I suppose it's Sod's Law that just after eleven, on the coldest night of the winter so far, when Lynn's mum and sister just happened to be staying, the woodburner refused to draw and the cabin living room filled with acrid smoke.
There was nothing for it but to open the draught fully, hope for the best and turn in. A quick check in the small hours revealed that the stove had more or less gone out, though the smell of smoke was still pretty overwhelming, and we were able to go back to bed with the comforting thought that we were less likely to die of carbon monoxide poisoning, even if hypothermia couldn't be completely ruled out.
I had to be off the island today, so at crack of sparrow I was on the roof with a chimney brush and Lynn was at the stove with a vacuum cleaner, catching as much as possible of the soot which tends to come out in clouds from every orifice when we sweep the flue.
Job done, I made my way back along the roof ridge, taking a dive in the process because without the heat of the stove, the felt had acquired a layer of ice during the night. All good on leaving the island though..
