Silence

This is Friday 21st. Despite the fact that I missed the midnight deadline.

On Wednesday a man phoned to confirm that he and his mate would be here today. It's been a month for me on their waiting list. They just needed the address and directions.  I asked how long the job would take, roughly, and whether they’d be able to get here about eleven. (Being an insomniac, can never be sure how much sleep I’ll have had, so the later the better, just in case. And I was thinking they'd want to be away before the Friday rush-hour started.)

“It’ll take about 4–5 hours,” he said.  “Eight o’clock.”

“Ah. Um. Right. Eight o’clock.”

“Eight o’clock is a state of mind!” he said in a very jolly voice.

And so it was.

They arrived, we all shook hands, they brought in all their gear from the van, then set about finding their way around the house, its mysterious contents and the two lofts. An hour later, and following a couple of calls to the letting agent to ask the landlord if he knew where certain hidden things could be found, and whether we had permission to take up some carpet which was glued down, they were ready to start work in the upstairs bathroom.

First they removed the tractor. It’s been in there for months, but since it wasn’t actually in my way, I wasn’t too bothered.

Then they extracted the team of Japanese drummers, that team from the north of Japan with the headbands and their huge bowl drums and massive arm muscles. 

Then they took away the offshore speedboat, the kind which costs thousands of pounds just to fill the tank, roaring past to win its latest international race, slamming on the wave tops.

Next to go was the RAF Tornado. You know the one. They dive bomb you from behind and scare the shit out of you while you’re trundling down the valley. The noise from this occupant was enough to drive the birds from the garden, especially the timid pheasants. They never got used to it.

And finally they neutralised the volcano. I think it was Vesuvius. It certainly behaved like it. Oh and after every eruption, it snowed outside for a minute. Powdery snow floating down to the conservatory roof every ten minutes, regular as the Old Faithful geyser. If the air wasn't freezing, it was hot water falling down.

Halfway through the operations, the main man said “You know when I called to arrange today? Wish I’d seen your face when I said 8 o’clock.” I laughed. "You mean Ah. Um. That one." Yes. He was right. It was probably quite a picture. I was up today at half past six after three hours' sleep, worrying about not having vacuumed the stairs after being poorly a while, about the backlog in the kitchen etc. "Don't worry about it," said the man. "You wouldn't believe what we see sometimes." He'd said, after I'd coughed and sneezed my way through that phone conversation, "We'll see you on Friday, if you're still alive by then!"

Lots of cups of tea. Lots of doors left open and all of us freezing. Lots of tubing and plastic tanks filling up with black oily water. Lots of banter. I asked whether they would be putting inhibitor into the radiator circuit. He smiled. “You know too much,” he said. And yes, two lots.

Some minutes later I was telling them a story about my physics teacher and her sense of humour. Some time after that we got on to dissimilar metals. Well I did, cos that's what he was alluding to. (A problem with the valve to the pump being decayed, to put it politely.) Cathodic protection, sacrificial anodes, all that stuff. Being a know–all is one of my most endearing qualities. He gave me that look again. “You’re dangerous,” he said. “But we love you very much and my empty cup’s over there.”

By one o’clock they were done.

And here I am. The tank in the loft isn’t subject to the dumping of hot water at intervals you could set your watch by, under the pressure of blocked radiators. The condensation on the roof inside won't be dripping on to everything stored up there. The pipes aren’t shaking the house. I sat here the other day just after 9 pm, and watched my table lamp and PC monitor wobbling madly for a few seconds, thinking Here We Go Again, and waited for the inevitable overflow of hot steaming water to hit the frozen conservatory roof, accompanied by my prayers for it not to crack the glass. But nothing happened. Oh well, I thought. Can't be identical every time.

Things had got so bad I couldn't tell the difference between my domestic Vesuvius and the earthquake up the road in Ripon, Yorkshire.

I can sleep while the heating's on.

I can stop worrying about the boiler being slowly wrecked. It would have happened, apparently.

I have proper heat, for the first time since Christmas Eve. (That was good timing, wasn't it!)

There is peace throughout the house.

Life is good.