Weather or not

I am on the taxi rank, where so far, despite having arrived here hardly late at all, and have been sitting here for hours and hours since, I have not yet added anything to yesterday’s fiver.

I am pleased to tell you that just across the road there is a portly sort of lady who, when she got dressed this morning, fancied an all-in-one scarlet leotard with knee boots, adorned with a sheepskin rug flung casually around her shoulders.

I am impressed.

I think she might be a bit chilly, even with the sheepskin rug.

It is not terribly warm at the moment, except in the sunshine, where it is lovely if you stand somewhere which is sheltered from the still-icy breeze. It looks as if the weather is going to carry on in this vein for some time, which is a little troubling, because we have run out of water for the conservatory, and our central heating is not working.

The conservatory water comes from the roof, and from next door’s roof, and from the conservatory roof. We have two huge tanks which between them collect a hundred gallons of water. Mark has fitted a pump to these and we have been using the water for the mossy arches and the flower beds.

It has been dry for so long that the tanks are empty.

I can tell you that this is not a normal state of affairs in the Lake District, and secretly I have been wishing for rain.

Fortunately it does not make any difference what sort of weather people wish for, or every pub owner in the Lake District would cheerfully see me lynched.

It does not help my general state of meteorological worry that the central heating is not currently working. For some utterly inexplicable reason all of the radiators have switched themselves off.

The central heating was not installed by us, but by the previous owner, who clearly had plumbing explained to him by a bloke in a pub. In consequence of this, the house is lavishly festooned with hundreds of yards of copper pipes, running around corners and up and down walls like the ribbons on a birthday present wrapped by an excited four year old. Mark more or less knows where most of the pipes begin and end, and over the last ten years has sawn off some of the less useful ones. Indeed, he is in the developmental stages of an entirely new plumbing system which will revolutionise our heating and supply hot water out of the taps rather than the two kettles on the top of the stove.

I have mentioned this before and we will not think about it now because it just makes me cross.

In any case, it has all stopped working. The fire is hot, and the water in the tank is hot, but it does not do anything else.

Mark says there is an air lock, and was up in the loft until nearly midnight trying to sort it out, to no avail.

I do not know if he is going to fix it or just saw it all up. The way the price of copper has risen lately, we could probably pay for a new system just by weighing in the old one. I hope it does not get much colder before he works it out.

We do, fortunately, have electric showers, which are currently our only source of hot water. I was excited to read in the august Daily Telegraph the other day that chronic shoulder pain can be alleviated by cold showers. I very much hoped that this might be true, because I have got chronic shoulder pain, the sort that wakes you up in the night longing for drugs at times.

Regrettably, however, I already have a cold shower every day, which implies that it does not work.

I have been trying very hard to believe it, obviously if it was in a newspaper it must be true, so that I might stand a chance with the Placebo Effect, but with no joy so far.

I can hardly credit it, fancy respectable publications inventing medical evidence like that, what is the world coming to?

Apart from that, I have been continuing the post-child clear up. Today I collected up all of the elderly fruit, purchased to avoid scurvy in children, and obviously untouched by any of them.

I made some of it into curry and boiled the rest to turn into fruit purée, which I chucked into the freezer to be made into exciting puddings like ice cream or mousse later, probably when we are having visitors. It was so nice I had difficulty stopping myself from just eating it with a spoon. 

We are trying to get a bit thinner at the moment, which is a pity, because it would be divine poured over a syrup sponge with cream.

Still no customers.

Have a picture of Mark thinking about things.