I won't dwell on having had no oven or fridge for three weeks.

I won't bleat about shivering in minus conditions or looking like a fried chip because I have no hot water or heat and I promise I shan't mention for too long my patio which resembles a WW1 trench.

I do however, have a trunk full of fancy dress so coupled with the fact that I am very poor indeed, I might start charging visitors wanting a tour on Victorian life.

My new project manager is on speed dial, much to his chagrin - he claims he is at my house longer than his own home. Scoff.

Anyway, on Friday he noticed I was fetching milk from a cool box outside - it is cool because its January, I have no freezer.

"You can't go on without a fridge, you will get salmonella and die before we can start work. I will lend you my beer fridge until my team can start, in about two weeks."

He came armed with a huge box containing a brand new fridge the following day. Hurrah!

And yesterday after ringing emergency plumbers who wanted a King's ransom I rang him again.

"Help. I have no heat or water."

He came armed with heaters just a few hours later.

And this morning, four skilled men have sorted out the boiler and the oven, which means the Teen and I can hand back the historical cooking device my mother passed on.