How to beat the Gas price hikes

I went to get my ink cartridge re-filled last week in a shop which happens to be beside a garden centre, I wandered in next door while waiting for my new budget solution to printing (why is a new cartridge of black powder €25?). I admired all the chic plant pots you could buy if you had 250 euro handy. Then I came across the gleaming barbecues. We’ve had the summer of all summers, I smell charcoal steaks on the breeze most evenings and wish I hadn’t given away the crock of a bbq years ago, but then it rained every summer up til now. And I had to do all the cooking because the cost centres were too small.

The gas barbecues were on special offer, which is the only time to buy anything as far as I’m concerned. The German lady with the raspberry red hair wouldn’t leave my side as I pondered and dithered, acutely aware I’d come out to spend 15 euro on ink and no more, but she had a Teutonic will and a fool-proof sales pitch ‘zere is no more of dis model in all of Ireland’. I feared I might not enjoy burnt animal before the end of the Indian summer, as our new Mediterranean brown nation snapped up every last bbq. So I slapped down a deposit and went away to dither some more.

The cost centres and I pored over the catalogue back home and decided it was too small for the price; the next one up made more sense, what with it being an outdoor cooker when Bord Gais decide to cut me off, and the fact that boys like big toys. So we agreed we’d pool our cash and take joint ownership, there was only the small matter of them assembling it. 

Cost centre no. 2 came with me next morning, to ensure we were making the right decision; neither he nor I had ever taken so long to evaluate a purchase. We are truly in the zone of every cent counts.

I had to get a gas cylinder too and prevailed on my extended family to find an empty one in their sheds so I could save 35 euro.

Was it worth it? No more kitchen smells or scrubbing the grill, boys who actually make their own burgers with herbs and onions, an acceptance of herby sausages as an actual dinner. And the discovery of Lawlor’s Lamb Burgers as a top favourite (thanks to Racquel for that tip). Yes, but then all Dec Decklanders knew that already.

A dear friend who often offers to barbecue for me had a birthday recently, a man who has everything, so what to buy this time? Only so many paintings and books you can give.

So, happy birthday MGMT, I look forward to charcoal rib eye one of these days.

Pot Boilers

It had to happen sooner or later. I've navigated the last six winters without boiler failure, or boiler service. As a woman, the service or maintenance of something that hasn't broken down, ie. a car or life-giving heating appliance is an option rather than an annual event. There are must-haves at 250 euro way up the list, well, there were.

In the six years since new boiler was installed to cater to the extension that is my workplace and cause of debt it has been exemplary, the only crib being the exorbitant cost of gas in this country. But as soon as cold Latvian lodger moves in, it goes on the blink. I've been getting up at 6.30 last two days to kick start it. I'd kick it if it wasn't so high. An entire morning was spent trying to find a service engineer who would touch it, 'oh that one, no, you'll have to get on to someone in Kerry,' I heard three times. As for Bord Gais, they must be the only call centre where they give their surname as well when they greet you after the twenty minutes of Greensleeves and ads for their efficiency. Clearly, shopping around is my thing, so on to the afternoon calls and back to Kerry.

I'm sure lodger no. 2 thinks it's a conspiracy to freeze him out, well that was a thought. But it's not working, he's being very understanding and each time I'm about to have 'the talk' who arrives only Absentee BF. Always welcomed but now he's added two days to the awkward moment. Men and their timing, if Carlsberg made them, I'd like mine a microwave, put him on at a 1000 watts, heat him up for 2 minutes and savour a warm dish watching the Oscars with a glass of chianti.... something like that.

I'll be waiting in for a three hour window for Kerry serviceman to call tomorrow. Well, truth be told, I'll be re-writing each word of my novel as usual. ABF is on a plane somewhere and lodger no. 2 is already vacuuming his room, being super-tenant. I'm particularly worried that the house won't be all warmed up for lodger no. 1's return from the UK between his ski trip to St Manton. That's St Anton in Austria where there's 10 men to every woman in the apres ski bar. See, timing, it's ski heaven for women.

My own timing was pretty bad this morning, telling CC# 2 he could have his old room back as it was affecting his studies being stuck in the linen cupboard and sharing a bathroom with his mum. I could see an immediate change in his lacklustre humour, with the hope of having somewhere to study for his finals and a bathroom to trash again. Now I have to stick to that plan and abandon the rental of the master en-suite. But desperado that I am, I've my eye on the linen cupboard which is a perfectly nice single room, I could possibly put a student into. The kind you make packed lunches and dinner for. Have I become a complete masochist or slave to the bank? 

As I sit and watch the Oscars, Lodger No. 2 comes into tell me he's had a look at two other places. Be still my beating heart, he's taken it on board himself. Bless, and worse, says, he didn't like them, 'because you've spoiled me.'