Somebody pass the blowtorch

East Fife Mail, February 5, 1992

Friends of mine who have set up residence in this country have found the Scottish winter just a wee bit nippy around their antipodean appendages and are on the point of attaching the lawnmower extension to the electric blanket to keep warm but mobile in their rented accommodation.

The mighty power of gas central heating has saved my family from such seasonal chills for a number of years now... until the other week.

Somewhere beneath our floorboards lurks the pump and it decided to give up the ghost and take a hard-earned winter vacation. This little piece of engineering scooshes hot water into the radiators and without it... well there's a brass monkey in every room looking for a blowtorch!

There are two ways of looking at this. Firstly, cold is misery (this is a view endorsed whole-heartedly by children) and, secondly, cold is character-building (a view held by dad).

Yes, the first morning my head peeked out from under the duvet and my hand stuck to the frost on the alarm clock, the happy memories came flooding back.

Cold is definitely character-building.

You would lie there watching your breath and straining your ears for the sound of some crackling coming from the living room to indicate the fire was roaring.

Only then would you risk touching down on cold lino and making a break for the heat.

And then, of course, there's the matter of the bathroom. Yes, the cold certainly develops bladder control as well. Best to be warm and uncomfortable rather than cold and comfortable.

Only when the comfort/discomfort ratio became a little clouded was a re-think required.

Ah the good old days! Breakfast by the fire with your feet on the fireplace and your clothes airing on the screen.

My reverie was broken by the first scream of a little foot touching a cold floor and then the panic set in.

I, with character duly built, kept fairly warm by bouncing up and down on the floor above the pump while uttering soothing words of encouragement to the blinking thing.

My daughter wanted to know why you couldn't call a plumber on 999, my son and dog were sharing a basket and my wife was delivering the “I told you we should gave got it serviced'' lecture.

I could have replied with the “You wanted all the fireplaces out'” speech but I was out of breath at bouncing up and down on the pump's ceiling.

Still, after the recriminations and a visit from our local heating engineer, everybody thawed out and tempers cooled.

The next morning's power cut, while I was under the shower with hair in a lather, certainly endeared ScottishPower to me as I added a few adjectives to their name and searched for that blowtorch

I think ScottishPower certainly owes me at least one of the snazzy tee shirts they were flogging at Methil Power Station's open day for
the fright they gave me.

When you are all soaped up and the water turns Arctic you have to finish the job and I wasn't right for days.

As for my frosty friends? Well they don't have my central heating but they have my sympathy... paying gas bills is certainly character-building.