ondertussen moet ze ook dealen met haar getraumatiseerde moeder, en later ook haar vader Arash als hij ook in Nederland aankomt. Haar meester Hans raadt haar aan om alles wat ze niet kan uitspreken op te schrijven met citroeninkt, zodat het onzichtbaar blijft tenzij ze het aan iemand wil laten lezen met een lampje.
Later scheiden Sepideh en Arash en verhuist Sepideh met haar twee kinderen naar Scheveningen. Als tiener in een nieuwe omgeving loopt Talar weer tegen problemen aan, terwijl haar moeder blijft hangen in haar trauma's. Zo krijgt Talar een vriendje, Tony, met wie ze het uiteindelijk uitmaakt omdat Tony's broertje betrokken is bij een racistisch gemotiveerde aanval op Cesar. Talar loopt uiteindelijk bij haar thuis weg omdat ze het niet langer bij haar moeder thuis trekt.
Jaren later krijgt Sepideh een hersentumor, waardoor ze haar geheugen verliest. Daarop keert de inmiddels volwassen Talar terug, inmiddels met meer begrip voor haar moeder, en belooft ze om, zodra Sepideh beter is, met haar moeder hun verhaal op te schrijven zodat niemand anders het kan vergeten.
Afwisselend met het verhaal van Talar wordt ook het leven van Sepideh en Arash in Iran beschreven, van hun ontmoeten tot aan de uiteindelijke vlucht van de dan zwangere Sepideh met Talar uit Iran.
Ik vond dit een erg prettig boek om te lezen. Noshad Sharifi heeft een prettige schrijfstijl, niet te overdreven literair maar ook zeker niet te rechttoe rechtaan, en het verhaal is goed gelaagd en qua pacing prettig opgeschreven. Noshad Sharifi durft veel van zichzelf en van haar moeder te laten zien, wat voor een intieme leeservaring zorgt, en toch voelt het als heel respectvol opgeschreven naar iedereen die in het boek voorkomt. Thema's als intergenerationeel trauma en wederzijds onbegrip komen mooi aan bod, evenals het schipperen tussen de Iraanse en de Nederlandse identiteit en de discriminatie waar mensen die er niet-westers uitzien tegenaan kunnen lopen.
In het nawoord schrijft Noshad Sharifi dat dit boek is bedoeld voor (Iraanse) vluchtelingen om te hebben, maar vooral voor de rest van Nederland om te lezen. Ik vind Citroeninkt zeker een aanrader en een sterke bijdrage aan de Nederlandse migrantenliteratuur. Lezen dus!

Hoi, ik heb laatst een tweedehands auto gekocht. Er was tijdens de proefrit niks mis, en hij rijdt eigenlijk gewoon heel goed. Nu hoorde ik laatst opeens (toen ik op de snelweg reedt) een ratelend geluid in de motor. Ik ben toen naar de parkeerplaats gereden, even gekeken, starte de auto weer en geluid was weg. Vandaag kwam het ratelende geluid opeens weer. Ik wilde weet naar een parkeerplaats, maar het geluid was al weg. Het geluid begint opeens, blijft een minuutje ratelen en stopt dan ook weer gewoon.
Ik kreeg laatst ook een oranje motorlampje, dus ben daarmee naar de garage gegaan, maar die zeiden dat het een sporadische fout was die ze weer verwijdert hadden. Lampje is niet meer teruggekomen, ratelend geluid komt af en toe voor.
Zou dit kunnen komen doordat er iets in de motor zit wat daar niet zou moeten zitten? Of waar moet ik naar kijken? Of is dit eigenlijk best normaal bij oude auto’s?

Goede avond allen,
Ik heb recent een down pipe met sportkatalysator laten monteren onder mijn Audi A1 1.0 8X 2015. Eerste paar dagen geen problemen tijdens het rijden, maar recent merk ik dat hij veel moeite heeft met de turbo. Gister ging het motor management lampje knipperen en merkte ik ietwat vermogen verlies. Ook als ik het gaspedaal intrap in zijn 1 of 2 hoor je wat gerammel wat mij zorgen baart. Uiteraard ga ik na de kerst direct terug ermee, maar ik ben toch benieuwd of iemand hier ervaring mee heeft of een idee heeft wat er aan de hand zou kunnen zijn.
Alvast bedankt en fijne dagen gewenst!

Heb woensdag een stevige noodstop moeten maken, nu wou ik gisteren ergens naar toe rijden en zie ik dat het lichtje van de abs blijft knipperen , is dit erg .Tussen de feesten is de garagist gesloten en ik zou nog ergens naar toe moeten.

Goede avond klussers,
Vanmiddag kwamen wij er achter dat onze ventilatiebox niets meer doet. Lampjes op het bedieningspaneel zelf in de woonkamer doen het prima dus het viel ook niet gelijk op.
Nu ben ik al de hele middag in de weer geweest met google en de handleiding maar veel verder kom ik er nog niet mee.
Op de box zelf brand een oranje/rood lampje. Na resetten dmv de stekker er uit te halen is deze in eerste instantie groen en springt na een seconde op 20 op oranje/rood achtig. De ventilator tikt af een toe en draait dan een paar graden rechtsom, tikt een keer en draait weer linksom terug. Handmatig kan ik deze wel gewoon ronddraaien dus hij lijkt verder niet vast te zitten ofzo en maakt dan ook geen geluid.
Op het bedieningspaneel in de woonkamer zijn de led lampjes gewoon normaal dus alles wat ik aan foutkleuren eventueel af zou moeten kunnen lezen is ook niet zichtbaar. De oranje kleur zou kunnen duiden dat er de kalibratie niet goed zou zijn maar als ik dit programma weet te starten blijft ook alles wederom stil.
Ik kan op de site van de fabrikant wel een complete howto guide vinden over hoe je de ventilator zelf kan vervangen maar die is dan schijnbaar weer totaal nergens te koop. Of is dit een algemeen iets wat niet specifiek voor de Duco is?
Bij een beetje installateur ben ik waarschijnlijk al een redelijk bedrag kwijt aan voorrij kosten zonder enige garantie dat ze wat kunnen doen, buiten het feit dat ik er geen 1 kan vinden in de regio die uberhaupt die Duco dingen noemen.
Iemand hier enige ervaring mee of algemene tips?