Sunday, 22 November 2015

↑ Temp ↑

I do own, somewhere, a convection heater. It's probably somewhere among the assorted junk in my the attic at SH, alongwide all the fan heaters my parents have collected over the years. Any rational person would assume that it no longer works, considering how it's been archived... but I have faith. It survived being dropped on its side repeatedly and even losing both feet due to loose screws, plus years and years of being transported around with me to various places, still managing to produce enough heat to sustain me. I'm certain it still works.

I didn't bring it with me when we moved to this flat (which we are being forced to move out of soon; needless to say, I don't wish to discuss the specifics behind this - it's just a massive headache); I did assume that, since our room has a radiator (and it was baking hot when we got here in mid-August), we'd be able to regulate its temperature relatively effectively, and with the aid of some pliers, my dad turned off the radiator and we threw open the French windows.

Fast-forward to mid-November and I'm still wearing my coat and gloves despite being inside.

I've barely been here all weekend. Yesterday I spent most of the day attending an open house held by my friend-who-is-a-midwife (and, by extension, her brothers, Mane and Mane Jr.), and today I was at a joint anniversary... thing, celebrating my grandparents having been together for 60 years without managing to kill each other like the married couple in Father Ted (it's been a close-run thing). The temperature of my room wasn't really a major concern in my mind throughout either party, and yet - the instant I got home - it became more of a critical problem than a minor niggle.

It took a huge amount of effort to get the radiator back on (I ended up, rather than using the same pair of pliers, replacing the plastic knob and pushing with Herculean strength), and when that wasn't enough, I resorted to closing the curtains and lighting candles, rationalising that that's fire and fire is hot, and making a cup of tea. Then, and only then, did I feel comfortable enough to take my jumper off and settle down at my computer - well aware that my trusty old convection heater could have done the same job in about ten seconds.

I was at my happiest back a few years ago, in the cold winter months: my light, bright and airy room provided a perfect place to sit, think, blog and even stretch my legs if I wanted to. A little inspiration from a warm cup of tea and thirty seconds of warm air from my heater, and a little external peace and quiet, and I could turn out content like this that I was both pleased with and wistful about (now there's a combination!). The cosy comfort brought on from artificial warmth, a lot of light and a familiar setting - providing a complete antithesis to the colourless wasteland presented outside - certainly was conducive to a productive and satisfied ILB.

And my penis gets bigger when it's warmer.

Somehow.

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