It’s -14°C out and +16°C in my flat, so this cup of Jane Austen Blend I got from the Bath Jane Austen Centre is really needed. Like a rebel I added some milk today even though the label advised against it.
The house I live in was built in 1860s and the almost 150 year old windows are insulated by a clever use of sellotape. The house is heated by electrical resistors inside old ceramic stoves. They are heated only during the night when electricity is cheaper. So, it doesn’t get too warm on freezing days.
I love the flat, and the winter’s been so warm this far that I’ve managed with a lot of sweaters and woollen socks. It’s supposed to warm back to +1°C before noon, so this chill is temporary.
The book I’ve been reading with my breakfast for a few weeks now is Timothy Taylor’s The Buried Soul. It’s about death from an archaeological point of view and it just keeps getting more interesting. I feel like this book actually explains some things that I never even thought to wonder about but which are so worth the wonder.