To clarify, I don’t foresee him getting busy any time soon but I’ve seen a lot of horror films and my suspicions have been raised.

I’m the first to admit I’m not great with technology. So when the screen in the living room that I refer to as a TV* challenges me I generally let it go (with the exception of the time I smashed the remote control). Oh I rant and rave but generally concede that it is evil, the husband uses voodoo and don’t get involved.

But the boiler is not complex. Yesterday the button that makes you switch between the options for on, off and timed wouldn’t move. When he got in, the husband suggested it may be that I needed to adjust the thermostat. So today I did just that and got nothing. I turned the boiler off and then on again then got cross. The husband (there is no escape – I send cross angry texts when he has the audacity to be out of the house) was sympathetic but said there was nothing he could do. Understandably.

Then I hit upon an idea.

What annoys me is that these things never happen to him. He’ll walk in through the door, press the button and the options will scroll. He has learnt not to speak at this point as I’m liable to start screaming.

But what if I could prove I do the exact same things he does? So I grabbed my phone and turned the video on. Filming myself I pressed the button...

...and it worked!

The house will not concede that it acts one way for me and another way for him. I’m happy as not only is the heating now set to ‘on’ but I feel like I’ve discovered a magical loophole to things not working for me when I use the exact same method as the husband.

So why do I think he might kill me?

It’s not because I’m driving him mad. It’s because the realisation that my house is sentient and doesn’t like me is very rarely a good thing.

Our house doesn’t look evil like the Amityville house and it doesn’t feel evil (especially not in the way “the house of unmitigated evil” did**) but it’s not good. In the Amityville Horror the wife repeatedly voices her concerns but her husband is too involved, set on a path towards her and the children’s ultimate murder.

The husband merely raised an eyebrow when I told him my possessions were causing me suspicion but there’s no proof. I pointed out that if he tolerated this then the children would be next but he just laughed. Upon reflection Crowded House and Manic Street Preachers lyrics may not be the best way to make ones point.

I’m not sure what the best course of action is.

* It is not a TV but a third screen for the computer system that runs the house’s media. Similarly we don’t have stereos but squeezeboxes that play simultaneously across all three floors of the house. This explains why I have a husband that doesn’t fish, play golf, watch sport (other than motorsport and that doesn’t seem to consume people in the way football or rugby does) or go out drinking with the lads.

** I wondered why a pretty double-fronted detached seven bed house was in our budget. It was because we wouldn’t have stayed a night in that house if you’d given it to us for free. I swear, the walls in the basement looked like they were bleeding. I lightly said “that’s paint right?” and the estate agent said “almost certainly” (he wasn’t a fan of the place either).





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