I’m in a bit of a gloaty mood at the minute. Cold, but gloaty.
For several years, the heating system at Mercuryvapour Towers has been, at least, tempremental. The boiler was fitted in late 1994, and thanks to exactly 0 service visits by anyone, it has been hanging by a thread for several years.
Some of the radiators get warm, some don’t. For some reason the water pump would work, but the flame would fail to light. It appeared that the boiler would make no attempt to light it. More often than not, however, if you ran the hot taps for a bit, the flame would kick in and heat the water for long enough to pump at least some around the system. Usually, this resulted in the warmest room in the house being the bathroom.
I have known about the broken heating for several years, but have never actually taken matters into my own hands, and have simply requested that Daddykins phones someone to look at it. For several months, I’ve said to him “You know, at the first sight of snow, or at least cold weather, that boiler’s going to pack in entirely”.
As we aren’t a family for decoration in the slightest, we have left the pipes coming from the boiler exposed. No hiding them between sheets of MDF for us! Oh, no!
The pipe nearest the toilet carries the hot water from the system, to the radiators (or at least I think it does). Yesterday, I happened to be sat on the toilet. For once, this forms part of the story instead of me being foul just for the sake of it. I touch the pipe, and it’s clay cold. There’s normally a LITTLE bit of heat in it, at least. I think nothing more about it, as I was going to work.
During my work shift, we had the first substantial snow shower for several years. It was, in fact, so cold outside that the snow wouldn’t even lay, it would simply blow around the ground, and build up at certain points.
Anyhooooo, I return back to Mercuryvapour Towers. I notice there’s a nasty nip in the air. I think temporarily about making a racist joke about an incident which occured in 1941, but thought better of it. Instead I went out with the camera and began taking photos of the snow scene. It’s one of the reasons I got the camera.
I return home, and begin to fiddle about with the photos. Shortly after, I hear Daddykins awaking. He gets up, and walks past my room…
Him: “Are you still up?”
Me: “Yep”
Him: “Oh. Thought I heard you go out”
Me: “I did… went to take a few photos.”
Him: “Well, the heating’s fucked”
Did Daddykins just swear? I ask him to repeat his previous statement, in atypically Hartlepudlian way…
Me: “Y’Wot?”
Him: “The heating’s… knackered”
I see. He did indeed swear. It was a weird moment for me. Daddykins never swears, Unless he’s out, and telling a joke or something. The only other time I remember him saying “fuck”, sans alcohol, was back in 1987ish, when they modified the junction at the bottom of Church Street, and the bridges (which have now been filled in and replaced with a level crossing) became one-way only. Daddykins drove the wrong way down it. That particular “fuck” will stay with me for the rest of my life.
So, anyway. I begin to feel a huge amount of gloat coming on. After at least 24 months of trying to cinvince Daddykins that the heating may have a problem, there was a six-letter word that proved that I was right after all. I refrained from gloating any further. Instead, I returned to my room to begin typing this blog. Halfway through, I had to give up, and go downstairs, where the only current heat source (a highly inefficient gas fire) exists.
I don’t know what is going to happen from now. I have no idea whether I’ll convince Daddykins to get it fixed. I don’t know whether I should go “over his head” and get someone in. I’d like something sorted before one of us gets hypothermia.
UPDATE: I failed to mention that the boiler died on the first day we’ve had proper snow for about three years. Secondly, Daddykins has found some ancient heater which smells of burning dust. It is older than the heating system, I believe.
