I Needed a Hero

Remember how I said this week that our house has been like Antartica for over a week?

Well, today was the big day, when the oil was to be delivered and the airlock removed, so that normal service could resume, and I could stop trying to hug the sheepdog as if he was a hot water bottle.

I finally found Aaron, you'll be pleased to know. He promised, last Wednesday, he'd come around and sort out the airlock, and the kitchen light while he was at it. But he wisely pointed out that the airlock couldn't be fixed until the oil tank had oil in it again.

I duly ordered oil. A tankful, to be delivered before ten this morning. I was quite fussy about this on the phone. I told the oil company it was because I had a man coming to fix the airlock, but the truth was it was because I was having my hair dyed back to its unnatural colour at half past ten. There is no way I can go through another week apologising to strangers for my hair. I don't know why I do that.

"Hi, nice to meet you, I don't normally have hair like this".

The point is, I've had a couple of very busy weekends, and I'm due another busy one next week, so it was today or never.

I actually refused to use a couple of oil companies who couldn't guarantee the time, despite the fact that one of the was a tenner cheaper than the one we used (don't tell His Nibs, obviously).

Anyway, His Nibs was working today so I told him to be sure to wake me before he left, in order that I might be up and dressed and ready to greet the delivery man.

He didn't trouble himself to do so. He says he forgot, but I know it was because he had used up all the milk. He knows perfectly well that on a weekend morning, the first thi ng I do when I open my eyes is ask for coffee in bed.

He would have had to refuse, on the grounds that there was no milk.

I would have asked him whether he planned on fecking off to the Big Smoke and leaving me with no milk, he would have had to admit that yes, that was his intention, I would have started going mental about his selfishness and demanding he go to Centra, he would have moaned that he had to go to work while I had the day off and before we knew where we were I would have been saying that fine, I wouldn't be living here when he got home.

So he didn't bother waking me up. Which meant that I missed two calls on my mobile, I turned off the alarm, slept through the doorbell and eventually only got up to let the oil man in, (happily, because of recent events, in about four layers of flanelette) when the dog went completely mental.

The first piece of news from the man was that the oil tank was actually a third full and we didn't need as much as we thought. Which was good news financially, but bad news because it meant that it was something more serious than an air lock that was stopping the heating from working.

A few hours later, darker of hair and grocery shopping done, I rang Aaron to inform him that I was now available to have my house repaired, and that I could even pay him since we didn't have to spend more than a month's mortgage on the oil.

He was at our house within twenty minutes. He opened the boiler, and told me that the switch on the thermostat had tripped, whatever that means.  Within seconds he'd fixed it, turned the heating on, and was now ready to fix the kitchen light.

All was well for a while, we were having a chat, drinking tea, I kept stopping him from working by asking him questions about his child, his relationship, and other things that aren't my business. Then, excited to feel heat in the house at last, I sat on the kitchen radiator. It was stone cold.

I expressed my concern to Aaron, who was also concerned. He said he'd ring his friend, who would know exactly what to do.
A few minutes passed, with me still blissfully thinking Aaron's friend would give a few tips over the phone, and all would be well.
It turned out that the pump in our oil boiler was shot to pieces.

There's a good reason why I spent so much of my time last week specifically looking for Aaron. He had already called his friend Jim, who was on his way.
I love Aaron.

Aaron went off to direct Jim to our house, and to buy a new pump, which cost a hundred and forty pigging euro. Money I really didn't want to part with two weeks before Christmas, but it was better than I'd been expecting.

The new pump was put into the boiler and guess what? That's when we found out that there was a reason that the pump keeled over and died. There was absolutely no water in our entire heating system. Which wore out the pump, since it was pumping no water. When the pump wore out, it caused the thermostat to trip.  Apparently you're meant to top up the water in the heating system.

In all your life have you ever heard of anybody having to top up the water in their central heating system? I certainly haven't.

They were in the house for five hours, all in all, but fair play to them, they didn't leave until they were sure the whole system is up and running again, with no leaks or air locks or nonsense.

Of course, all the drama meant that His Nibs got away scot free with not noticing that I'd had my hair done.

I can't believe Aaron rang a friend who came over immediately to sort it out, and then charged us about half what a golden pages plumber would have asked for.

I needed a hero, and I got two.

The point is, our house is warm and cosy again, normality and comfort have been restored. The oil tank is full, the radiators are on, and the house feels more like the Bahamas than the Antarctic.

Please don't call around unannounced for at least three days. I'm battening down the hatches. I'm not letting His Nibs out, and the dogs will have to learn how to use the human toilet. No seal shall be broken, no door opened, until we start talking about how "it's too warm, it's very stuffy" again.

Baby It's Cold Inside!

You're not going to believe the latest from Chez His Nibs and me.

Last Friday night, we came home from work to a freezing house.  We had our takeaway chips under our oxters, lit the fire, turned on the heating, and waited to get cosy.

All was well for a little while, until His Nibs went out to the kitchen to get me another drink.  (I'm especially demanding on Fridays).  As soon as he opened the living room door, the cold that came into the room would stop your heart.

Our fecking heating is broken.  I don't know what happened.  The place was nice and warm on Thursday night. 
I immediately resumed my search for the lovely electrician who used to come to our house and fix things for almost no money.  The last time I saw him, he'd done a course in boiler maintenence, and was all set to start keeping the heating going for us too.

A couple of weeks ago, on one of my trips to Ikea, I bought a new kitchen light fitting.  We currently have the most romantic kitchen in Ireland.  Of the three lights currently on the ceiling, only one is working.  Three of the four corners are steeped in darkness.  If there was ever a place where romance was wasted, it's our kitchen.
So I bought a light and even had the presence of mind to buy the appropriate bulbs. 

I came home, and tried to phone the electrician, Aaron.  No answer.  To be honest, the phone didn't even ring, it just made a sort of disconnected noise.  I was unhappy with this, and worried that Aaron might have emigrated or something.  So I emailed him, and got absolutely no response there either.  I wasn't happy, but in fairness, we spend little to no time in our kitchen.  I didn't think it was a big deal.

It's a big deal now though.  It's been six full days since there was heat in any room other than the living room.  You can physically see your breath in our bedroom.  I had harboured some kind of hope that maybe this would lead to fun warming up exercises, but sadly it's not to be.  In fact, we're both going to bed in two pyjamas each, and trying to talk the dogs into sleeping on the bed with us, for the first time ever, just for body heat.

We get home really late a couple of nights each week, and are only up for about an hour before we retire for the evening.  So the fire isn't even getting going by bedtime.  My hands kind of hurt just typing this.  It's a big commitment just to go to bed, because the whole changing into pyjamas business causes the kind of cold that tends to get into the bones.

We're up half the night fighting over the duvet.  Not because either of us is stealing it, in particular, but because if one of us moves the duvet, dragging a cold bit of duvet onto the other one, ructions ensue.

The dog is in a mad sulk.  The little brat.  If the place gets too warm, he gets sulky too. But I think he's probably fed up of finally being let in from the garden on a cold night, to find he was actually better off outside, where at least he had the space to run around and warm up.
The other dog doesn't care, he just runs around in the complete lack of space that our sitting room contains. It's like living in the bloody monkey enclosure of the zoo, with all the running around, His Nibs shouting at Marley to calm down, and me and Oscar fighting for the warmed up bits of the sofa.

The night before last, I got into bed and assumed that usual marriage laws applied, that I could warm my hands on His Nibs' back, and my feet on his legs.  He almost lost his mind.  There was no talking him around, the mean yoke.

My hands were still cold when I woke up the following morning.

Last night I decided to read for a little while when I got into the bed.  I was too cold to sleep, so I thought I might as well. 
My hands went completely numb.  So I put my gloves on. I know that sounds like the behaviour of an utter maniac, but I was frozen.  I woke up this morning still wearing my black woolly gloves.

Another example of middle age creeping up on us.  When we moved in together first, we lived in the dampest flat in Ireland for a couple of months.  There was no kind of heating there either, and after a couple of months the clothes in the wardrobe started growing mildew.  We moved out, of course.  But strange to say, it mattered less then.  I suppose we were young, and had fire in our bellies to keep us warm.

Those days are over.

Aaron, if you're out there, I need you.  Please. Come home.