Nine radiators were bought for the house of scurvy men, who above all else, desire warmth.
It began with the renovation of the house…
Three were bought for upstairs, the strongest, warmest, and fairest of all purchased.
Four were gifted to the ground floor, kitchen and two to the attic.
Nine radiators were bought for the house of scurvy men, who above all else, desire warmth.
For within these radiators was bound the strength and the will to warm each room.
But they were all of them deceived, for a thermostat was installed…
Installed deep in the wall of Hallway, it was a master thermostat, and into this thermostat was the power of warmth, coziness, and sleepy naps.
One thermostat to rule them all…
One by one, the rooms dampened and grew grey to the bitterness of the cold, but there were some, who resisted…
A last stand of one housemate against the scurvy armies of Burty, and on the very slopes of the stairs, they fought for heat and warmth.
For the time will soon come when radiators will warm all….
It’s always tricky accommodating to someone else; it’s a dilemma as old as it is awkward. From sharing the arm rest on a plane with a stranger, to silently negotiating leg room on a train. Personal preferences and etiquette are usually at the forefront and if not handled correctly, the results can be awkward and somewhat disastrous.
It’s worth noting that when I lived with Burty previously, I was moving into his flat. So, whilst I sifted through my boxes and unpacked my photo albums and socks, I was acutely aware that I was moving into new territory with its own set of rules. Accordingly, I spent the first week or so scoping the lay of the land and exploring like a curious cat whilst trying to uphold the etiquette and existing natural order. From bin days, cupboard coordination and bathroom windows of opportunity. But I’m assuming and hoping that this isn’t just another cliched trope of the English.
Overall, we fundamentally agreed on a vast array of compromises and home comforts that led to a tranquil period of peace and prosperity in the flat. However, when winter struck and the nights grew cold and dark, much like the mornings. There was always an unspoken, niggling, elephant in the room-
The Heating..
There tends to be two categories of people when it comes to the heating. There are those patriots who valiantly grit their teeth and arm themselves with baggy hoodies, blankets, hot water bottles and tea. Like dedicated acolytes, refusing to allow the heat Gods to bestow their warming goodness until the very darkest hour. Waiting for their bestowed, burning reward until their bitter, numbing penance has been served.
Alternatively, there are others who refuse to bow to the harsh whims of the cold. Those heating vigilantes who refuse to succumb to the cold like Rose.
Jack could have fitted on that door in Titanic, he was just stubborn… So one could hypothesize that he would have been part of the former, rather than the latter.
Now that Burty had fully nested and settled in, we were once again in that blissful honeymoon period where we were discovering the fine print of living with each other once again and with that, the elephant loudly, and proudly made itself known. However now the tables had been turned, this time he was living at mine.
At first, this manifested itself in a confusing and somewhat passive aggressive approach disguised with warm reassuring smiles. Scouts would venture out to the hallway thermostat in an attempt to covertly wield its power. The pipes would wake and roar with life, but within minutes they were extinguished like a false launch, all veiled behind polite courtesies and pleasantries. Other times, it would be activated on stealth operations where prayers for silent pipes and heat were muttered with such hope. But these were always rumbled, and the promise of warmth was snatched away once again. It was a longstanding dance we both tip-toed around, and one that would consume us during the long winters.
On one hand, with the direct debits going out every month to pay for heating, I felt it wasn’t just worthwhile, but a waste to not utilise something already being paid for. After all, the same money would leave the account every month and the rent (A constant source of Burty’s consternation) would be unchanged regardless. Also, the heating wasn’t used during the summer and warmer seasons, yet it was in its own form of lockdown; Burty had grounded my heating and like that one terrifying parent your friend had growing up, he wasn’t letting it out to play. I was Moses, standing atop the stairs bellowing ‘Let my heating go!’ but it was landing on false ears. I would open the gates of warmth but despite my shivering and reasoning, I would be denied once again and left with the blue balls equivalent. As if I was told I wasn’t wearing the right shoes or shirt by some sort of gatekeeping heating bouncer.
Burty on the other hand, felt it was unnecessary.
We were men, and the idea of using something that wasn’t needed was a waste. Although I could appreciate the layered, but still numbingly cold approach; reminiscent of every bonfire night as a child. After all, we’re both from the generation of keeping warm via mountains of blankets and annoying our siblings. But I felt we were at a point in our life where although we may not be ‘flash’, we weren’t at that level quite yet where we needed to huddle around incinerators…
But despite the frugal and somewhat masochistic approach, I was confident that cave men and Neanderthals didn’t share the same problems and if anything, they would have cut down a tree and cooked their own mother to keep warm. I’m sorry to say that in response, I activated my stroppy teenager mode. Through the highly subtle art of eye rolls, banging, chattering my teeth in his ear, sighing loudly and sulking, I made my thoughts known silently, yet loudly. – I was the hangary equivalent of cold.
Over the next few months, I would launch further stealth attacks in the hope of wielding the warmth. However, in a move I can only describe as Scurvy, in one foul swoop, Burty twisted the valve heads with ferocious intent on individual radiators and severing the temperature and warmth from the room to the point where the power of the cold could not be undone. It was in this moment, when all hope had faded, we convened for a parlay and an end to the new heights of passive aggressive living.
But I brought my research.
According to multiple sources, including Best Heating;
It’s always better to heat the whole home as opposed to individual rooms in a flat or particularly compact property. Essentially, you would use a very similar amount to heat the entire house as you would do a single room.
Not to snowball the situation but Burty’s response was typical, frustrating and a problem I didn’t initially foresee with the move. In Burty’s eyes, I was just a whiney housemate who split his time between diving into a vast swimming pool filled with bank notes, a la Scrooge McDuck, and twisting Putin’s arm to get the gas prices higher before Christmas. Despite my protests and re-assurances, Burty’s perspective was becoming skewed.
I understand the logic of ‘tightening the belt’ with the thermostat because the gas company already wanted around a million pounds a month already. Therefore, to avoid the inevitable increase and inflation, we were both to suffer….
Terrific…
But on a few occasions, he would harrumph and flick the thermostat to zero whilst muttering some ramblings along the lines of how he “pretty much pays for it all” with his rent.
You wouldn’t argue with a normal landlord. But that’s for another post.
But then… an opening.
Burty often had to work which meant him leaving the house. However, unlike Burty, I worked from home. This provided the perfect opportunity and window to get my heat on. I would twirl my moustache and rub my hands together in the mornings, waiting and longing to hear the front door close from upstairs. I’d wait for a few moments; it could be a trap. But then, I would saunter downstairs and wield the heating to my desire. Arguably I felt this was fair, as there was undoubtably heating in Burty’s place of work. So, if anything, it was even-stevens.
Months passed and I still wasn’t rumbled. Although Burty would occasionally chime in, singing from the same hymn sheet on the importance of sparing the heating and saving money. But with the nod of a head and some zingy phrases, I’d successfully covered my toasty back. I was undercover, playing both sides. I was Serpico, Donnie Brasco and I felt the War of the Rads was finally over. To be honest, I couldn’t be arsed with another lecture and awkward conversation where my views wouldn’t be considered. It was my home, and it was beginning to feel uncomfortable.
Besides, the only witness to my crime was the cat and I felt strongly that she also benefited from my sting operation.
History became legend. Legend became myth. And for two and a half months, the heating passed out of all knowledge.
Until, when chance came, I was betrayed, by the smart meter. The watcher and Oracle of the truth, you cannot deceive the smart meter.
I was called into work one week where unbeknownst to me, our supplier provided us with a smart meter. A new incentive to regulate and show us our usage and how poor we are in real time.
Yaaayyyyyy!!
It was delivered and installed while I was at work and soon after this, the jig was up. Burty would make a note and comment on how the number had increased since the morning. He would become frustrated and once again insist on the importance of only turning it on when absolutely necessary.
‘But don’t you have the heating on in your place of work Burty?’ I would often chime. ‘Its winter’
However, with the light and shine of the sun peeking through the fog, the war of the rads was put to bed. It was the start of summer, there’s no place for central heating now.
Feeling the warmth on our skin without the usual rattling pipe accompaniment, the woes of winter melted away. Together, we unplugged the smart meter and discarded it into the depths of the airing cupboard.
Until next year Burty…
