...wearing thick trousers, socks (also thick) and shoes - rather than slippers. Damn foot condition - on my lower half and three layers consisting of a thermal vest, a jumper and a fleece on my top half.
Oh, and gloves.
I am dressed thus because, as you may have inferred, it is very cold. The house is, generally; apparently due to us having a cellar (which is suitably dank and morbid and unfortunately for the Electrical Division of the council's Health & Safety Inspectors is where the fuse box is located). This is a blessing in summer, of course, but of course in the winter that same blessing becomes a curse.
It doesn't take much of a drop in temperature to create a chill like the one I am experiencing now throughout the property, and although this may make me sound like a wimp, it really can be quite unpleasant.
As a well organized and civilized family unit my mother and I deal with this in a suitably mature and civilized way and play games such as Rock-Paper-Scissors, Heads & Tails and I Am Older/Younger/Tireder/More In Pain Right Now Than You Are Therefore It Is Your Turn Not Mine So There to determine which of the two of us has to leave the blissful warmth of the living room for whatever reason and face the arctic regions beyond. We also have electric blankets on both of our beds that we are massively grateful for.
The central heating is never turned on (the reasons for this are complicated and involve a fridge), so everywhere else in the house stays as cold as it gets. But between the warm and toasty living room and our warm and toasty beds, we manage just fine and can cope with the stark frigidness of the rest of the place.
.....Usually.
Right now, however, the living room is not all warm and toasty.
Right now the living room is as starkly frigid as the rest of the house is. I want to turn the fire on, truly I do (the dog truly wants me to, too), but I can't. Because the Gas Division of the Council's Health & Safety Inspectors is due any time now to service the fire. And as one cannot service a gas fire that is has been on for a long time without burning oneself, off the gas fire stays. Hence the thermal vest and gloves. And if I had them, I would be wearing long-johns, too.
.....Of course, said Gas Man (for want of a better term) could have with him special safety equipment in order to circumnavigate said heat - special gloves, for example - in which case I shall feel very silly. But then again, he might not have (particularly as he is employed by local government, which is known for his penny pinching) and if I took the chance and it turned out he hadn't he would have to leave doing his inspection and service, which in turn would upset the council. And one does not want to upset the council when one is residing in one of their buildings because trust me, it is not a good idea; not at all (even if unlike a lot of their tenants, you are paying both rent and tax in full every month).
So here I am. In thermal vest and gloves (thin ones, which is why I am able to type this without - too much - difficulty) and waiting for a Gas Man that might not turn up, or might have turned up already while I was still at work (the lady I spoke to on the phone assured me that they would "note on their system" that there would be nobody there except the dog and cat until 12:45, but still you never can tell, can you?) and left again in a huff because nobody let him in, or might turn up and have special heat protecting gloves to wear in which case I will feel silly.
Either way, we shall see. And in the meantime, despite all the layers I have on, I am still cold.
So is the dog.
Of the two of us, I think he is the more upset (something he keeps reminding me of).
Alice x
UPDATE:
The Gas Man arrived as I was signing my name to this whine of a Blog post, causing a mad scramble as I a) collared the dog (who always goes demented when the door knocks), b) found the key that I had carelessly left in the kitchen rather than in its customary place on the windowsill behind the TV and c) rushed to empty the cubby hole housing the diva of a boiler we can't actually make work so that he could service that as well.
Lest anyone of a judgeful nature think me neglectful and lazy, by the way, with regards to (c), I wish to inform you all that I was assured by the woman I rang regarding my work schedule yesterday that it was a "gas fire service ONLY" and that the boiler wouldn't be touched, and therefore there would be no need to empty out the room it was stuck in the back of behind mountains of essential junk; but it turns out she was misinformed. That, or she is a spiteful wench that derives pleasure from the thought of causing chaos in the life of some poor council tenant that has done her no ill whatsoever, but on balance, I reckon the first assumption is probably correct.
Anyway, the room containing the boiler (and everything else we can't think what to do with) has been cleared, the Gas Man - having finished in the living room - is in there right now doing whatever it is Gas Men do to boilers, the gas fire itself is now on having been thoroughly (or at least I assume...?) serviced, the living room is toasty warm and the dog is stretched out on the carpet in blissful toasty warm comfort sound asleep.
All is well.
P.S. in case anyone was wondering; the Gas Man did have special heat protecting gloves, BUT upon curious questioning he confided that in the circumstance of continually touching a scorching hot surface for a great length of time (rather than taking hold and quickly letting go), they weren't all that much use. So he was grateful that the fire had been off; it meant that he could get straight in and plough his way through rather than having to wait or continually take breaks.
So there, possible naysayers. Vindicated is I.
=sticks out tongue=
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