Boiler Blues

This morning the postman spent an unprecedented number of minutes outside my front door shoving a glorious number of book parcels inside, and I think he got revenge on me for aggravating the housemaid's knee and awful back condition he undoubtedly possesses by somehow instructing the universe to kick me in the metaphorical balls; my hot water boiler upped and died like a pathetic coughing snivelling bastard about an hour after the postman left.

Do you know how many books I could get for the price of a new boiler? About a gazillion, let me tell you that.

My levels of enthusiasm for home ownership are not peaking right now. RENT, PEOPLE, RENT! But I have consumed enough sugar (in the form of emergency cookies, thanks Andy) this afternoon to keep me blasting through the days and days of cold-showers-and-no-washing-machine that lie ahead until I get this whole sorry mess sorted.

If only the iPhone had a hot shower app.

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