The best way to deal with a cold flat is to not be in it, so we spent yesterday evening in the company of atommickbrane and her many many chums. I got to drink Samuel Smith's cider and discuss Elite Four-beating strategies, so I was happy. We then moved on to the 12 Bar Club to be entertained by MJ Hibbett.
I was delighted to discover that you really do only need to know three chords to be a Pop Star - I know at least eight, and some of them are minors, though I suppose putting them in a sensible order and adding some lyrics would help.
MJ's greatest hit to date is probably Hey Hey 16k, a delightful ode to the early days of home computing ('We bought it to help with your homework/And the family accounts'), now available to buy on a T-shirt. His other works were equally charming, especially the one about the joys of playing the Wide Game (which had to be discontinued at Air Cadets because too many people got hurt).
Just after we got home the Transco man, a jolly fellow with a red face and a yellow hi-viz, popped round and turned the gas back on. Heat! Hot water! Cooking! Showers!
[As I was typing that, the phrase 'Waiting...to turn on the showers and fire the ovens' slipped unfortunately to the forefront of my mind.]
We're not out of the woods yet; it seems Thames Water were the culprits, having not yet learned to put away their toys after they've finished playing with them, and still need to fix what they broke. But at least I'm clean.