~~
Saturday 13th, 7am. 100 yard mist and overcast. 8F/-13C outside, 48F/9C in the living area, 38F/3C in the bathroom and kitchen. The double-glazed <cough> "energy glass" windows in the bathroom and kitchen are hard, frozen over. Like good old-fashioned, bathroom windows in every sense of the word. Increased privacy, but at what price? 😏
The bathroom walls vary between 28F and 30F. The windows read 26F on the "Jinping Plague" remote reading, laser-guided, thermometer.
We have only one [combined] light and socket ring circuit on a 10A fuse for our entire, mains, power supply. So running an electric heater would mean no kettles or toast. Run a toaster and a kettle at the same time and all the lights go out! The immersion, water heater is on a separate circuit but runs cold from the taps for minutes before it finally warms up.
The pipes run under the freezing cold floors. So we wash our hands with freezing cold water year round. I replaced all the iron water pipes which the previous owner had installed. Using "Pex" plastic hose under the floors. Instead of his 1.5" iron pipes running across every, single, door threshold in the house!
I replaced most of the doors, with secondhand ones from demolition salvage yards. Because the originals were "medieval" in height. New doors were hideously expensive and rarely available in the weird sizes we needed.
The neighbours used to joke that the previous occupant of our hovel could always see rat and mouse shit floating in his breakfast bowl. It took us a while to remove cubic metres of rat's nest. As we demolished built-in cupboards and searched for more "bedding" between the floor joists.
Sealing the building against the vermin took ingenuity and patience but we finally succeeded. The official "rat catcher" did not believe us when we told him we had no further need of his services. We still pay the £25 a year standard fee though. Along with all the other taxes applied to the rates, quarterly bills and my [fractional] pension.
We bought this little house hovel when we first moved over here. Fully intending to find something better which we could still afford after selling this one on after improving it. Twenty five years later we are still searching. The trees we planted, as pencil sized, willow sticks are 50' tall hedges now!
I insulated the roof, fitted new windows and laid new floors. I replaced the bare, [sunburnt] dark brown, [once clear] corrugated fibreglass panels in the uninsulated. roof space. By building dormer windows. So that the attic became [almost] habitable in spring and autumn.
It was always much warmer, up here, than downstairs. Where the walls were single, uninsulated blockwork. Both floors of the house are heated by a single wood stove. Which is completely insane.
So we learned to live up here year round. Even during heatwaves when it is a sweaty 85F. The literally hundreds of climbs and descents per week of the foolishly steep, cottage stairs keeps us fit. Even when we aren't actively digging.
Houses haven't ever sold normally in this quietly beautiful, rural area, for many years. Most end up on auction after years on the market without the slightest interest from buyers. Neighbours have walked away from their mortgages because they cannot sell.
Those who buy at forced auction rarely have the funds to do up an already, run down place. At least, not properly. While the seller doesn't want to waste money on improvements which they will never see again. So the standard steadily drops. You get the constant dogs barking, or howling, year round, from an open cage in the garden. The constant chain sawing of huge piles of industrial pallets for stinking firewood. So that the constant stench of unknown woods hangs on the air 365x24. Even during heatwaves. As does the stench of pig shit at certain times of the year.
International transport, articulated lorries use the narrow winding roads as rat runs. As they have for years. Because they won't use, or simply ignore the lorry GPS. Which shows the main transport routes are only a mile or two away.
When we first moved over here the traffic was like the UK back in the 1950s. Now it is more like the UK in weight and volume. We saw the same effect in [very] rural Wales. From noticing and remarking on a single car passing our garden. To a constant roar within only 10 years. We went from holding a perfectly normal, quiet conversation outside. To having to bawl endless repetitions above the endless traffic.
I very rarely see other pedestrians on my walks and rides. A very few, weekend joggers do a lap of the rural block to fight the flab. There are no pavements or cycle paths on any local roads and no, official, public footpaths. My solo journeys along farm tracks are always "last man alive" affairs.
Though I always have to run the gauntlet of the traffic. Before I can turn off into the wilds or the much quieter lanes. Once or twice a year I may see another "walker." Remarkably few cyclists share the roads during my morning "window." Usually between 8 and 10am but with variations.
I get a wave from many drivers after years of morning walks and once frequent rides. These days it may be simple politeness. Because I usually hop, or climb onto the verge. To let them pass unhindered against oncoming traffic. I wish there were rear view mirrors for pedestrians. To save all the neck wringing.
The reason I am sharing all these personal trivialities is that I am feeling unusually vulnerable. The twin threats of Brexit and the Jinping Plague are laid over the recent and severe bouts of dizziness. A year of detached rural, self-isolation is beginning to take its toll. Not that we ever exchanged more than few words with the neighbours over the decades.
Meanwhile, I worked for ten years at the only factory. Learned the language, despite the handicap of age, which few immigrants bother with. Until, prematurely, the billionaire, takeover merchants exported all the factory's production to China and Russia.
All was well when I could completely lose myself in our rural isolation with my countless hobbies. Or go for a trike ride. Then a much uglier world suddenly intervened into my isolated bubble. Throw in the global climate threat and an unusually cold winter and "somebody" has completely changed the rules of fair play.
Former household "names" are dropping like flies. They had wealth enough for the finest health care but died anyway.
The supposed, political leaders, during these difficult times, are either hideously incompetent clowns. Or sociopathic, genocidal "untouchables." Who put their personal greed above the needs of countless billions.
A walk to the lanes as the temperature rose slowly from 8 to 12F. -13 to -8C. The mist hung in layers and patches. Half way up and half way down the trees and hedges. Leaving a dark gap somewhere in the middle. The sunshine was doing its best but struggling to gain full power. Hoar frost clung to every twig and surface. Beautifying a frigid world. What slush had melted in the gutters had turned to black iron overnight. One, very brave, "racing" cyclist passed on a training ride and we exchanged cheerful greetings.
My boots crunched and squeaked on the hard frozen snow. Light and fluffy enough for manual, septuagenarian clearance. In the complete absence of others, far younger, doing anything at all. It was exactly the same in my twenties, and later. I was always the only one clearing paths and pavements. Using an ordinary garden spade back then. Because I valued the exercise, the fresh air, the novelty and easier access. They valued huddling indoors keeping the TV company. There were prescription pills for sloth and pretty much everything else, even back then.
I have just spent another couple of hours moving my earlier piles of snow out of the way. So it can melt in its own time. Without causing a flood or turning the ground to mush. As it always does when the annual "permafrost" loosens its grip on the soil and the gravel drive. The now single, snow pile is about eight feet long and four feet x four feet high and wide in olde terms. Say about two cubic meters?
It has reached 28F/-2C outside at 13.30 in continuous bright sunshine. I was stripped down to my T-shirt while I was snow clearing. Now I have my tatty, old, down jacket on again. As it is still only 53F/12C "indoors." My clever wife fooled the ice on the bathroom and kitchen windows. She lit candles in the windows and the ice was almost all gone by late afternoon. 😎
~~
No comments:
Post a Comment