Boilerhouse Scam

We knew when we bought the house that the boiler was 'vétuste', and we were duly prepared for the cost and inconvenience of replacing it. Today we had the central heating plumber to have a look. After lighting pieces of kitchen towel and waving them near the boiler, and then going up on the roof and staring down the chimney (definitely not something I enjoyed watching), he came to his Solomonic if still hydraulic judgment.

Not only was the boiler irredeemably antiquated, but it had been installed without proper flues, and in a position in the house which was actually illegal. That explains, I think, two apparently unrelated phenomena: excessive condensation below the boiler, and a sooty deposit on the ceiling above. There was an elevated risk of carbon monoxide poisoning, or of a visit from the regulatory authorities - which was more to be feared?

The plumber hummed and ha'd (as plumbers do: for those who need a clue, read the story Malavita, about the mafia in Normandy, by Tonino Benacquista), offered various solutions each more devastating and uncertain in outcome than the last, and then agreed that an immersion heater and electric radiators were probably the solution.

This means ripping out the old boiler, and also the present radiators, and then installing electric radiators and the appropriate wiring - wherever that can pass, over my newly decorated and immaculate walls. Ironic comment from the better half, on the way home this evening: "At least we hadn't painted the old radiators before having them ripped out."

On an excessively positive note, on unpacking our UK compact disc player, we rediscovered our recording of Monteverdi's Il combattimento di Tancredi e Clorinda, feared lost, which played to our enchanted ears, in a perfect acoustic, up in the attic.