It Is Time… (a.k.a. The Day the Die Press Arrived)

So, things are going well.

I’ve officially hit the Christmas run-up, I’m learning my craft, honing my skills, paying my dues… all that good, noble stuff. After some quiet contemplation, my inner monologue slowly faded in—spoken, of course, in Rafiki’s voice:

“It is time…” 🐒🌿
(Lion King reference. You’re welcome.)

I’d been holding off on this purchase for a while. Not because I didn’t want it—oh no—but because I didn’t want to be lazy in my craft. I wanted to learn the skills that justify the tool, not use it to cut corners… literally and metaphorically.

But now?
Now it was time.

Enter: The Die Cutting Press

That’s right. I bought a die cutting press.

But not just any press.

Oh no.

I went for the VEVOR 3-tonne, 14.2" x 10.2" Press. The big lad. The final boss of workshop upgrades. With:

i: A manganese base plate 
ii: A 3303 lb press limit
iii: A weight north of 40kg
iv: And enough industrial menace to make my tool chest nervous

This thing wasn’t just a tool—it was a statement.

Now… Where Do I Put It?

Originally, I had this charming little fantasy where the press would be mobile. You know—use it, tuck it away, live happily ever after.

Then it arrived.

At over 40kg, that idea died instantly. I am many things, but I am not carrying that back and forth every time I want to punch leather.

So, after some strategic staring into space, I settled on an assembly-line layout: press next to the tool chest and pillar drill. Efficient. Logical. Beautiful.

There was just one tiny problem.

There was nothing there to put it on.

Heath Robinson to the Rescue

In true Heath Robinson fashion, I bodged together a bench extension using some old pallet wood and a healthy dose of optimism.

Was it pretty?
No.

Was it square?
Also no.

Did it work?
Absolutely.

And just like that—hey presto—the benchtop was complete.

The Lift (or: A Test of Mortality)

With my newly expanded bench ready, it was time for the final challenge: getting the press from the workshop floor to the benchtop.

I assumed the position.
Braced myself.
And in one swift, decisive motion, the press went from floor to bench.

No hesitation.
No turning back.

Some worrying cracking noises came from me, but we won’t speak of those.

Victory (Questionable, but Real)

And there it was.

The press was in place.
I was still alive.
Although… questionably so.

Another great success.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have leather to crush and life choices to reconsider.