I’m a lumberjack

I have mastered the wood burner. It makes some peculiar noises and causes some radiators to shake violently (and sometimes get warm) but it goes. It consumes wood at a huge rate but keeps the house lovely and toasty.

It also means I get to split logs with my new axe. Very manly. I have a checked shirt and eat squirrels. Ok, I don’t eat squirrels but I do ‘dress in women’s clothes’ on occasion.

So, I’m throwing logs into the fire and spraying around lighter fuel with gay abandon. And I set fire to my jumper. Which I sensibly remove. In some haste. Without removing my glasses. Which snap. The only spare pair I can find are shades. Very dark shades.

So, I’m walking to work. Not to be healthy. Not to save the environment. But because I can’t see. Oh joy.

OMR 0 – Wood-burner 1

The heating at chez rich is a little temperamental. And once again it has decided not to heat upstairs. However, the downstairs radiators compensate by glowing a dull red & the warmth percolates up. Sort of. And not in the fairy princess room as its above the party room. Which has no radiator. So its freezing in there & I have the folks coming to stay at Easter.

However, whilst lacking in heating in the modern sense, the party room does have a big black cast iron wood burner. With a back-boiler that supplements the heating. It has stood unused for two years. But firing it up will, surely, heat up the place & might even kick the heating back into life.

So, I pile in the kindling & newspaper and a few logs, open the vents and lob in a match. The amount of smoke is truly impressive. It billows out, fills the party room, rolls into the hall & up the stairs. Everywhere is filled with smoke, except by the looks of it, the wood-burner chimney.

So I run round opening windows & shutting doors. And throw a damp tea towel on the fire. Which simply makes things worse. So I shut the wood-burner doors, close the vents and let it die a smouldering death.

So, the house is not just cold any more. No, now its cold and stinks of smoke.

As an interesting footnote. Whilst clearing out the wood-burner I discover a strange lever around the back that, yup, opens and closes the chimney flue. Well, you live and learn. I feel a rematch coming on.

There is just something very funny about the word anus...

A German pensioner is suing a hospital after she checked in for an operation on her leg - and woke up to find she had been given a new anus.

10 years? - seems longer. much, much longer.

Today my old boss dropped by with a shiny new watch for me. Because I've been with the company 10 years. Wahey. Free watch. And my ex boss is younger, prettier and much more successful than me. And points out she's never stayed anywhere for 10 years. And suddenly its less of a free watch and more of another nail in the coffin.
Still, only 23 more years & I can retire.

Can we fix it?

So, I’m laying a laminate floor in my kitchen. And, despite the fact that my DIY skills are nil & there are numerous difficult cuts required I am, due to financial constraints, doing this all by myself.

Having totally screwed up the first few cuts I decided to invest in a workbench. Some assembly required. So I assembled it on Saturday night after a day in the pub watching England fail to play rugby. Now, the law of averages says I should have got at least one bit right. But no, in the harsh light of Sunday morning it becomes apparent that I have the legs the wrong way round so they slope inwards instead of outwards. The top is back to front and even the braces are upside-down. Ho hum. Still rather than fix it I decide to press on. And, surprisingly, the floor is looking ok. So its taken an age, there has been a certain amount of language, but its ¾ laid & looking alright.

But I have accidently sawn the end off the top of my new workbench.