It took me weeks to realise that the dank, musty smell under the stairs was not actually damp, but a gas leak.
Yes, folks, I'm not the brightest crayon in the box. Especially since we've experienced almost the same thing before (horrid musty smell that turned out to be a big gas leak.)
In Grant's defence, he is not home nearly as much as I am, and has a less keen sense of smell, which is why he didn't twig on sooner either. Anyway, last night the penny dropped and we got someone out to check for us and she told us it was definitely a leak, but she couldn't tell if it was coming from our boiler or the pipework. (I'm voting pipework considering the smell originates near the gas meter, and reflecting on how violently the gas guys were moving that meter around when they replaced the inlet pipe recently.) She had to cap off the gas supply until we can get the boiler serviced and the leak repaired.
And, naturally, and for the first time this winter, the temperature dropped below zero last night. So today I sit, shivering in multiple layers of clothes, getting intimate with our little fan heater, trying to get hold of our gas guy and being vividly reminded of winters in South Africa, where there is no central heating.
I remember being so cold getting dressed for school in the mornings that I would kneel on the floor with my hairdryer held between my knees, the blast of warm air aimed at my torso, as I quickly whipped off my pyjamas and pulled on my school uniform.
At least in this country we have double glazing!
