England,  Independent travel,  Travel Blog

England And A Not So Warm Welcome

Eighteen hours after leaving Lindsay’s house in California we are walking the few yards from the car to our front door, jogging with backpacks on for those few paces to get out of the cold as quickly as possible. After seven weeks in the sun a February English evening doesn’t feel great.

“Phil?”, calls Michaela from upstairs, “the screen’s blank”.

“What screen?”.

“The heating system”.

The house is utterly perishing cold. It’s becoming plain that the heating – and hot water – must have failed weeks ago; carpets don’t get to feel like sheets of ice in a few days. Frantic fuse changing brings no joy, we’re going to have to call someone out but let’s get a Chinese meal too, this could be the second long haul job of the day.

Thankfully, Trevor the boiler man plays ball and agrees to come out despite the cold evening. We light the log fire, put on the back-up water system, and wait – not the best first hour home, it’s bloody cold despite the fire. It seems an age before the welcome sound of the doorbell makes us leap from our respective huddles.

Michaela ushers him in, thanks him for coming and begins to talk him through the boiler failure, addressing his nonplussed face for quite a few seconds before realising that he has a food box in his right hand, not a toolbox. Cue embarrassment. Nice Chinese though.

Trevor is next to ring the doorbell, then toiling for three hours until 11pm before tiredness beats him and he has to admit defeat, and as for us, we have to face a very cold bedroom.

“I’ll be back tomorrow, with Andy”, he says.

“Andy?”.

“Electrician”.

Sure enough, Reliable Trevor and new-kid-on-the-block Andy bowl up early Tuesday afternoon, the upshot of which is that there’s now two of them scratching their heads instead of one. Another two hours of testing, re-testing and muffled comments along the lines of “well how can that be happening” and “yeah I suppose it could be that” until eventually the consensus is that we need a part. A part which won’t be fitted till tomorrow.

Trevor speeds off in one direction, Andy in the other, and as for us, we have to face a very cold bedroom.

Work in progress

Of the few things we look forward to when returning home from our travels, snuggling into our own bed and diving into our own hot shower are fairly high on the list. Neither hunching around the hot water bottle in a cold bed nor waiting an hour for the back-up to provide a hot shower are part of this plan. Michaela is extra rueful as she scrolls through the Costa Rica photos in woolly jumper AND dressing gown.

Missing this already

By Wednesday morning Michaela is getting edgy. It’s not just the cold, it’s the washing: drying clothes outdoors in England in February is by no means a guaranteed success and, with no heating, lots of our travel stuff is still waiting to go through “the system”.

Trevor returns, the part turns up an hour or so later, and hey presto after 48 hours everything is back on and at last it feels like home. Towards the end of those 48 hours we found ourselves discussing two topics…

One, what wimps we’ve become. As children, we didn’t have central heating and a log fire would have been perfectly ample, yet somehow we’ve morphed into adults who whinge about something as unimportant as a temporarily cold house!

Two, where shall we travel to next, given that there seems to be more and more relaxation of border controls worldwide. And by the time the heating was back on, we’d booked our next flights….

Where to next?

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