On My Walls

Stratocastish

Part 1 of a forthcoming series of photos.

FUCKING FUCKING FUCK

My lack of recent entries is down to moving house and the related internet set-up hassles that go with living on a road that's not actually a road (long story). I can deal with that. I can deal with the poorly insulated front room that's like a meat locker. I can deal with acid jazz floating in from next door. I can deal with all 200 of the neighbourhood cats using my lawn as a shitpot. I can deal with doing tons of DIY despite being awful at it. I can deal with paying for everything while my g/f goes to work but yet pays for fuck all. I can deal with having no fridge.
And so on.
But I couldn't deal with a central heating system that appears to have been designed by Laurel and Hardy. So I called out a heating engineer. He concluded that, whereas I picture a relationship with my boiler that involves cosy nod-offs on the sofa and strolling round the house in my pants in February, what is actually going to happen is either this:



or this:



Leading to it being turned off forever and stickered like this:



Leading to another December like this:



unless I can find enough of this:



to buy one of these:



Bah.