So there I was, yesterday, slaving away in the kitchen, up to my ears in turkey and cranberries and all sorts of other delights when Jussi came in from having been up at the croft. There's a flood. I need your help. Everybody.
Thus we all slipped and skidded* our way up to the croft to see what was to be done. It was clear to me that the best thing I could do was show people where the stop cock was and then return to the kitchen - cos the food was at a bit of a crucial stage. I felt guilty about this, but really there was little to be done. It was pitch black, chuffin freezin, and really what was there to do? Watering goats and washing milking machines would have to be done by bringing water up from the cottage in the morning - sight that would make Buster Keaton proud for its comedy values, but there was nothing else to be done.
An hour or so later. Christian returned and modestly announced that it was fixed. Eh? How did you do that?!?!?!
Well - he found a bit of redundant piping with a value attached, took the valve off and attached it in front of the leaking pipe. I mean obviously I could have done that, and indeed I was about to until I remembered the turkey was blackening in the oven ... ...
Christian the heroic.
But with temperatures due to drop below minus 12 again soon (and that is on the coast) - we're worried about a repeat performance - and Christian has returned home and I'm not due to cook a turkey for months so no excuse for me next time.
* We've had freezes and thaws and freezes of thaws and the whole place is a friggin lumpy ice rink.
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