I arrived in church to find it cold. The boiler had not come on. We’ve been in the meeting room for the last few weeks while the weather was cold and this was the first Sunday back. I’d set the timer for the Ash Wednesday service last week, which I didn’t attend as I was in London and I assumed all was well or else someone would have told me.
I supposed that the pilot light had gone out and that I’d have to wobble down the steps in the boiler house to put it right, but when I checked the time clock, it was set to ‘off’ rather than ‘auto’. I altered it and the boiler lit up. It was less than an hour until the service and the church wouldn’t heat up in that time. It would take me all the time available to move everything back into the meeting room. I shrugged, turned on the organist’s heater, and decided the congregation would be chilly.
Eventually, it transpired that the Rector’s husband had helpfully come down at 4 o’clock on Wednesday, found the heating wasn’t on, turned it to ‘all day’ and then to ‘off’ after the service. I showed him Wednesday’s time clock, set to 4.30. He was abashed, poor dear man, and I hugged him sympathetically. It was agreed that only one person really needs to take responsibility for the heating and that the control freak of the parish should be it. So I suppose I have a job for life. I mean, I’d be happy to relinquish it, but that means someone keeping a note of every time it needs altering, doing it and then putting it back afterwards. It’s a 7 day clock, so we can set it differently every day, up to three periods of use a day, and only change it once a week. Obviously, some weeks it doesn’t need doing at all. But I don’t see anyone else remembering when school assemblies etc are happening.
Anyway, it wasn’t that cold and no one complained, least of all me with my electric heater.
Ro, Zain and Claire have gone for a hearty and scenic walk around Bath Hills. I have been getting on with some work – yes, really. Al and family have been gardening and the Sage is talking lovingly to his chickens. They are being very free-range at present (their run needs to be moved as they’ve eaten all the grass and in the meantime they’re frolicking all over the garden) so it takes ages to make sure they’re all in the run at the end of the day. Tilly looked at me, quite clearly asking for her dinner early. I looked back, asking with my eyebrows if she was sure? She said she was. My eyes said she could. She looked hopeful, but didn’t jump up until I took my keyboard off my knees – maybe it’s my accent. Chester used to understand every unspoken word. When I got to the kitchen, I found I hadn’t got any tinned dogfood. A little goes on her dried food, which is dull otherwise. I couldn’t disappoint her of course, so I grated some cheese for her. She didn’t mind at all.
Al and family are coming in for dinner this evening. Roast pork and chocolate cake.