There are many ways to be heroic and within those ways there are many degrees of heroism. Simple truths that played out in Avren over the past few days.
Extractor Fan
The first problem I had to prepare myself to tackle was the bathroom extractor fan that was not actually extracting. There had been strange noises emanating from the ceiling, including a kind of scuttling sound, then silence. Our first thought was that a rat had somehow got into the vent (for sadly they are frequent visitors to our loft), met an untimely end and burnt out the motor. I needed a day to plan my response – we heroes cannot be rushed, and I am not “a fan” of DIY.
I found some steps to climb on so as I was able to reach the fan. With a bit of jiggling, I managed to remove the fan’s cover. I then fetched an old toothbrush – yes, I have a ready supply of old toothbrushes. I carefully inserted the handle between the fins of the fan, gave it a little jiggle – I’m getting good at jiggling – and then gently turned the fan. Plop! Something fell from the ceiling and landed on the toilet seat. It did not move, so that was some comfort. Closer inspection showed it to be a rather large flying insect. Well, obviously not flying now – perhaps “winged insect” would be a more accurate description. And surprise surprise, the extractor fan was now extracting!
So, this scored very low on the heroism scale. Yes, mission accomplished and no injuries sustained. But a real hero would have tackled it differently. I should have gone straight up into the loft, fought my way through the thick spider webs I know are there, confronted the marauding rats, somehow removed the venting to examine what was going on, and maybe also taken out the external vent in the wall and waved to the neighbours in the street parallel to ours (which would have been foolhardy rather than heroic, given how I described them in my post about the village people).
Firewood
We had torrential rain the other day and our basket of firewood needed to be replenished. I changed into my gardening jeans (oh, how many items from my fashionable wardrobe end in the ignominy of being fit only for the garden – shoes, jeans, t-shirts and a pile of jumpers with immovable stains from many breakfasts and dinners!), put on my waterproof jacket with hood tightly in place, old shoes, and then headed out into the storm to the wood store, all of twenty yards away. I gathered some logs into a large Ikea bag – how useful and strong are they?! – and made the return journey. Success! We were assured of some warmth that night.
Again, quite a low score on the heroism scale. I should have put on waterproof trousers and strong hiking boots, then set off to the forest with my trusty big boys’ axe. Having selected a suitably huge tree, I should have swung my axe many times with considerable force to fell the chosen tree. After some quick stripping of branches, I would have attached a large chain to the trunk and hauled it the two or three miles back home, where I would have sawn it into manageable logs. That would have been heroic!
Psychologist on the Move 