The summer honeymoon is coming to an end and reality is kicking in.  Heavy rain has broken the heat and the idea of putting the installation of the boiler on the back burner is becoming increasing dubious. 
Back in August, Nico was convincing enough when the days were hot; the thick stone walls would absorb and contain the heat of the summer; that washing on a pallet on the terrace wasn't unpleasant.  
Mu has had a glut of house sitting and I cycle round the town with a towel around my shoulders trying to remember which house she's in.
They all have luxury in common; Italian showers, warm water on tap,  well equipped kitchens and well stocked drawers which slide open as if by magic.
I've turned my attention to the inside of the moulin in an attempt to make the finished bits as beautiful as possible, creating a gilded illusion of normality.  The large wooden staircase  was thirsty and drank the bees wax polish and linseed oil like as if its life depended on it and the tomette tiles around the fireplace did the same thing.
The honey-moon is over and it has to be sooner rather than later that the boiler is moved to the front burner.