Last night, after the smokehouse cleared and I escorted, out of the doors and windows, every bit of heat from the house that we'd accumulated since early November, I began to worry about the hubby: (You can never worry enough really. As an aside, all the people I know who worry a lot are slim...... I am fat!) Anyhoo, the snow was getting pretty bad and he'd borrowed my
The stink from the damp fire was still revolting so I stomped out into the black and white and returned with my wheelbarrow. (I love my wheelbarrow.... roll on Spring.) With Kevlar fire gloves I weight-lifted the entire wrought-iron log basket, still smoking, into the wheelbarrow and raced it out the front door and out into Home Field. The offending logs and coal are now a part of the prep for next year's Bonfire Night Party.
Hubby finally made it home. Shaking, he said hello and immediately fixed himself a drink. Bad journey home; it's the last 10 miles that really scuppers us.
He was so traumatised he didn't even register the smoke damage, except to tell me that that particular chimney doesn't have a cowl. The chimney was probably blocked with snow and ice.
After a bath I almost smelled human. I sat with hubby in the kitchen, the children safely tucked up in beds and bedrooms that smelled like lapsang souchong tea,.... but I was warm by the log burner (that doesn't smoke) and I was very comfy too, till my arse, 'scuse the French, fell through the
So, this morning we just smell vaguely like we live on a charcoal farm..... Delightful.
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