I have to tell you about getting cold feet. No not the kind you get before becoming the runaway bride, I mean real, freezer like, purple toed cold feet.
The heating saga in my apartment has somewhat been rectified but unfortunately as luck would have it, the only radiator not working is the one in my bedroom.
And so it continues.
The screwdriver and radiator bleeding key made an appearance last week.
“Just purchase a radiator key and give it a go yourself, it’s relatively easy” said our real estate agent.
Old Phil would have been proud.
That Tuesday night, Hannah and I put on our tradies best, a flannelette button up shirt, stretched our muscles and prepared ourselves for murky water and some intense key turning.
Radiator number one in the lounge room was a breeze. Water sprayed from the joint, but no gurgles from the pipes.
A few minutes later, I channelled Nelly as I fist pumped and sang “Its getting hot in here”.
Hey presto, it worked.
Unfortunately the joy stopped there.
I had an unreachable nut in my bedroom radiator.
Another week of heat packs, woolly socks, blanket snuggling weather in my little room.
I contacted our real estate agents again to request a professional. He added the job to the list, which already included repairing the broken washing machine, killing the mice in the kitchen and restalling fire and carbon monoxide alarms around the apartment.
“Oh and by the way, I just thought I’d let you know the engineer fixed the lounge room radiator last Tuesday morning when he came to look at the washing machine, “ said Harry.
I mentally took back the fist pump and took some off the tickets I had placed on myself.
Radiator – 2, Jess – 0