An Uncertain Boiler and The Best Easter Card.

The gas man returned as duly promised on Easter Saturday bringing with him his own little Easter Egg in the shape of the promised part. Whether or not this has solved the problem is, as yet, uncertain as due to the weather being unseasonably warm there has been no need for heating and as the two are inexorably linked, not as much need for heating water.  Consequently the heating system has not been as hot and has not therefore needed cooling.  After the cloying heat of Good Friday's brief encounter with a hot oven I am in no hurry to repeat the experience.

Today was Easter Day and I was still a tad piqued at remaining at Chez Kojak instead of  enjoying Easter with friend and family. And so it was at teatime that I was less than enchanted to hear the doorbell being rung closely followed by a rapid knocking sound interspersed with children's voices. At the risk of being thought to be a modern incarnation of Ebeneezer Scrooge I have little time for urchins who reappear at my door two days after Halloween demanding "A penny for the guy" when there is no guy visible as far as the horizon. A similar scenario occurs weeks before Yuletide when one shout of "We wish you a Merry Christmas" coupled with a plethora of outstretched hands is deemed sufficient to be called Carol Singing. Once again I digress but you will have grasped my  train of thought. I was saddened that Easter seemed to have succumbed to such mercenary traits but not completely surprised.

From Dasha, Year 3

Prepared to rebuff such entreaties I opened the door. A young girl thrust a folded sheet of paper into my hand and said "Happy Easter" but instead of holding out her hand she ran off to join her two companions who were at the next house. It was only after I'd closed the door that I realised what I'd been given. On the outside was written in pencil "From Dasha year 3" and inside was the message "Happy Easter" underneath which was drawn a shaky oval with the word "egg" written inside it.

Happy Easter "Egg"!

The little girl had made the cards and was delivering them to each house.  I was so impressed by this and not a little guilty that I hastened to the fridge and grabbed my small but cherished cache of Snickers bars. Opening the front door I called the little girl back and explained that I did not have any Easter eggs to give her but instructed her to share the sweets among her friends. 

It was a nice end to the day and perhaps a fitting demonstration of what Easter is all about - a simple gift of joy. I was so touched by this that I must confess to having a slight lump in my throat. But in case any evil binherren are reading this... tomorrow is quite another (recycling) day... 

Sinful Washing, Penitential Shower and Cheesed Off

The run up to the Easter weekend, dear reader has been somewhat sporadic. I made the mistake of summoning the gas man to Chez Kojak. For some time I have been a tad disturbed by nocturnal noises from my central heating boiler. To give it it's due, it does work efficiently enough but after it has switched off a fan or some such technical thing  switches on to disperse unwanted heat. Unfortunately it appears to be reverborating against something. At first it was just a faint background noise but now it seems to resonate throughout the house like a diesel engine revving and dying back. Anyone who has read Harry Potter and The Chamber Pot of Secrets will be alarmed to know that the noise seems to be coming from the pipes... Anyway, I digress again. Regular readers of course will know that I frequently digress and I propose to continue to do so...
My sainted neighbour has made no complaint but he must have noticed the nocturnal commotion so something had to be done. Naturally I picked a bad time, the proximity of Easter weekend and a princely wedding made inroads into the working week but I am heading for the Grecian isles shortly so I wanted to have the old boiler sorted. I also intended to head up to God's own county of Durham to stay with my sainted sister over the Easter weekend. Of course the best British Gas could do was Maundy Thursday and as usual, the gas man decided that he would renew a part that he didn't possess and would not possess until Easter Saturday. With a heavy heart and noisy boiler I cancelled my pilgrimage north.
The approaching Grecian jaunt and the promise of good weather caused me to embark on a major spot of laundering - not the money sort but the undergarments and sprung edge 4 drawer divan bedding type. Good Friday dawned and saw me furtively and guiltily sneaking some washing on the rotary dryer. My mother's horror of such an act haunted me - washing was never hung out on a Sunday and  any such behaviour on Good Friday would have been condemned as blasphemy. I thought I'd got away with things until late afternoon when the Good Lord evidently spotted it and sent a brief but heavy shower to put an end of such capers. At least I was spared a plague of locusts and rivers of blood but I dare not commence holiday ironing on Easter Sunday!
Diverted by boiler antics it was late on Thursday before I made it to the supermarket for a spot of trolley rage. Now the shops don't even close on Good Friday these days but one would have thought that there was a famine imminently upon us judging by the crowds of people jostling to fill their trolleys to bursting. A ripe breeding ground for a quick rage or three and I indulged with relish. I did manage to procure some fish for the next day and ambitiously planned a tasty fish pie with smoked fish in a cheese sauce. By the time I'd salvaged my sinful laundry from the penitential shower on Friday it was quite late in the day and still very hot and humid. Just ripe for the addition of a hot oven. Some time later, surveying the results of my culinary labours after much cooking and washing up I was so hot and bothered that I'd quite lost my appetite. In fact one could say that I was thoroughly cheesed off.
Today, most of the fish pie is now sitting in the fridge...

Return to Prison, Kidnap and an Easter Bunny

Life in Chez Kojak has been rather humdrum of late, dear reader so I did not feel that there was anything of interest to put in a blog. After some chivvying from a fellow blogger (you know who you are, Su) I have at last put pen to paper or, in this age of technology, finger to keyboard. I say finger singular because I am not a touch typist. A colleague at work once described my method (and his) as "turkey typing" - pecking at the keyboard with one finger of each hand.  I have improved on this and even use two fingers now, showing off by hitting the space key with my thumb for extra flair!

Has Spring really sprung?

My friend the Blessed Liz came to stay last weekend, travelling up from Bristol where she works at present. After a good start to the journey she phoned when she hit the M6 motorway and promptly came to a crawl. She is very proficient at the "hands free" method of mobile telephony and has been known to conduct staff meetings from the roadside thereby earning the nickname of "Lay-by Liz". Her status updates do enable me to have a meal ready for her arrival and more importantly a pot of tea. She is an ex-civil servant and so, like me, recognises that tea is the real staff of life. Her arrival also heralded a touch of Spring in these northern climes. On Saturday morning we paid a return visit to Butlins, the local branch of Her Majesty's Open Prisons. We were not reporting there as a result of our misdemeanours, though they are probably many, nor were we visiting relatives as a fellow blogger (you know who you are, Su) unkindly opined. The prison has a shop where one can buy garden produce, bacon etc, and garden furniture all of which is grown, raised or made by the inmates. We were served by Ian who was Category B, blood group A and diabetic - or so his ID tag said. On Saturday afternoon  we were joined by our friend Margs who as usual arrived bearing gifts for everyone.

Does this really look like me?

Our presents were chocolate Easter Bunnys and Margs remarked that mine actually looked like me. Not only does Margs shower gifts on everyone but she normally insists on driving us to whatever destination we have planned. Liz and I decided beforehand that this time I would drive. This was not an easy task as Margs normally abandons her car in front of ours. After a brief struggle we forced her to park in an adjacent space and bundled her into my car. It looked for all the world like a kidnap and indeed it was! We set off to visit a garden centre some miles away leaving our bespoke Easter Bunnys to guard Chez Kojak. A pleasant afternoon was spent as well as some money, buying Easter gifts. Liz had not only brought a touch of Spring with her but also a computer for our friend Ian, he of the patio building, to sort out. Liz departed on Sunday lunchtime and Ian arrived shortly after. He is also an ex-civil servant so a pot or two of tea was naturally consumed.


Monday was recycling bin day so once again I was unwillingly forced out of the 4 drawer sprung edge divan in the middle of the night to do battle with the evil binherren. In the past one could time their Blitzkriegs and their order of battle. Of late they have resorted to random guerrilla sorties in order to surprise unwary council taxpayers. This necessitates a state of red alert all morning and is very fatiguing for gentlemen of a certain age.  The Green Bin and Green Box Panzers were successfully repulsed early in the morning but the White Sack Einheits were conspicuous by their absence for several hours. This was possibly a cunning ploy to lull me into a false sense of security. Finally they arrived and under close scrutiny from behind the curtains I was surprised to see them carefully replace the sack, tucking it into the handle of the storage cupboard. Gratified at this I allowed them to retreat unharmed before emerging from my sentry post. Now like all good citizens I am aware of the nefarious habit of identity theft and I carefully shred any paper items that might be of use to villains.  Yes, the evil and cunning binherren had tucked the sack into the door handle but he had done so leaving it upside down and clearly had only given it a cursory shake. The portal of Chez Kojak looked like the aftermath of a wedding. In the words of the song, the answer was blowing in the wind along with a substantial amount of shredded paper! Hostilities are far from over!