The last of the festive food stockpile. Though "last" is a shaky term, as next week I'll still be mining my way through the last of the festive food stockpile.
That shortbread doesn't eat itself.
At this time of year, bleak January, I'm thankful for a mild winter if we had one. Pelting rain: check. Cold days: of course. Ice on the ground: not much. With a million years of cold rainy weather still to unfurl, I get to call this winter mild thanks to the lack of glaciers and polar bears.
But this time of the year is also known for the changing of the batteries. I test the fire alarms and carbon monoxide alarms every week. If a low-battery alert kicks in, I'll change the batteries.
In January, though, it's time to change all the batteries. I don't keep an accurate record of which alarm had its battery changed last...
No. I rely on the alarm to warn me that it is hungry for power. And I change batteries in July, August, or whenever...
Regardless, all the batteries go at the start of the year. That way, I know everything works. I have a sturdy supply of batteries lined up, ready to run.
And I'll replenish the emergency stock of batteries shortly. This year, a few specialised batteries are low in number. I have a vague suspicion about one battery. Pretty sure I know what it is for, or was for...but it's so specialised that it won't be needed again.
This business - changing the batteries - is all about memory. And I handle memory as a carer should. The cared-for isn't expected to handle pills unsupervised. Batteries are a stepladder too far.
There are three alarms, different from the others, that are a sheer stinging pain in the posterior to change over. I'm going to need a team of six trained helpers, a safety-net, and some tongs. That's just to pry the alarms off the ceiling. Ejecting the batteries calls for the assistance of a flamethrower wielded by a minor Bond villain.
I think of this as empty routine. It's preventive. You make sure the batteries are fresh and the alarms work. And you test regularly. Replace what you have to, when you have to. Vote early and often. Replace it all at the start of the year anyway.
Within six months, you'll be replacing more batteries. All preventive. This system sits in place and does nothing. Unless it does something.
On a weekly basis, there's another test. It's a test of the fire alarms next door. Alarms cascade into action. Someone's having a fry-up. I stride through the calm air, trying to detect the location of the sound. Oh, it's not in this building.
Then I pause for a few seconds. I open the back door. Is smoke billowing across the garden? No. Okay, no need to evacuate, then.
At least I know the fire alarms work next door.
I go through the other battery-operated appliances as well. Remote controls grow more remote as the power wanes. Televisual control is important. Music channels are vital for memory-related purposes. Singing along. Remembering the words.
Welcome to winter. So mild and sunny over the past little while that buds are threatening to burst out, bringing an early spring. Winter's cloak is merely fluttering in the breeze...it hasn't flown off completely.
Winter. A time of cold, darkness, and changing batteries. Eventually, the pharmacy will wake up and send a text message to come and pick up those pills.
When I venture into the cold and grey on that pill-run, I'll take a bundle of dead batteries with me. If I'm lucky, there'll still be a handy bucket waiting for me when I go in. And I'll dump the batteries there.
Fortunately, pharmacies took over battery disposal just as supermarkets backed out of that line. The mad scramble around town for a battery dealer out on the street ended as soon as it began.
Psst, hey, you, want to score a sweet battery disposal tub? I can hook you up with that action. And some prescription drugs, while we're about it.
I've returned from demolishing more of the last of the festive stockpile. That chocolate cake is going to kill me. Unless I stab it first.
Wielding a very long screwdriver as a sword, I battled the three awkward fire alarms. They carry symbols on the outside, to assist you with deployment.
FRONT TOWARD ENEMY.
Seems legit.
I drop the stepladder in place, climb Mount Smoke Alarm, crack the casing with the screwdriver, defuse the bomb, remove the old detonator, add the new detonator, and work my way gradually back down the steps.
Three times I tackle the job. After the third one is done, that alarm chirrups at me. It's taking the effing piss. I have a mountain of batteries to buy, and the other mountain of dead batteries to carry to the pharmacy. Just as soon as I hear a beep - from the phone, not from the ceiling.
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