My friend Norma lives in a converted water mill. She has a terrific view and low rent, because you can’t park anywhere near the place. You leave your car near the football stadium and walk up a very steep track for about ten minutes. The first half is steps, which are slightly steeper than the stairs in my house.
It’s a marvellous house if you want to get fit. It’s also a very nice house for a musician, because you don’t have many neighbours, and as I said, the rent is cheap.
It’s a dreadful house when you live alone and you have flu. Norma has flu. On Friday she told me she had real trouble getting home with the shopping. In the early hours of Saturday morning she had a plumbing failure and a flooded kitchen and living room. As you might imagine, but then she was feeling pretty uncheerful.
The water heating is electric, but the cooker is gas. On Saturday her gas bottle ran out. She has no microwave, or camping stove. Not even an electric kettle or toaster. So no gas means no hot food and no hot drinks. And a full gas bottle weighs about 40 kilos (88lbs). So my lovely husband took one up for her.
And here’s the embarassing bit. He was carrying 40kg of gas bottle, and I had my little handbag, and I couldn’t keep up with him. I arrived about three minutes later, gasping, to find the gas bottles switched and the kettle on. That man is well fit.
And then we zig-zagged down that steep, bumpy path in the late dusk, which felt rather adventurous. But we left Norma feeling much happier.
