I'm sick again.
And I take back my comments about being plenty warm in our cold flat. The temperature dropped again and it's too too cold. We do have three machines that help keep us warm and Steve has given all of them names. Mr. Woods is the dehumidifier who keeps the damp out. Glenn is the electric space heater. And Gassy Jack is the portable butane heater.
(MBC: Why Gassy Jack?
Steve: Because he's a gas heater and he jacks up the heat.
MBC: Aaah.)
We're not getting Christmas gifts (austerity + moving back to North America in March) this year but we are cat/housesitting for a friend for two weeks over Christmas and her place has central heat. Central heat! Two weeks of heat without the fear of Gassy Jack (I'm pretty sure he's going to tip over and set the place on fire despite all Steve's explanations of why this is not possible) is going to be the best Christmas present ever. (And I'm going to tell this story to Baby McBaby someday when he wants a pony for Christmas. Before you were born, we were so poor that our best Christmas present was HEAT, so you just look forward to that new pair of underwear that you're actually going to get for Christmas and put the thought of ponies right out of your head.)
3 comments:
Holy carbon monoxide, Gassy Jack. I trust your flat is drafty enough to prevent any excessive build-up which probably why Gassy is around. Please get a detector I will gladly pay for it. Otherwise your Dickens like tale pulls at the heartstrings of a parent and will indeed make a story often worth repeating when your children express feelings of ingratitude for what they have.
KWB (aka Safety Sam)
Ooh, you get central heat! I'm so jealous. Hope you feel better by then to really enjoy it.
KWB--I think the flat is QUITE drafty. The post slot alone provides a visible crack outside, but I'll mention a carbon monoxide detector to Steve.
Stash--Oh, I'm sure I'll enjoy it sick or not.
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