The reassuring sound of a boiler.

23rd December. Christmas preparations well underway. I needed a box from the shed. Our boiler is in the shed, no idea why, I think all boilers in France are in outside sheds or garages next to the oil tanks. I love the reassuring sound of a boiler. I collected my box, but there was a smell… what was it?.. Oil. I looked on the floor, it was wet, very wet. There was no option the boiler had to be turned off.


A plumber promised to arrive on Christmas Eve and he did. A repair was cobbled together but we needed a new pipe… which wouldn’t arrive until at least the 10th January !!… Would the repair hold until then?
No. Boxing Day morning the shed was eerily quiet and the ‘pipe’ was leaking buckets of oil.

I immediately rationed all hot water.. no showers much to my daughter’s disgust and my son’s delight.

For two days we have huddled round two gas rings in the kitchen and have only ventured to bed with hot water bottles and extra duvets and blankets.

The plumber returned yesterday. He has repaired the leak again but there was a lot of sighing, shrugging of shoulders and raised eyebrows.

‘How long will the repair last ?’ I ask

Gallic shrug.

‘My mother in law arrives on Friday.’

He grins. ‘Tell her to work in the garden.’

I look out at the frost covered grass. ‘She has nails.’ I reply.