Decades ago when I were a lass I used to go and stay with my granny. The bed would always be made up with flannelette sheets with multi-coloured stripes (the closest you would get to kiddy-bedding in those days) often, as a result of granny being part of the ‘make-do-and-mend’ generation, with a seam up the middle where the sheet had been resewn edge-to-middle to get more wear. In short, flannelette was NOT COOL.

I rediscovered flannelette when I was dispatched to North Yorkshire to boarding school. Quite frankly when you sleep in a room where the windows have to be sealed up with newspaper and gaffer tape from October to March to prevent it from snowing in your room (which was the size of a large wardrobe) and where the only heat source is the hot water pipe that feeds the showers, and is only warm for twenty minutes a day, you need every weapon there is in the battle to keep warm for long enough to go to sleep. Enter old fashioned flannelette pyjamas. And ski-socks. Not to mention a sweater, dressing gown, scarf, hat and gloves. Oh, and you were particularly grateful when the fire alarm went off at 2am- as it always did at the beginning of term-and you all had to congregate in sub-zero temperatures in the garden whilst the boys from the house across the road watched scoffing from their windows. There was always the girl from Hong Kong or somewhere standing in a t-shirt masquerading as a nightie and no footwear, with her arms folded tightly across her chest to prevent the boys seeing her nipples, and shivering uncontrollably from the cold and lack of sleep and the general confusion that comes from seeing your housemaster in his jim-jams. She had to be treated for hypothermia when we finally got back indoors, whereas I could have marched off with Shackleton and his crew without hesitation. Plus I had the added joy of knowing than none of the boys had been able to recognise me under all the layers so they couldn’t point and laugh at my choice of sleepwear from across the dining room later that morning.

When I finally made my escape from Yorkshire (sorry Dad) to the warm south, I ditched the flannelette in favour of something more appropriate and happily went about living a fun and interesting life, as twenty-somethings are wont to do. I got a degree and a job. Actually I got several jobs, but that’s another story. I got a social life, paid off my student loans and credit cards, and realised I still had money coming in and very little that I needed to spend it on, so happily went out and frittered it on fun things. Then I discovered The White Company and, overcome by all sorts of aspirations, spent a stupid amount of money (well, it’s not exactly BHS, is it?) on the softest cuddliest most heavenly bedding I was ever likely to come across. It was made of something called ‘Brushed Cotton’ and I knew when I slept iin it, I would feel like I was sleeping inside a teddy bear. That is when I got a bed to fit it. Enter the DH. And the Money Pit.

Now I love the Money Pit, particularly now it has carpets, electricity and a bathroom that doesn’t endanger your life every time you take a shower. We are still working on the heating. And the windows, which have spent some twenty years painted partially open. So it’s not exactly going to rate well on the old HIP, particularly just before Christmas when the heating broke altogether. And I knew that this was the moment to break out the bedding. It was a really good call…with my ‘Brushed Cotton’ (you may have realised by now that this is basically flannelette that has been rebranded for the new Millenium) pjs, my brushed cotton bedding and my fake-fur hot water bottle I was snuggly-buggly all night as, I should point out, were DH and WH (who appropriated the hottie early on). And it was just like sleeping wrapped in cotton wool. I cannot think of anywhere that I would rather sleep than cocooned in flannelette. It is cool again. My nan would be so proud.

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In an aside, the heating has yet to be properly sorted. On 14 December we called a company from the Yellow Pages who promised 24-hour emergency call-outs at no extra cost. The girl on the phone took our details and assured us someone would be out to us within the next couple of hours. Two DAYS later, the Useless Plumber (UP) finally turned up (thank God for understanding visitors, who presumably went to similarly heat-deprived boarding schools.) He sorted the heating, but told us it really was a temporary measure and would need a new part soon. So we had a chat, booked him in to replace the pump for the boiler, the hot water tank and a radiator, and paid a £400 deposit over the phone. The 22nd December dawned bright and clear. Sadly without UP. 6 hours and five calls later someone at the UP Company told us he’d called in sick and could they reschedule? We, of course, rescheduled and proceeded to wait in for three consecutive days, calling the company every hour or two to find out what the hell was going on and eventually being fobbed off with a crappy excuse. The UP Co. Don’t really do phone calls to keep you udated. Finally DH got shirty and got them to commit to a date- 19th January. I called last week to confirm the appointment was happening and we duly went down to be there for the 9am arrival of UP. You can guess what happened next. When we were finally informed that the UP “doesn’t work on Saturdays” DH went mad, insisted on having his deposit back and to speak with the manager. You’ll be shocked to learn that the manager of said poxy plumbing company who, it seems, provide neither fast nor efficient service, nor indeed service of any kind, doesn’t work on Saturdays, and neither does the customer service department who would be the ones refunding our money . They can take card payments 24 hours per day but only refund them back to the same card between 11 and 11.15 on 12th of Never. Could we write a letter stating reasons why we want a refund???

20 minutes later and the ever-resourceful DH had a smile back on his face. Having spoken with his high-street bank, they agreed that we had payed for goods and services we had not received, and therefore would refund the money to DH’s card then claim the payment back from The Useless Plumbing Co. as a fraudulent payment. For once banks are not the top of my hate-list. They may even be on the top of my love-list.

The hunt goes on for a plumber who can repair our partially working heating before it gives up the ghost altogether.