Inside

The girls and Wayne are at school. Early today I dropped Jack's form in at his school so that his timetable will be ready for him starting on Monday. I walked down from there to the Post Office to send off an important form to the Credit Union, and buy some stamps. Back to the car, and off to the garage to get its MOT (sort of like a pink slip). Home again, to find Jack comfortably settled in the kitchen writing what is sure to be a best-selling fantasy novel which will allow his parents to resign early...

Behind him you see the Rayburn heater, our household god, in its holy shrine. Benevolently, yet strictly, it governs our day. Matins is at 6:30 am, a gentle roaring which starts to spread heat throughout the household. Wayne heads to the shower, I to the exercise shed and the stationary bicycle. The children emerge at around the second chorus.

Once kick-started in our various ways, the god helps those who help themselves. The heating spark is given, but it is up to us to light the wood/coal fire for the daylight hours, because the Rayburn returns to dormant silence at about 8:30 am. In its wisdom, it also gives adequate but not abundant hot water. Moderation in all things, it reminds us, including showering. It accepts damp offerings of laundry before it, and gently beams upon our genuflections entering the kitchen. And, when it gets darker and intensely cold and our feeble efforts at tending the coal fire send us towards despair, the Rayburn hums into gentle life again, singing vespers of comfort as we eat and wash and pack away. The god teaches that early to bed and to rise ensures health, wealth and wisdom... again we are left to the fire's mercies after a couple of hours, and cosy bed looks like a good option reasonably soon.

We must have sinned today, because Matins was cancelled. I did not go to the shed, and was awakened by an indignant husband who had had a cold shower and could not find his shirt. Eleanor decided that one day of school was enough and she would like to stay at home. Annie coughed, and snarled at her brother. Oh, horror! Rain had washed away nearly all the snow and ice, and it seemed the god had decided it was too warm for house and water heating. Sacreligious mutterings were heard from many. The temple cats fled to warmer climes. What a difference it makes when one's god turns his back on one...

I will have to exercise this afternoon. It is a bit damp and nasty for walks, and the car is at the garage. Here is a picture of me on the bike. Strange angle courtesy of Jack - we are not on a hill.