Until now I never appreciated just what the term "biting cold" meant. It's so cold I don't even want to go outside. Every foray to the shops demands fur boots, a long, quilted coat (marketed for "hockey moms" forced to sit for hours in chilly arenas) and my silly hat with ears and scarf attached that hubby says makes me look like a bobcat. I bought it as a joke but it's come into its own. My car still has the layers of snow on it from days ago, even sitting in the garage, it hasn't fallen off.
And our furnace (what Americans call the boiler) packed up this morning. I was woken by a grim-faced hubby, "I've called them out but in the meantime the oven's on and open so at least the kitchen'll be warm." He had also rigged up the old toaster oven in the sitting room but I counselled against it as I could already smell burning. Maybe we should get a wood stove, like many of our neighbours. Though of course, these days, you have to get one to comply with all sorts of environmental regulations which make it cost a lot more. Which will be extremely bad news for people here in rural Western New York, struggling to make ends meet. But of course the ideologues sitting in their warm Manhattan pads couldn't give a monkeys.
Anyway, I'll say one thing for this country, the repair people were out in about 20 minutes and fixed the problem. I doubt I'd get that sort of service in London.
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