At an hour the indecency of which was emphasised by the clock change, we found the kitchen floor mildly awash. Good news: it's cleaner than it was. Bad news: none yet, and I hope that removal of two 2p pieces from the washing machine filter may have resolved the problem. Don't really feel ready to cough up for a new machine right now: the proceeds of our money-laundering efforts are not that impressive so far.
The eponymous Mr Waterman came round this afternoon to see if he could find out why the central heating has been playing tricks on us. He couldn't find anything wrong, but must have kicked it in a suitably sensitive spot, and it is now behaving as it should. And he reacted maturely to our decision that we can't justify spending what it would cost to replace the boiler so long as it's working, government scrappage voucher notwithstanding.
Been having one of those episodes of thinking of buying a new car, on the 'can't take it with you' principle. Dropped therefore in on a local Vorsprung durch Technik shop this morning. First errand was to buy a litre of oil. Since no oil sales body appeared within 5 minutes, the second errand of interviewing suitable vehicles evaporated upon the huffy stumping out of yr. obed. servt. There are days when I can take an equable view of crappy customer service. Today was not one such. (And I bought the oil, doubtless much cheaper, from the knowledgeable and instantly helpful Lenco.)
Friend and colleague Celia dropped in this morning with a clump of snowdrops for the garden, and left with a little pan of rudbeckia seedlings. The hostas she gave us last year are starting to sprout. I keep banging on about how lovely it is to share bits from the garden, and will make no apology for continuing to do so. The seedlings are now outside in cold frames, placed along the west side of the conservatory where they shouldn't get too scorched. Keep your green fingers crossed.
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