I’ve had a bit of a lesson in taking things for granted during the past couple of weeks.
Isn’t it nice to go home to a lovely warm house after a long and hard day at work, watch the cat lounge near a radiator and be able to have lovely warm water at the turn of a tap?
Like many people, I took it all for granted – right up until the day my boiler broke.
No more heating. No more hot water. No shower (I had to use the one at work) and no bath.
No washing up without boiling five kettles and no cosy nights in with my beloved cat.
Instead it was a case of come home, think about putting the heating on and remember the horror that it’s broken.
Then I would curse the house’s previous owners for removing the chimney so I couldn’t even pile all the furniture up and set fire to it.
Then I would put the kettle on for a nice cup of tea.
Next step would be to change into my off-to-the-football-on-a-winter’s-day layers, fill up a hot water bottle, and settle in for the evening.
I’d be lovely and warm after that, and I’d head off to my bed knowing that I probably wasn’t going to contract pneumonia.
That would be until some time after 3am when the cat would decide she was too cold, jump on my head, and miaow in my face until I woke up.
It was all a bit of a trial and I did begin to wonder whether this would become my new life – hot water bottles, midnight cuddles from a miserable moggie, and five kettles being boiled just to do the washing up.
Thinking about the cost to replace the boiler gave me mild palpitations, so that ‘whoomp’ sound I heard when it was fixed was the most welcome one I’ve heard in 2014 so far.
I thank my lucky stars each time I go home and it’s warm. But as I snuggle up, my thoughts turn to those for whom hot water bottles are the norm.
It’s about time some of the energy companies turned over some of their profits to the elderly, the infirm and the poor.
It’d warm the cockles of their hearts.