I awake from a fitful night's sleep, my mouth dry and my head spinning with thoughts that this could be it, the day I have dreamt about for many months.
I tentatively put one foot out of bed (the one with the "real" hip), get my balance and limp over to the bedroom window. With sweat dripping from every pore, my breath coming in increasingly short gasps, I peep out of the curtain and my heart almost stops, "is it?", "could this be it?" The limp disappears, and I rush downstairs as fast as I can into the kitchen. With hands shaking I put the key into the lock and unlock the door. I shut my eyes as I slowly open the door and... LEAVE IT OPEN.
Yes! Yes! This is "it" this is "day one".
Day one of a new year, after 6 months of cold, the worst winter for years, cocooned in the house, doors, windows shut.
My cocoon is a large mid-terrace Edwardian house, and even after, in the last couple of years, a major upgrade (with the help of many grants, "because I'm old") of a new central heating system and many rolls of insulation in the loft, it still takes a long time (and many pound notes) to warm-up.
British Gas (bless 'em) arrived one morning some months ago to fit me, not that I had asked for them, "Smart Meters". I get both my gas and electric from British Gas so there was not one meter man, but two! And they are smart (the meters not the meter men). The guy who used to arrive with his torch and clipboard to read my meters (who once disappeared in the "bogey hole" under the stairs for a full week, lost amongst the vacuum cleaner, a pair of stepladders and the grandson's bike) is now conspicuous by his absence. I now have someone sat at a computer (probably in India Coronation Street
"Sir, I need to show you how to use your "ecoMeter" (couldn't find the trademark symbol on the keyboard). The "ecoMeter" (trade mark) the size of a paperback, with more lights on it than Blackpool Illuminations. A thing of wonderment. "Press button A for gas", "press button B for electricity" (no change back with this button B). You can see you bank account being drained of your very last penny, you watch your gas usage change as the boiler goes on and off. Whilst sat watching it the graph spikes and you rush to the top of the stairs and shout to your wife, "switch that bloody kettle off". It leaves you going to bed shaking, wondering if you can afford to get up in the morning.
Now, if you turn the thermostat down a notch or two, wear three sweaters and keep jumping up and down all the time you can keep warm and keep the graph on your ecoMeter (trade mark) fairly still. That is until Friday arrives and in bursts "The Grandson". The Grandson, love him to bits, cannot close doors, learnt to tie his shoelaces when he was three, but cannot close doors. In through the front door, muddy footprints along dining room carpet, and out of the back door, and, the only time I swear, "shut that bloody door." But it gets worse, the grandson comes back for a drink and some cheese stringythings and leaves the door open, so I shut it, but then mate number one appears, comes in for a drink and some cheese stringythings and leaves the door open, so I shut it, but then mate number two appears and I... the grandson has a dozen mates!
The game so far: It has taken nine hours to get the house warm, the ecoMeter (trade mark) is close to meltdown and my bank account is shot at.
It is now seven o'clock and I am freezing, so I am going to go to bed (with one last lingering look at the ecoMeter (trade mark) ) with a hot water bottle. But before I go just let me whisper to you whilst no one is about, there is someone (name withheld for fear of reprisals) who spends hours talking with friends, hairdresser et al, and then sees them to the door and spends another hour talking with the door open.
