I thought I was tough

I thought I was tough

I’m sure it isn’t normal to be sitting at my desk in coat, scarf and my favourite Brora fingerless gloves (see left). But with Arctic-like temperatures and the windows of our Victorian house rattling alarmingly, it’s the only way to keep warm. The ancient radiators come on at four pm but they are fighting a losing battle. To put it bluntly they don’t heat the place up at all.

Up until now I’d always prided myself on being tough. I mean, for three years we lived in a north-facing farmhouse in the shadow of Lancashire’s Pendle Hill with no central heating at all and I coped absolutely fine.

It was the first house my son lived in – which is probably why he’s happy to brave the outdoors in all weathers on his bike. Our only heating was a coal-fired Rayburn that burned so much fuel that we could never go out for more than three hours at a time. If we did, the Rayburn sulked and went out, meaning that we were not only freezing but we couldn’t cook supper either.

Read the rest of the post at it's original source by clicking here.

This post was recommended and added to Love All Blogs by House With No Name

What Will Be Your Child's Bedtime Story Tonight?

Winter Warmer - Homemade Shepherd's Pie