I was sitting at my desk when I heard a small sound like something tearing.
I tracked it down to the stove, where a vigorous jet was coming out of the overflow.
I set it running into a 3 litre bottle, then phoned our plumber/electrician who by chance was due later anyway.
Over the next few hours, the stove pumped out more than 10 litres of water – just as well I’d realised!
The plumber/electrician said the problem was due to an increase in pressure in the mains water and that it ought not to recur, which thankfully it hasn’t as yet.
Resistance is futile. We can no longer manage without it.
Today we lit the stove for the first time this season.
Galileo was intrigued. It will be his fourth winter but I wonder how well he remembers things.
Distinctly dystopian, but in fact just Clive’s bed on its side having its electrics repaired for the second time. The flames behind are in the stove.
This morning it was brilliantly sunny. The dew was sparkling and the golden leaves swam in a blue sky.
I had to go into the valley on various errands because Clive is due to be admitted to a rehabilitation centre next week, and as I went down I sank deeper and deeper into fog.
On my return home, I broke the ceiling of the fog and popped into the sunshine, like surfacing out of a cold and murky pond.
But almost as soon as I’d parked up, I noticed that the mist was rising. The photo shows the nearest mountain just peeping out before it’s engulfed.
Then the fog reached me where I was. It was like day had turned to night in the blink of an eye. It could have been a different day; a different season. I was very glad of the blazing fire in our stove.
I went today to fetch more sacks of wooden pellets for the stove. We’re stocked up now for a fortnight or so. These are actually the pellets which we bought in advance of last winter and never used because we were away. (More about that in a future post.)
The dogs lost no time in occupying their usual positions – Taylor on his mat and Galileo on a green blanket on the pool steps. For anyone who remembers our dogs: note there is no Joules. He contracted very aggressive prostate cancer (despite being neutered) in April of this year and had to be put to sleep – by chance on his birthday. He was exactly ten years old.
Not heating our indoor swimming pool, and wearing a wetsuit instead, has had one significant benefit.
No mould has formed at the top of the wall and edge of the ceiling where it used to.
Leastways it hasn’t appeared yet, and I don’t think it can be a co-incidence.
Cleaning the mould off the walls with a product which (inevitably) contains bleach, causes the pink paint to fade in blotches and long drip runs. I’d in fact been considering painting the walls partly white because of it.
But now I don’t need to!
Pink doesn’t get a good press. Television programmes about how to sell your house betray a pathological horror of pink décor. Paint it white! Make it neutral!
Someone else will have to do that deed for our huge, cosy room, where the pink matches the curtains, sets off the pictures and the dark red stove, and reminds me of summer roses!
Today we received a delivery of wood pellets – a full pallet, 78 sacks – which we hope will see us through the worst of the winter.
Just as well to be ready: there was the first snow on the mountains today.
The dogs immediately took possession of the new lay-out and didn’t seem at all perturbed by the stacks which form a bunker facing inwards towards the stove.
Kepler put in an appearance to see what was going on, then scarpered off again.
His normal place, on the blanket right in front of the stove, is still vacant in the photo but won’t be for long I dare say.