When my phone’s alarm clock woke me this morning, I remembered that when I came to bed, I had brought the central heating controller with me and put it on the bedside table. Good! I could turn on the heating and wait in bed for the flat to warm up.

In our tiny flat, the heating boiler resides on a wall in the bedroom and when it is active, a green light shines from a switch to one side. Today, the green light came on and that was that, as far as I was concerned.

After a while, however, I noticed the silence. When the boiler starts up, first you hear the thrum of the motor and then a steadily rising whine which eventually fades to silence. Today, I could hear none of those sounds.

I hopped out of bed and put my hand on the radiator. It should have been at least a little warm by now. It wasn’t. It was cold. I went to the bathroom and turned on the hot tap in the basin. Nothing. The water remained cold.

My next step was to open the boiler’s control panel. Two of the set of lights labelled A to D were flashing red. Not good. Then I checked the pressure. The needle was at the top of the green sector. So that was OK.

When they installed the heating, they explained to me that if the boiler failed to work, I should check the pressure. If it had fallen, I should twist open the two taps below the boiler and when the pressure reached the green, twist them shut. Over the years, I have done this many times but today there was surely no point as the needle was already in the green. Nonetheless, I gave it a short burst with the result that the needle bounced up and then resumed its position.

Still no response from the boiler…

I waited as patiently as I could for 8:30. This is the time at which the Council’s repair service opens for business. I called and obeyed the instruction to “Press One for gas boiler and heating problems”. I was rewarded with the sound of some awful music and, after a while, a recorded voice intoning “You are number… 2… in the queue.”

When a human answered at last, I recognised her voice. I have spoken to her many times in the past. She is unfailingly polite and pleasant; she listens to what you say; and does her best to help, usually with success.

I recounted my story of the malfunctioning boiler, explaining about the red lights and saying “I checked the pressure and the needle is in the green-“. Uncharacteristically, she interrupted me at this point.

“You need to increase the pressure,” she asserted. “Beneath the boiler there are two taps…”

It was my turn to interrupt. I felt she was not listening to me and so I politely reiterated that it can’t be the pressure because the needle was in the green.

“It has to be at one-point-five,” she stated.

“One-point-five?” I repeated mystified. “Not just in the green?”

“It has to be at one-point-five,” she repeated firmly, as to a child who is being obtuse.

Only half-convinced, I proposed doing as she bid me while we were still connected. She kindly agreed. At the boiler, I had to put the phone down while I twisted the taps. I left the taps open until the needle hit the top of the scale, then closed them. I picked up the phone and said:

“The red lights have gone out.”

“Yes,” she said. “They will, at one-point-five.”

I proposed going for the controller and trying the heating with her still on the phone. Polite as ever, she agreed.

I fetched the controller and set the temperature to 22°. I was rewarded with the thrumming sound of the motor and the rising wine.

“It’s working,” I said, relieved.

“Yes, it will at one-point-five,” said she.

I thanked her fulsomely and we parted amiably, as ever.

As I write this, the flat is warm, I have washed to dishes in lovely hot water and taken a bath. All’s well with my world.

Life is truly fine at one-point-five!