Hibernation

At this time of year, there seems precious little - apart from guilt - to keep retired people away from the forgiving warmth of the duvet. Once the breakfast has been consumed and the newspaper read, it's tempting to saunter back upstairs and return to the bed one left such a short time ago.

The leaves are lying everywhere in slushy drifts. Muddy footprints decorate the hall, and muddy pawprints show Puffin's precise itinerary after she has given up her abortive visit to outdoors. I know for a fact that she is snoring (she does, you know) gently on the bed, and my natural inclination is to attempt to occupy the bits of bed that she hasn't yet annexed.

Plumbing the depths

Our gas boiler started leaking and making terrifying noises. We were expecting the plumber to arrive at first light, but two of them turned up.

Puffin was very much upset by the invasion, particularly as it was not confined to the kitchen, but involved every single radiator in the house, including the bedroom where Madame was elegantly draped upon the bed.

We now have had a rotten bit of boiler replaced, the entire system flushed out and thermostats fitted to all radiators. Wonderful! Puffin has subsided into relaxed mode and is continuing her day's sleep on the sofa.