Badger the Meter

As part of the monthly routine, most of you will understand this, I have to clamber downstairs, trundle round the back of the building, then clamber downstairs once more to the basement.  Once, this was easy, now it is a trial, especially when half way there I realised I had forgotten the paperwork to scribble down the numbers thereof!  Being an idiot is great most of the time but not always you realise. Anyway, down there amongst the ageing spiders webs, the litter blown in by various gales, the odd items dumped by lazy tenants moving on, and the occasional corpse, I found the meter where I had left it.  I scribbled down the numbers, pocketed the paper and pen, and began my ascent.

Eight steps may be few to you, but eight cramped aged steps, with that bit of wood at the bottom looking like it will move anytime, are beginning to worry me.  At least there was music.  The man in No 2 had a guitar CD blasting out, much to my pleasure, rather than the dross on offer most days in this world, and as I grabbed the sides and laboured myself up into the bright sunlight I realised that if I did get trapped down there he would not have heard my pleas.  I might have had to await his woman shutting him up before I could be rescued by Highway patrol.  There again they might just shut the door, fasten the bolt and forget me.  

Anyway, that aside I got out.

Walking slowly in the sunshine I noted how the efficient recycling is going.  One week recycling, next week paper and card.  This morning the boys have just grabbed the lot!  Why do we bother if the staff do not know what they are to do?  Who knows?  However, it has gone off to the piles of recycling lying hither and thither near the railway.  Very safe, unless it catches fire again. 

To revive myself after my trial, I opened a bottle of 'Badger Master Stoat'  'Coffee Stout.'  Very much Coffee stout indeed!  And very good it is too, I recommend this.  A half a pint of this and I'm anybody's today, as long as I can lie on the floor.  

The breweries tried to make us drink foul mass produced rubbish way back when, and this gave rise to many smaller and better breweries brewing proper and varied beers.  Some succeed, some fail, the thing to do is to try one occasionally.  With the prices thereon and taxed abundantly this means I will not become an alcoholic any time soon.  Not that I would, but such prices hinder this anyway.

So, I slowly recover and await the frozen fish in the oven warming up, then the weekend can begin...

Bills, Bills, Bills...

To please the greedy EON Electric people I've had to stumble downstairs, then stumble further down the dead leave covered, slippy, narrow steps into the dim, dank basement to check the meter.  Brushing aside the cobwebs I managed to work out the numbers (I always forget what to do), scribbled them down, and looked around at the dingy surroundings.

 

 

I always find myself asking what that space is for?  These houses all begin with one room, added to over the years.  When did they dig the basement?  What went in that alcove?  This extension at the rear was rebuilt when the landlord took possession, possibly in the 1990's, I am not sure of the date.  

Old maps show the previous building extension but do not explain what it was used for.  It may have been used far back in the past but the building was bought from a doctors, they used the house as a surgery, I doubt they kept a pharmacist down here.  

 

The original steps down are seen covered in slime and dust and filled with rubbish donated by ex-tenants.  It never ceases to amaze how people feel free to dump stuff when they leave.  The old maps show the extension but at no time do they mention what it was for.  A wash house perhaps, with no water?  Until 1861 water had to be brought from the pump of course.  Nothing in the old census indicates the occupants employment.  There again it is not always easy to identify the correct name at this address, the census writers were not helpful to folks like me.  The latest 1921 census is only available on 'Find my Past,' a bunch of money grabbing crooks they are too.  To check the census itself, giving many but not all details, is £2:50, a copy costs £3:50.  It was free on Ancestry once you paid you dues!
 

Anyway, the numbers taken, back up the slimy stairs I slipped, ensuring the door is shut from rats and other vermin.  Before I creaked back upstairs I took a poor shot of our Bluebells.  Three of these come out annually, they have possibly been doing this for centuries!  Delicate things, possibly the original British Bluebell's which are illegal to pick these days.  The only Blubell's I knew as a kid were the 'Bluebell Matches' my dad bought to light the cigarettes that killed him.  Those bulbs bought now in garden centres I believe are Spanish.  Not that I would know, but Brexiteers may get annoyed.   

I inserted the numbers, once I found my way through the many pages, sent off the details.  Today I find the new bill, this tells me how much I pay and how I am £7 in credit.  I am never sure how these chancers work these things out, but they always come out on top.  Once, and if, the weather warms up of course much less use to be made of the electric or gas.  Hooray!  More climate warming around here say I.