I was standing on the patio ...

... late at night - when my eyes beheld an eerie sight.

A cold night, dark it was, and airless. Airless in the sense of no
air movement[1] not that I was standing in a vacuum - anyway, it was
still. Still, quiet and peaceful. Then there was a sudden and
unexpected noise, a sort of rattling shuffle, reminiscent of Autumn
leaves caught in a twisty breeze.

Cocking an ear (no, Loz!) I swivelled a squint into the gloom, peering
towards the probable area whence came the strange sound. An
unexpected cluster of large, brown leaves hove into view, travelling
quite slowly across the grass.

Unusual, I thought. One doesn't usually see bunches of leaves
shuffling themselves across the grass at one in the morning - nor at
any time, to be honest. My jacket collar crept up my nape of its own
accord, propelled by the action of the short hairs standing up for
themselves, as just like that, my heartbeat became palpable.

The freaky leaves turned slowly in my direction at this point,
presenting a couple of options: to remain and observe, a dispassionate
spectator - to turn, step quickly back indoors and firmly close the
curtains against the haunted foliage - or to take a couple of quick
steps forward and assist the spectral ex-greenery into the next
world[2] with a well-placed Size Ten.

By now heading straight for me, the leaves came to a trembling stop -
and then they twinkled at me. Not all of them, you understand, just a
couple of inner leaves, beneath the outer covering. Dimly illuminated
by the light from the kitchen window, there was a definite sparkle
going on. Not cold enough for frost, it wasn't that sort of cold
sparkle, it was more of a dark reflection. There was a sort of
distant whiffling, as well.

On resumption of leaf motion, following a circular sort of path, a
moment of realisation: it was the Stealth Hedgehog, no less. The
spiny fucker must have rolled in a layer of leaves and then trundled
out of the undergrowth onto the lawn, wearing half a camo coat over
his spikes. Once I'd cottoned on to the deception, all sphincters
released in relief.

Startled from his usual stealthy habit, he took off - a quick grunt
and he was up to full speed, doing a beeline bunk for the hole on the
fence on the far side of the lawn, shedding leaves as he went, little
legs positively blurring in his efforts to escape the miasmic cloud of
secondhand Young's.

It's been a while since I've seen him: nice to know he's still about,
catching my butts and snatching a furtive smoke in the undergrowth.
He did frit me up proper this time though, the little fucker ;-)


1. Save the occasional and remarkably degustable fruity flatus,
product of a couple of pints of Young's Winter Warmer, consumed
earlier.

2. Or at least into the next garden, I didn't really GAF.

 

It was Winter Warmer, not mild.

Do pay attention, Bond.

 

I suspect I disturbed his regular perambulation - out of the
undergrowth and across the lawn to the 'outdoor ashtray', whwre he can
grab a butt to suck on. If he times it right, he'll score a still-lit
one, see: he likes a puff, but he has the devil's own job in lighting
one up on his own. Bad combo of long snout and short arms see -
that's why you don't hear of many hedgehogs with hacking coughs.

It hasn't got cold enough yet, I'd assume.

 

Steady on!

 

The test phase of my experimental incontinence pants is now complete.

 

Have you hit 40, yet? Tends to start about then...

 

Mate had a similar thing. Early hours of the morning, all is still
and quiet, him and the Missus recovering from a post prandial shag
when a God Almighty Clatter comes from down stairs waking everyone up.
"It's that fucking cat again!" says he[1]. A discussion ensues
whereby he gets a few more minutes in the warm before giving in to the
inevitable.

So, downstairs he trogs in his jamies to find out what got broke to
discover the cat, hunkered on its haunches, fur standing on end, not
moving a muscle, staring fixedly at the closed basement door...


[1] Someone posted something about wimmin and cats, they were
probably right.

 

It's even better *in* the brewery bar, when the brewery are paying.

 

I guess as you get older, you start to give in to the inevitable.
You are ebbing. ;-)

It's all in the mind, apparently. Well, that and what you were brought
up being used to. The human body appears to be able to cope with and be
'comfortable' within quite a wide temperature range. I read it somewhere
a while ago, can't remember exactly where.

I grew up in a a old mill, no central heating, no double glazing and well
draughty. Consequently, I'm not a great fan of warmer temperatures.
I have yet to turn the heating on at home. So long as it doesn't drop
much below 10-12 ºC I'm pretty comfortable (Looks at thermometer,
currently 13.5 ºC, so positively toasty ;-). I go round to friends houses
and feel stifled at the 20+ ºC they find comfy.

 

This ^^ does not necessarily lead to that VV.

I was also brought up in a cold house. I well remember a set of
finger-nail marks on my window from one time I'd been scraping the ice
off and it had scratched the glass. On the _inside_ of the glass.

I have ours set on 21C, although the rooms are large and sometimes it
takes a while to warm up if the heat's not been on (like when we're
away skiing and get back late Sunday night) so I have to wear a fleece
or similar to keep warm.

For me, a single normal layer of clothing, like the jeans and
long-sleeved shirt I'm currently wearing in our 22C office, should be
all one needs indoors. And if it's below 20C, it needs heating.

 

As Ace has pointed out, your logic doesn't really follow.

I grew up in the 60s and 70s, in ordinary houses that certainly didn't
have central heating (Had central heating been invented then?). I can
recall getting dressed into my school uniform under the bed clothes
before getting out of bed.

Like Ace, I think a reasonable indoor temp is 20 deg C

 

Would that be around 60-70BC? If it was much later, then - yep -
definitely...

 

You poofs should have been raised in Scotland. I cycle to work in
shorts and a T-shirt.

D.

 

heh. What did the romans actually burn for their underfloor heating?

Anyway, no one I knew had central heating when I was a kid.

 

And they call the Scots 'pikey'...

Our home had a big coal boiler on the ground floor, which heated
radiators in all the rooms...

D.

 

Wood. And stuff.

Our house did actually have central heating, installed I guess at some
point in the 1920s, with the most amazingly ornate pipework and
radiators all in copper, or some brassy alloy thereof.

Trouble was, it only ran from an ancient coke-fired burner in the
kitchen, and even if we'd been able to afford the fuel bills (which
I'm sure we couldn't) the effort involved in keeping it running was
phenomenal. And even at full blast the rads were only vaguely warm to
the touch.

In any event, it completely gave up the ghost when I was about 7 or 8,
at a guess, and although the radiators were never removed while we
lived there, no efforts were made to replace it.

Sadly, I believe the next owner ripped them all out and replaced with
modern ones - I'd have loved to get my hands on that house with a
decent amount of cash to renovate it, including the heating system.
Sadly it was sold off when I was about 18 after my parents had split
up.

 

Hadn't your parents heard of Dimplex? I had one on an old fashioned pin
type time clock. School clothes were left over it. It came on 30 or so
mins before getting up (small bedroom). Job done.

10-12 in the house if feckin Baltic

 

We had coal-fired central heating in the house my parents still live in
when we moved back from Singapore in 1969/70. The radiators were these
very long but not tall skirting board type things. It was crap and
didn't heat any of the house properly, the boiler did give us hot water
though.

My bedroom had a rotten wndow frame and I remember being about 10 or 11
and having no clean socks to wear because they were all stuffed in the
gaps between the glass and what remained of the frame. I was about 15
when my parents finally replaced it with a double glazed unit. By that
time I'd filled the gaps myself with car body filler pinched from my
second cousin's bodyshop.

 

Christians. They would deliver themselves to the door, often holding
magazines or tracts that could be used to light them.