tiles, vent, porn

Hung tiles from the side of a house at rest while the house is decorated.

.

The vent in the airy basement window where our kitchen is housed is now working again as it should. It is a neat device with plastic blades which rotate automatically in the draft and help to ventilate the room. You can open and close it with the help of pieces of string. When the central heating boiler was sited in the room, it served to keep noxious gasses at bay as well as allow the escape of cooking smells. We were, meanwhile, according to a recent law, not allowed to close it. British Gas was empowered to turn off the boiler if the vent was not open and the means of closing it, not permanently disabled. When they came to service the boiler, the more officious of its engineers would inspect the vent, and even went so far as to insist that the string to close it was removed. You could of course close the vent by rotating the plastic inside the louvre with your finger. And we did when the weather was very cold. But it was an awkward business and revived a humiliating impression of the "nanny state" at work. Now that the boiler has been moved to the ground floor, we are free to open and close the vent at pleasure. Today, Heidi cleanses it of the accumulated grime of several years and, with some difficulty, we put the pieces together again. Now with what satisfaction do I pull the string to open and, above all close the vent, when the spirit moves me!

.

On the other side of the road from The Crown at Groombridge is a pretty cottage with leaded windows and chocolate box calendar. Opposite is the church which is attached to the moated Groombridge Place. You might call it cosy and evocative of Miss Marple and a tradition of peaceful, English village life, which still persists, just about. We remark on how quiet the cottage always seems and ask the barmaid who brings our sandwich-lunch whether anyone lives there. "Oh yes," she says, "it belongs to a woman porn director, there aren't many women porn directors. " I don't expect she makes her films there," I say. "Sometimes she does," says the barmaid with relish; " and they have even been seen cavorting in the garden. Next time you're here, and she's about, I'll point her out to you. She looks like a normal lady."