EDF - ever get that sinking feeling?

When we got the solar panels fitted last year I registered with our energy supplier, Électricité de France, under the Smart Export Guarantee scheme, a process that took months.  I emailed a few days ago to ask where my money was, and got an automatic reply today, telling me how to register…. It doesn’t help that the phone number they gave in the email gets the ‘number not recognised’ tone.  I have fired off a terse email.  Watch this space.

I did not choose to get my supply from EDF: the regulator slammed us to them when our old supplier went tits-up.  It then took them getting on for a year to act on our direct debit mandate, so we finished up with a whopping first bill.  We have stayed with EDF so far because, with everything else that’s going on in our lives, switching is an ordeal we prefer to avoid.  But next time our contract ends, I think we’ll be changing supplier and export customer malgré tout.

Calamities come in threes - I hope…

The oven packing up was a minor inconvenience.  My tumble in the street is still bothering me ten days on.  And last Tuesday we came down to find water dripping from the hall ceiling.  Again.  We had a new hot water cylinder fitted barely three years ago, and the bugger was leaking already.  Anyway, the Taylor twins have fitted a new stainless steel cylinder which should, they assure us, see us out.  Famous last words.  Plasterer comes tomorrow, then we have to decide whether to repaint the ceiling ourselves or GSI.

Well, the fettled oven did its job yesterday, roasting a chicken for our lunch with Marion and Derry, and some amuse-bouche with the aperitifs.  Palmiers with red pesto and prosciutto: our usual ones use garlicky cream cheese and smoked salmon, but Marion can’t eat fish.  Nice afternoon in good company.  We have been dining since then on the leftovers!