Old School

I was walking past the site of my closed infant school in Highcliffe today, and walked through to the car park at the rear, where I said hello to a tree I've not touched since I was six years old. It looked strong and healthy, and strangely slightly smaller than it was more than fifty years ago.

Farewell to an old friend

Much though I'd come to love my central heating boiler, I knew that anyone in a mind to consider buying my house would not have similar feelings. Though it was still working, after last year's heavy surgery, it was time for a new.

My theory, that the fundamental problem with the old device was a leak between the in and out, concentric, tubes of the flu was starkly confirmed when the central pipe was revealed to have holes I could almost fit my hand through. No doubt these were contributing to the excess of moisture arriving at the top of the casing, and also to a certain drop in efficiency, and probably somewhat to a lack of safety in operation.

The new boiler, a Worchester, makes strange noises. It's interesting to see the evolution of design and manufacture from the old, early, Glowworm Energy Saver. That inner flu is now plastic, and the whole water jacket is inverted, with the ignition at the top - the fan now controlling the flame entirely rather than simply pumping the flue gas.

Warm I may be, but my feelings for this efficient new model will never equal the old.

Yamaha QY22 backup battery fix.

Although the last time I recommended a battery supplier, it was for their kind help with a multi-cell NiMh battery for my heating system, on this occasion I'd like to pass on thanks to AllBatteries, for a cell that fixed my QY22 backup battery issue. I ordered a Lithium Manganese Dioxide CR1/3N FDK loose 3V 160maH.

Postage was a bit steep, but the battery itself was very reasonable. I could have spent less money and bought a three pin format of the same cell, but this was the correct two pin component, and fitted perfectly without having to fudge around with the wiring.

Other Feelings

I wrote, twelve and more years ago, about the burgening relationship forming between me and my central heating system. I admit that over the intervening years, I became careless about its feelings and ignored it for months at a time. I have been rewarded by a cold spell, beginning approximately at the time of the freezing temperatures in December. I deserve nothing else.

As in my last piece, the list of faults had become extensive, and some I am yet to fix. This time though, with the system in its twenty seventh year, some of the failures have become difficult to address. I have been fortunate in obtaining spare parts, especially the safety systems which had become untrustworthy over the years, but significant components have reached their end of life, and are beyond complete repair.

I've come to realise that some symptoms, observed as long as five years ago, have been the result of leaks developing between the flue inner and outer pipes. These allows hot, wet flue gases to mix with incoming cold air, and result in condensation inside the boiler jacket. The excess water drips everywhere, causing rust and damage to the control system. The faults are inside the flue elbow, and inaccessible to any reasonable approach, short of a full removal and rebuild of the boiler and flue assembly.

I have patched as much as possible, by removing the fan assembly and applying metal tape. The boiler will again run without tripping the house RCD; condensate levels are under control. I will however need a new boiler soon. Before that, I'm considering playing with the valve, since it's jammed again. I'm enjoying being warm though, so I'll ignore the problem a while.

Jumping Vlad Flash

When I was nine or ten years old, at school, I vividly remember ending a game of chess that I felt I should not be losing, by tipping up the board, I can understand why there are suddenly leaks appearing in the marine sections of Nordstream I and II. Fortunately, at that time, I was below the legal minimum age to buy nuclear weapons. 

The Wand, the Hat and the Hand Grenade

One of the universals of the interviews with the great, good or utterly insignificant appears to be that they all remember when they met Her Maj. I do not. I'm pretty certain we both attended the same flower show on at least one occasion, and I may have glimpsed a small but regal lady being mobbed by the adoring public, but it's not an image I can draw on with any certainty. It's not that I'm generally forgetful, I met her daughter, in a coffee shop, and I thought: "Why the long face?" and felt ashamed of that.

But the television is on. I've mild Covid symptoms, so I'm not about to impose my presence on the rest of the world. Talking heads, marching bands. I have time to reflect, and to wonder.

I wonder if BSL is really so full of downwards gestures, or whether it's just the topic, for example. I wonder what will be on the telly tomorrow.

Gatekeeper, Fritillary, etc

The area of garden that I cultivated last year is tall with nodding verbena bonariensis, not because I have cultivated them, but purely because I've let them grow, removing what I consider to be weeds. Amongst these tall stems are samples of broom rape, mallow, foxglove, and other cottage garden specimens. If you look carefully there's still some bramble and bindweed.

Attracted to the view outdoors this morning by the fluttering of a large and orangy butterfly, I stood and watched a while, to try and work out which of the fritillaries it was, and spotted a crisp, new gatekeeper. There have been a couple of weeks of meadow browns already, so it's no surprise, despite the difficulties of predicting a season that has been dry and occasionally cool, before the current warmth and sun.