So, laying in bed waiting for sleep to come, which is a hobby of mine when I’m meant to be switching to nights, I am given lots of time to think. I stare vaguely at the pillows, the sheets, the bed head, the walls. And contemplate issues.
This is not to be our house forever.
We intend to be in this house long enough for us to enjoy the fact that Kathryn has indefinate leave to remain, and hopefully, possibly gain citizenship such that we can come back whenever the hell we want.
After that, we’re planning to run far and fast from this country. Although listening to the BMA’s speeches at the same time as lying here fills me with some hope for the country.
Anyhow, whilst I was lying there, I’ve been thinking of setting fire to our desire to substantially increase the amount of insulation in this house. We wanted to put insulation outside the house, turning the walls into a giant heat sink. The front of the house, though, sports rather neat architectural features – making that difficult or indeed, impossible, to do well. So instead we were planning to insulate the inside of the front, and much of the inside at the rear (much, not all, because the bathroom sports its original 1930s subway-style tiles, which we very much want to keep).
But as I sit here, and contemplate it, I think… it’s probably going to be at least a couple of thousand pounds. I can’t give an accurate quote, because no one local installs anything that isn’t petrochemical derived. Or at least, I can’t find anyone who does. Apart from Urbane with their wit-and-humour quote where the “we’ll break it down for you so you can see which bits cost what, and what you have to cut” turned into a single total figure.
So I lie here, and I think, we should perhaps save that money. The house, contrary to expectations and despite being not heated properly, is actually quite warm. Which is nice, and perhaps adequate.
So when Kathryn gets back, I’ll raise the spectre of chopping out another of our desires. The advantage is, of course, we can pull the plumbers in now…