No sooner does George Monbiot declare his campaign against Agas, when our Rayburn – whether piqued at not being included in the cast-iron axis of evil, or coming out in sympathy for its bigger, oil-guzzlingier cousin – goes into a bit of a decline. The problem (annoying green campaigning journalists aside) is apparently due to our habit of not running it hot enough, which saves us fuel, and hence carbon emissions, but means it cokes up quicker. I’m sure there’s some happy medium balancing heating oil consumption by us versus fewer miles driven by Rayburn engineers, but attempting to work it out only served to confuse my poor addled (and now chilled) brain further. And so we have to wait until Tuesday, when the Rayburn engineer can fit us in, and hope the patient survives until then.
I’m not hopeful, though, as it is doing the dreaded Rayburn death-rattle as I type and the temperature in the oven – and the kitchen – is slowly, slowly dropping. Mr Monbiot can be assured that there will be some few grammes of carbon saved between now and then, I suppose. But if I promise to fly nowhere and keep cycling down to the paper shop, do you think I could get him to lay off my main source of heat, comfort, and coffee?