I arrived home last night from a lovely dinner with The Daughter. We fought over my computer to look at Facebook (interesting times) and then noticed that the upstairs rooms were freezing cold. The boiler, newly fixed and serviced last week, appeared to have forgotten the expense which had been lavished upon it and was having a tantrum in the only way it knew how. Its mysterious error codes confronted me sullenly. I had three options: leave it to sulk in the garage and go to bed, settle down to study the 300 page manual or call The Husband to discover the secret of coaxing it back into co-operating, as he had done many times. Reader, I took the easiest option.
Five minutes later, the boiler purring diligently and the radiators filling gently with scalding water, I knew had made the right decision.
What I omitted to mention is that The Husband is currently in Canada. He was admittedly a little surprised to be carrying out long distance boiler maintenance from a hockey shop in Toronto, where The Son was attempting to set a new world record in the little known sport of Wallet-Emptying (perhaps assisted by his mother’s distracting phone call).
Thinking back on my recent theme of communication technology as I drifted off to sleep in a warm bedroom, I smiled as I thought what my parents’ generation would have made of the episode. A Long Distance Call for them was a once-a-year event, when perhaps the whole family would gather to hear one side of the conversation with someone so far away, so precious were the minutes and so astronomical the cost. And here was I, calling Canada on a mobile phone from the garage for boiler maintenance. I’m guessing it was cheaper than the call out fee …