Oil at the Weekend

My Mum is the most supportive Granny in Beloved Daughter's year group.

Funny. When I was at school she once came to watch me in the swimming team, but she arrived late and missed my 13.2 seconds of fame as I won the 25 yards U13s Freestyle in its normal sub-zero conditions.

But now, even though she lives 1 1/2 hrs away in West Dorset - call that two if it's her driving - she attends lots of Beloved Daughter's events, and it is a real pleasure to see her there.

So we drove home in convoy after Friday night's Evensong, and as we entered the house I growled - "No one make any mess.  We've got visitors arriving on Sunday, the house has been cleaned at vast and expense, and we have no Sashka between now and then."  Within five minutes, dear Granny had walked a splodge of mud at repeated intervals starting at the outside door, across the hall carpet, up the stairs, and all the way along the landing carpet to 'Bellever' where she was sleeping.

I made myself scarce to lose my temper, while Beloved Daughter somehow made the mess disappear.

I thought the kitchen was smelling increasingly of oil, while Granny and I caught up with each other's news over turkey breasts in white wine and grapes - a signature dish I copied off Bridget Jones.

And by the morning my worst fears were confirmed. Both Aga and boiler were out of oil.

No oil means no hot water, no heating, no cooking facilities = no guests.

I have something called a Top Up System with Mole Valley Farmers, which I assume means they top up the tank every time they visit.

Apparently not.

Poor Granny had, again, to see the worst side of her middle child, as the air turned blue with my anguish. She gave up and went home.

This has happened once before, last time on Christmas Eve when the house was full of family, so this time I already knew that putting things right was not going to be easy. Mole Valley has no emergency number.  There are no oil companies on the internet who supply oil during the weekend.  Helpful Jake, at the Mole Valley outlet in Newton Abbot, which has almost nothing to do with the oil arm of the company, spent most of the day trying to find somebody to help.

Esteemed Partner advised that there might be a drop of oil in the second tank that I could run through to the first. Guided by Esteemed Partner, who was away, X dropped in to B&Q on his way down after watching Revered Son playing hockey, to buy some spanners to bleed the system, but all to no avail.

Astonishingly, at 6.30pm on Saturday night, I tracked down a plumber new to the West Country, who came round to bleed the system at 8.30 on Sunday morning.  £150 later - Bingo!  Lucky I dye my hair, or you would have noticed it turning grey as we speak.