Yesterday at eleven p.m. the electricity came in. I checked the heater. It worked all right and I took it over to the Underground.
And this night's bombardment did awaken me.
In the morning I went to the Site and brought a sack of wood and some tools to tinker at a tin woodburner construction.
Aram, my brother-in-law, generously allowed me to pick up the remnants of a household electric oven made in Germany about 20 years ago and now kicking about in a junk heap in the corner of his mother's yard.
To do the project I only had to add two more holes to the rusty oven box. One at the bottom of its door to let the air flow in and the other on the box top at the opposite end.
The conversion took all of the day with a break for lunch with Sashic and Carina on a visit with their children.
Manufacturing of this quick-and-dirty woodburner left no time for Joyce but the contraption works OK. I installed it side by side with the now mum gas heater.
At the final stage—adjusting smoke pipes to the burner—Armo, the landlord, lent a helping hand.
It's ten p.m.
I'm alone. The household noise of machine-guns outdoors. Eager squeaks and galloping of mice under the floorboards.
Good night to all.