I'm certain that this is exactly the sort of thing that the Prodigy had in mind when they wrote what is arguably their best known song. In the what will almost undoubtedly be the final instalment of the Millbrooker Towers' woodburner fitting saga, here is the photographic evidence that Mrs The MIllbrooker and I now have a toasty warm, if slightly under-decorated, living room.
Before I got home last night from nearly nine hours of answering the usual range of silly questions from my adoring public at the railway station, Mrs The Millbrooker had laid a fire in the heart of our new heating machine. (The previous night, I'd glued some stove rope into the door grooves to provide the necessary seal). Note nice new fire bricks lining both sides. Note also the cheapskate version of firewood, old shed timbers for the most part. Much cheaper than chopped logs if marginally less attractive.
After a formal dinner of sausages, peas and baked potatoes to mark the occasion, the ceremonial first lighting duties were passed to yours truly. Once again, as it is in barbecue season, the crème brulée torch was pressed into service - and lo! there was flame.
I hesitate to use the word "owner" in conjunction with the word "cat", so perhaps I'll substitute "feeder-cum-cushion". So - as all feeder-cum-cushions of cats will know, the furry creatures do enjoy a nice spot of warmth. GoGo is no exception and almost as soon as the doors of the woodburner were closed and the heat started to emanate I found myself with company...
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