The thin veneer of civilisation

Our plumber eventually called back in response to my plaintive cries for help with our failed boiler. He said he'd "put money on" it being a common problem with condensing boilers, particularly in the UK. A blocked condensate drain pipe.

Why particularly the UK? Because we're not used to such extreme weather conditions, heating engineers don't bother to lag the drain. Their customers are driven by cosmetic concerns, especially when the pipe traverses a visible section of exterior wall. The pipe is small-bore white PVC, and doesn't call much attention to itself on its own. Lagged, it doesn't look as good.

Pour some hot water over it, our friendly plumber suggested, and all will be well. So I did, and it was. Within seconds, I'd reset the boiler and the interior temperature was climbing from its nadir of 7°C. Trust me, I'll be lagging that pipe.

But those two hours while I was waiting for plumbing help, and the few hours before when we'd dressed in the cold, drunk our coffee in the cold, and where I'd sat watching daytime TV (I was on strike again yesterday) and failing to get anywhere near warm, brought it home to me how thin and fragile our veneer of civilisation really is.

It's easy to feel safe, secure and superior when you're warm and comfortable. If your attention is permanently occupied with staying warm, there's very little time for other considerations. Cold weather: a barrier to philosophy.

As a boy, and in common with most of my contemporaries, I regularly awoke on winter's mornings with frost on the inside of my bedroom window. Being a geeky child, I kept a record of the temperature, which often dropped as low as 45°F - only a little above the 7°C I was complaining about moments ago. I suspect that would be grounds for accusations of child cruelty these days. Back then it was just the way things were. When did I get so soft?