It’s that time of year when your energy providers, gleefully rubbing their little mitts, want details of how much juice you’ve used over the past three months.
It’s well-documented that we’ve just endured the coldest winter since the mammoths roamed. It was so cold, I saw a builder wearing a snood.
Our heating has been on incessantly since October. Even though you could fry an egg on our sofa, my wife’s been insistent on cranking the heating up to lava level.
I’ll sit indoors with gloves on, but if our walls aren’t sweating my wife isn’t content. But now it’s payback time; energy prices have soared and the energy providers want their pound of flesh – in our house that’s mostly medium rare.