Alun Newman: Take the Edge Off?
I’m not entirely sure whether this is a “man versus woman” issue, but in my house, it certainly feels like it.
After an amazing, unusually dry summer, I’d become accustomed to flinging open the windows each morning, almost expecting every day to be shorts-and-t-shirt weather.
As a wimpy Anglo-Saxon, I’ve usually struggled when the temperature gets too high. My sweet spot used to hover around 22 degrees Celsius. This year, however, I managed to raise my tolerance, 28 felt like perfection. It’s a little eccentric to have an optimum outdoor temperature, we all have our quirks.
For the first time, I truly understood the appeal of those people who dream of a ‘House in the Sun.’ It’s about consistency. The endless blue skies. The knowledge that you can organise a barbecue whenever you like without the desperate, “Quick, before the weather turns!”
The arrival of cooler weather has been a shock to the system. Suddenly, clothes are drying indoors. There’s talk of duvet changes, blankets reappearing on sofas, and coats being draped, infuriatingly, on the banister at the foot of the stairs. All of this was to be expected. What I did not expect was what happened earlier this week.
I stepped through the front door and immediately sensed something was off. Call it instinct, call it intuition, call it The Force if you like but every fibre of my being told me something was out of alignment. I froze. Without taking more than two steps inside, I reached out with the back of my hand and gently touched the radiator. The rest is a blur. I must have passed out, because when I came to, I was flat on my back with my feet in an elevated position and a cold compress applied by my wife.
I summoned what little strength I had left, “The heating’s on?” My suspicions were correct. Over and over, I repeated that it is September, and we can wear thicker jumpers and the cost of gas and electricity. Over and over, I repeated these facts but as I was only saying them in my head, I knew no one heard. This was the argument for the defence. ‘I was taking the ‘edge’ off.’
It’s a good argument. A run up the stairs, around the block or a thick jumper would do the same for free. There was no reply to that as it was only said in my head as well. I converted the moment into a ‘testing the heating before the winter trial’ and I felt better. As it turns out, my wife is not alone. When I shared this saga on the radio, a listener rang in with a powerful counter-argument. She declared, “I haven’t got to this stage of my life to sit on the sofa in a hat and gloves with a blanket!”
Fair point.
So yes, perhaps I’m part of a small but vocal minority, the self-appointed Central Heating Police (mostly blokes?). And with autumn setting in, I suspect our time on patrol has only just begun.