Power cut

Hiya again
I have to have a wee moan -- here on the West Coast of Scotland, moaning is a national pastime, it seems (about 50 per-cent of the time, anyway) -- makes me feel right at home, as Switzerland must be the moaniest country in the world.
At about 9:15 this morning, there was a gentle knock on my door and when I called to check who it was, I heard a muffled "Scottish Power" (or something). The house next door suddenly went dark about two weeks ago and workers have been ripping up the pavement (yet again) searching for the place where the power link was disrupted. Well, they seem to have found it. And I'm sure they knew last Friday that they were going to have to cut our power while they connected everything up again. And could have told us, so we could have been prepared.
But no. Twenty minutes was all we got for a power cut that was to last at least six hours. And those who weren't home probably got no warning at all, so if they had things in the freezer or in the washing machine, that was just too bad.
My laptops are getting on a bit, and their accus empty out pretty quickly these days, so to work (and play) I really need power. My mobile phones were as good as empty, too, and I had not yet had my hot coffee. Luckily, I have gas, so that wasn't a problem. And I had just had the kettle boiled so the thermos was full of piping water for later (I have a huge kettle, much too big for one person, so I always pour the excess hot water into a beautiful thermos -- saves time and energy, I hope).
Anyway, I managed to get everything ready, even managed to warn some of my clients that I would not be in touch all day, before all went quiet and still. All the little lights that accompany me through the day, all the little noises -- gone. The whole terrace was really quiet. I could hear the little boy next door, kids across the burn, birds. Cars, too, and the workers out in the street -- they were suddenly very noticeable. The silence in the house brought everything else in much closer.
I made the best of a not-very-good situation and tackled those sash windows in my sitting-room that I have been meaning to clean ever since I got here three months ago (like Swiss-French, French, German, English etc. houses, Scottish houses don't get cleaned by the person leaving them, they get cleaned by the person taking over -- this time I got the rotten deal, having cleaned my flat in Bern so that you could have licked the floor (eternal thanks to my friends who came to help me), and finding my new flat here rather superficially cleaned. What I found in my partially furnished flat, under the sofa and elsewhere, would warrant a different post, but I don't want to disgust anyone. The long and the short of this is that none of the windows have seen a wet rag for -- I don't know how long. Months, maybe years.
Cutting open an old sash window involves a stanley knife (soon after my arrival here I became the proud owner of one that sits really well in the hand and has an extra safe blade holder), a large screwdriver and something to distribute the weight of the screwdriver so it doesn't leave deep gauges in the soft wood around the window. And rather a lot of brute force. Actually, no, it works better to persuade the materials to yield and to allow the blade to cut through them. A little slower, maybe, but the result is at least as good.
Anyway, the whole sash window system is a complicated affair of ropes on heavy counterweights and hidden gadgets -- and because someone who used to live here was really crap at diy and taking care of things, most windows first have to be checked over to make sure everything's there that's needed. Such as a pair of slotted brass butt-hinges* and their counter-screws screwed well into the window frame to take the weight of the lower window pane, a full stopper to keep the rope slack once the batten rod was opened. I never thought to check that one and found to my surprise that one of the two windows I did today had lost part of the stopper -- it was an interesting job holding that rope with one hand so the window stayed open and cleaning the window with the other hand.
After about an hour and a half of hard graft, cutting and pulling and wedging and diligent scraping and wiping and rinsing I can now see through my windows and feel as though I was sitting outside -- they're that clean!
While I was at it, the room got a wee re-shuffle, too, which means one cardboard box is out of the way.
(You see, I'm gearing up for my second visitor, due to arrive at the end of the week.)

To reward myself for the huge effort (I actually had a rather sore shoulder joint from all the pulling and heaving), I asked a friend to meet me at the Oban Chocolate Factory for a coffee and a wee blether. The day was gorgeous, warm, with a gentle breeze, the boats and ships in the harbour were numerous, and life was pretty good. Pix to follow later.

*) For a look at these beauties, go to http://www.inbrass.co.uk/acatalog/Sash_window_accessories.html -- you'll have to scroll down a bit, but you'll see some of the accessories one needs if one's house has these old-fashioned, beautiful monsters. (And yes, I needed to buy a couple of pairs of those and, when one friend found the website for me, did get them from that company and am happy to recommend them -- excellent, friendly, long-distance service.)

More some other time. It's late.
Peace!

Peace indeed! -- what is Russia doing to Georgia and South Ossetia? Barbaric!