Perhaps it’s inevitable that when you’re retired you look back at all the things you used to be able to do and can no longer do. Inevitable but stupid. An intelligent retiree focuses on those activities they can do and values / takes pleasure in those positives. Hmm, simple.
That’s what I’ve tried to do over the last eleven years of my retirement. But no matter how determined you might be to see the plus side, every now and again God, or whoever, says, hmm, nice that you’re being positive but I wonder if you can deal with this one?
In this case ‘this one’, the curved ball, googly of life (depending on which side of the Atlantic you reside), is the central heating. Like many people in the Northern hemisphere we are, at this time of year, turning on our central heating or rather, as in our case, not turning it on. This brings to mind one of those things I cannot do.
Back in the day I used to be quite the DIY champion. Partly because we could only afford to buy houses that needed ‘doing up’. Which is fine but also we couldn’t afford to pay skilled craftsmen to do the jobs. So in my time I have decorated inside and out, rewired the electrics, plastered, woodworked, knocking through walls and bricking them up, made furniture, built bookcases (nice picture below), constructed a summerhouse (from kit), upholstered and, relevant to this blog, installed additional radiators and maintained our central heating system.
But not now. It goes as follows. Time to put on the central heating, it doesn’t work and I can’t fix it as I would once have done. Obviously I will call a man who can fix it and pay him but, back in the day … So I’ll just give it a try. First make sure the pilot light is lit. It isn’t, so light it (with great difficulty as I can’t bend down, fortunately Mrs Summerhouse can)). We light it and, as they say, it’s the hope that kills you. The system doesn’t crank up. Bugger.
Next, with a little help from the internet, check the pump. Unscrew the first ‘bit’ and free up the little grommet thing inside. Now will you work? Answer of course is, no. Double bugger. Next on the list is the valve (3-way as you ask). Stop me if I’m boring you. Jiggle the little lever thing on the top and make sure it’s in the auto position. It is. Finally, hit the pump with a hammer. Any good? Well I think you can guess. I’ve run out of ‘buggers’.
I won’t bore you any further by explaining how I apply a layman’s logic to all this. Perhaps just one example. If the pipe is hot going into the pump and similarly hot coming out of the pump, conclusion, the pump is alright. Right? No, wrong. It’s not, as an old boss of mine used to say, that simple. Try elsewhere.
I’ll just mention bleeding the radiators. Everybody knows about that. So up the stairs to the radiator that used to warm-up first with the little key thingy. Open the valve. Air starts to come out. Joy, that’s what’s supposed to happen. Remember it’s the hope that kills you. Oh yes, I forgot, but soon remember when it stops with the radiator slightly, tantalisingly warm (but not hot).
Just one last try. I ask my neighbour if he can help. Answer, no, he is as puzzled by this complete lack of logic as I am. In some ways this is a comfort. In others, no. He does. However, know a man who can fix it. Maybe for not much money or more likely he will look at the boiler (which is very old – see attractive picture above) and say this is too old and you need a whole new system and it will cost …
The man ‘who can’ is coming (allegedly) this afternoon and I’m writing this is the morning. Maybe I’ll let you know what happens because I’m pretty sure you’re hooked on the outcome of this retirement saga.
Stop Press. He’s been and we need a new pump. Price to be determined.
Double Stop Press. New pump will cost £330 plus £90 labour. Refurbished pump £230. Oh the dilemma. Which to go for?
