Our flat is like an ice box today, and the weather forecast suggests this will be the state of matters for a while yet.
We recently ran out of gas (fortunately before I stepped into the shower and had to finish off with cold water – I just smelled bad that evening) and Husby optimistically put £15 on the card to tide us over til we move.
Unbeknownst to us (well, presumably beknownst but forgotten) there was already £15 on the card, so we ended up £30 in credit.
Which is just as flamin’ well, because guess what folks? WINTER’S BACK!
We’re due weather courtesy of Siberia (allegedly) and today it hath SNOWED. And freezled and blustered.
I’m sure our dear friends in their top floor flat with no central heating are finding life much colder than we are (though, actually, they’ve got sensible and very effective space heaters to snuggle up to), but I’ve spent much of the day wrapped in blankets, trying to do assignments whilst ignoring the aching cold in my hands and feet.
So, though the course of the day, I have shivered and shuddered and been a grumpy, cold, Frosty the Snowlady, I discovered my absolute favourite kitchen appliance; the toaster.
It struck me (as I made toast at lunchtime, just so I could eat something hot) how much like Gollum I must’ve looked like as I huddled over those gorgeous warm filaments and tried to keep every last escaping shred of heat for myself. I probably would’ve decked anyone who’d tried to take it away from me.
So me and the toaster are starting an affair, as of now, until we move to the beautiful new, well-insulated, in-between-all-the-other-flats-with-only-two-external-walls, lovely flat of gorgeous warmness. Or until spring arrives, but I suspect the house move will occur first, because that’s just the way English weather is – ornery.
Husby’s going to melt once we move, because he’s a warm-blooded type and finds our current place just perfick most of the time, where as his reptilian wife struggles. I am going to be WARM and I absolutely cannot wait. Gone will be the days when three layers and a blanket (indoors) is insufficient. Gone will be the days of a duvet and three blankets (well, four if you count that the largest is folded in half over me) in order not to wake up shivering. Gone will be the still, sore finger joints and feet at (what I’m convinced is probably) 12 degrees to halfway up the calves. Gone will be the days of sidling up to Husby with (what I hope is) a pathetic look on my face, holding out my stone-cold hands and getting him to warm them on his toasty tummy (I bet he won’t miss that!).
It’s going to be utterly, utterly blissful.
But for now I’m freezing my ass off again -if you need me, I’ll be in the kitchen, snuggling the toaster.