Toasty
I’ve lost count of the amount of times I moan about being cold (much to Hubby’s disgust). We do have a rather knackered oil fired central heating system, but having stone floors and drafty corridors, plus being exposed to the elements on all sides means that you’d have to have it on all day to reap the benefit – not cost effective at over 600 Euro per tank. There’s an open fire in the sitting room and a wood burner in the kitchen, but they both hate me, and go out as soon as my back’s turned. Hubby, on the other hand, loves them as he gets to go out in the woods with his scary chainsaw and ‘forage’ in a manly provider kind of way. I often expect to see him limping back to the house dragging a stump – and I don’t mean a tree stump either.
I was telling J the plumber/builder/carpenter/tiler about this very problem yesterday while watching him tile the bathroom floor (more stone). He’s been working on the house for a while and we’ve grown very fond of him. He’s lived in the village all his life and has given us no end of valuable advice and information from everything to the vagaries of the village shop opening times to his take on ‘the troubles’.
When he arrived back from lunch, he mentioned that he’d brought me some turf. Now far be it from me to look a gift horse in the mouth, I thought, but one thing we don’t need is more grass. However, when I came outside to look at my gift I was heartily surprised. What J had actually brought me was a bag of peat ‘sods’ (don’t laugh, that’s what they’re called), hand-cut and dried last summer by his own fair hand. Well, I was touched. Not only is the hand cutting of peat in serious decline here in Ireland (it’s labour intensive but the most environmentally friendly way of sustaining peat bogs), it’s also bloody hard work. What’s more, he obviously relies on his precious store to see him through the winter. And not only did he bring us an enormous bag and decline any payment, he then proceeded to build me the most beautiful, rip-roaring fire I’ve seen since we’ve been here.
I am eternally and disgustingly grateful (and warm!) and have made an enormous batch of maple syrup flapjacks in thanks. I might even take my bobble hat off.
