End of Summer

This is my first post and I am just getting the hang of this blogging lark – but I will hopefully improve. Seems strange to write onto the web and not know if anyone is reading, but I will keep persevering and hopefully someone, somewhere will know that I’m here…which is a bit of a metaphor for country life I suppose.

logs

Today I ordered half a ton of logs. I can feel the palpable excitement in zeros and ones, as people read this – really? Half a ton? Not the full load? Well, tarmac treaders, the reason why I ordered half a ton is two-fold:

  1. It’s £85.00 for half a ton of wood and, frankly, spending £160.00 on a bunch of stuff that I will eventually burn feels wrong
  2. Storage. We don’t have a log-shed but have storage inside next to the actual fires and if the wood sits outside all the time it’ll get wet and blah-de-fucking-blah. Basically, it ain’t like going to B&Q and buying some briquettes for your barbecue; you have to plan and you need somewhere to put your logpile.

You know? I have a few issues with buying wood; don’t get me wrong, I love an open fire and the sound that wood makes when you burn in and the lovely smell you get from it – I get it. Totally.

But…burning wood? WTF? Aren’t we beyond that? Didn’t the Romans help us out and teach us how to central heat our house so we don’t have to go chopping trees down like we’re playing a game of Age of Empires? Also, isn’t it wrong to chop down trees? Aren’t they good? Won’t Sting get mad or something and start wailing Roxanne outside my window in that weird Jamaican singing accent he has?

The sad fact of the matter is is that: we have central heating! That’s the crazy thing. We burn wood to keep warm.

We feel the radiators and umm and ahhh and wander around in jackets indoors and occasionally  get British Gas to come around and make sure the bloody system works (which it does except in very cold weather when it freezes – the engineering expertise of the British has really tailed off in my opinion…) but eventually we have to start burning stuff. So I have to buy wood.

I swear if there wasn’t a Waitrose around here, people would eat their young.

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