Throw Another Log on the Thermostat: It's Party Time!

'Will the heating last that long?' Maybe it will. A stupendous development has occurred. The price of oil went down a couple of days ago.

The Oil Tank is our Master
The oil tank (for newcomers to the blog, our rented abode is equipped with a big tank of oil for heating and hot water) has some kind of Bluetooth capacity which it uses to scare the what-nots out of us. A little plug-thingy sits in our kitchen and communicates with the tank. There are digital bars on it - like you get on a mobile phone - that show how much oil is left. Every time a bar disappears, we attempt to turn down the heat. This has resulted in a couple of 'phew - that was a close one!' brushes with hypothermia. Fortunately, the local council offices provide free thermometers for the old or impoverished to work out how far away they are from hypothermia. We picked one up. It usefully shows us the likely cause of death for either/both of us if we don't turn the thermostat up.

Hypothermia Roulette Anyone?
'Ideal' is declared to be 21 degrees C (70 F). Well, that's never going to happen, so we ignore that one. 18/65 is our goal temperature. We feel quite smug if we maintain this in the downstairs rooms (there isn't a hope in Hell of maintaining it upstairs. The upstairs temperatures are so depressing that the thermometer is banned from going upstairs. It protests that it has a 'right to roam' but we lay into it declaring that as long as it is under our roof it must abide by our laws etc, etc... it gets ugly.)

The most accessible temperature for the downstairs rooms is 15/60 - 'Discomfort and risk of respiratory illness.' I keep thinking we'll harden up and be fine at this temperature but, irritatingly, it is actually not terribly comfortable. It doesn't help that I have asthma and as soon as I start wheezing, Hubby raises an eyebrow and turns up the thermostat. Lightweight!

Generally, downstairs, we avoid getting below 12/55 - too cold - 'increased risk of heart attack and strokes in vulnerable people,' and so far we have kept the downstairs rooms above 9/50 - 'risk of hypothermia below this temperature.' Upstairs is a tundra. The bathroom hosts karaoke parties for penguins and polar bears on alternate nights (they can never meet or the QI elves would go into meltdown and Stephen Fry would have a dizzy spell.)

Anyhow, I'm babbling, and babble is the enemy of the blog format so I'll get back to the story. The price of oil plummeted so Hubby rushed to the phone. We had called a few days before and the price of a 'minimum drop' had been insanely high. We crossed our fingers. The price had dropped by £25.

'Buy! Buy!' I shouted. Hubby pointed out the money we needed was in my account, so I had to calm down, recite digits etc and, I have to say, the moment lost some of its drama.

Par-tay!
Today, we luxuriate in heat. The thermometer has just edged into 'ideal living room temperature' and we are exchanging 'shall you turn it down or shall I?' looks of guilt. In celebration of the blog's great successes over the last week, I'm giving myself half a day - maybe more - of 'I could almost wear a tee-shirt' bliss.

'Hubby: throw another log on the thermostat - it's party time!'