sweet effay

The heating engineers are working on the house this week. Well I say ‘heating’, but so far all they’ve done is remove every radiator and cut off the hot water supply. I am reduced to staggering from room to room in an advanced state of hypothermia. I have a single fan heater, but I only put it on for short periods as it makes noises which scare me.

Mrs and Little effay have buggered off up the road to the grandparents. I could have gone, but what’s worse than hanging around a freezing house? That’s right: Being forced to watch Eastenders with your in-laws.

I had one of those: “I’m not being funny, but what’s the point of philosophy?” conversations with the main heating engineer yesterday. Normally I would have descended to sarcasm, but it’s never a good idea to antagonize a man who is in control of your water supply. I couldn’t help noticing, though, that when he wanted help with his crossword this morning, he came to me.

If I had been in a position to antagonize him, I might well have pointed out the disparity between to his projected move to Thailand in a couple of months and his expressed approval of Enoch Powell’s ‘River’s of Blood’ speech, because "a country that allows loads of immigrants in is just asking for trouble". That’s the problem with philosophy; it makes you pick up on these sorts of things.

Still I should be warm for at least a couple of hours tomorrow as we’re off to the theatre. I wish we weren’t going to see this, though.