A boiler too far...plus a little Dunkirk spirit

Boiler less Diary. Day 1. The radiators are covered in wet clothing after our drenching at Eden..they will now stay wet.

Yes, Ms Monkey's boiler has gone and died on her. Not at the most opportune moment either! On Saturday, Ms Monkey went to see Tim Minchin at one of the Eden sessions. Imagine, if you will, a warm, balmy evening. The scent of herbal oils and citrus blossom from the Mediterranean biome, wafting gently on the breeze. The subtle flavours of tannins and fruits caressing your taste buds from a fine red wine. The heat of the day gradually dissipating, as one is entertained with amusing, witty anecdotes and songs.

It was nothing like this!

Imagine, instead, a months worth of rain falling in one evening. Imagine wind, gusting at forty miles an hour. Imagine wearing so many layers to keep warm that you dare not enter the biomes for fear of overheating and not being prepared to remove any, for fear of soaking oneself because every outer layer is dripping. I had over compensated on the layer front, as sitting in a wheelchair for any length of time is a chilly experience. Sitting in a puddle, in a wheelchair, is close to soul destroying. Imagine going to a gig in wellies and waterproofs and still being soaked to the skin (brollies were not permitted!).

Drenched does not even come close to describing how wet we were by the end of the evening. luckily, it wasn't too cold....but my mittens looked like a pair of dead otters by the end of the night and sitting in my wheelchair (mobile puddle) meant I had a soggy sit-upon. I opted for the cider, rather than wine, as it lasts longer.....it lasts eternally when it is constantly diluted by a deluge from the heavens. Now I like Mr Minchin, but must confess, I was praying that he wouldn't do more than one encore (he didn't). I wish I had had my hip flask with me....or maybe a hot water bottle! I have no photos of the evening, my camera is not waterproof...neither, it would appear, are my waterproofs!

Boiler less Diary. Day 2. The sun is shining. Who needs a boiler? Still have wet clothes, perhaps a washing line would help?

One should be grateful, however, for small mercies. At least we weren't on the Isle of White!

Are we having fun yet? (Isle of White Festival; courtesy of Huffington Post)

We decided to take the dogs for a walk at Gwithian....we forgot the dogs were banned. A quick U-turn found us at Upton Towans, which is a sandy beach with little pools, running down to the sea. My dog decides it's toilet time. Not by the car, nice and convenient like, no, by the sea. And not on the sand for easy scooping....no, she stands up to her leg pits in a pool and poops away and guess what? It doesn't all float! And you know the worst thing? Putting your hands into a pool of water to fish out poo and finding that your bag isn't water tight....nice! I normally carry a spare, but typically, on this day I had forgotten....thank all that's unholy for friends with poo bags! *note to self: buy hand sanitiser!

Ms Monkey goes fishing for strange fish

Boiler less Diary. Day 3. The rain has started again...the gas board cannot send anyone until tomorrow....and I had to pull the disabled card to get anybody that quick! I must wait in all day. It's cold and damp...I think I might have frost nip!

Of course my big mistake was to have a bath on the Thursday before the weekend (no, I don't bathe everyday; I'm single). My second big mistake was not to dye my roots as soon as I removed my hair extensions. I now feel like a tramp!

Boiler less Diary. Day 4. The gas man has come! He switched the boiler on and it worked...he serviced it....and then condemned it. My seals have gone and my fan sounds wonky. There is only one repairman on tomorrow for the whole of West Cornwall. I must wait in all day. It is raining and cold. I may have frost bite. There is a funny smell....

Now I smell like a tramp! I can't carry kettles of boiling water up the stairs anymore....I am not filling the bath with a Trangia! The house also smells; we suffer a lot from damp here in Cornwall and my house isn't exactly waterproof. There is a distinct smell of mildew....lovely!

Boiler less Diary. Day 5. The gas man has come. Two arrived at the same time. Just like buses. Neither had the right fan. They have ordered the right fan. Maybe. It will come tomorrow. I must wait in all day. It is raining and cold. I definitely have frostbite. There is still a funny smell....I may have gangrene...I have attempted to hide it with deodorant. Perhaps there is a dead hooker behind the sofa. She may have snuck in to die...possibly of hypothermia!

I have been camped in my living room, under a blanket, since Sunday. So this is what retirement is like....

Boiler less Diary. Day 6. To compound my misery, a roving pack of Jehovah's Witness's circled today. Sadly the fire that I had lit in the living room was not sufficient to keep them from my door and I could not hide as they had spotted me through the window. However, my coherent scientific arguments were strong enough to repel them. The Damned sweatshirt probably helped.

The gas men came back after lunch, they had a selection of fans. I do like to see determination! After much swearing and the sound of loud bangs and crashes, they emerged smiling and left me with warming radiators and the promise of a toasty bath, filled with bubbles and soft scents.