Of winter and warmth

Weather-wise, people tend to think that it’s all sweetness and light here in France.

Yes, there’s probably more sun in evidence, but winters are long and often harsh. We’re three hours inland from Bordeaux, so the climate is bordering on the continental. None of your warm-wet-winters-with-westerly-winds in these parts. The temperature can drop to –10 or even –15 for several weeks at a stretch.

I hate it. If I were a man of more means, I would probably spend winter in the UK and the summer in France. We British seem doomed to be disappointed by our summers, but there are no great expectations heaped upon winter. You just dig in for the duration and wait for the grey days to turn blue(ish) again. With a good duvet, a decent umbrella and a new season of programmes on BBC Four, I think I could manage that.

One reason why I hate winters in France is that you’re in the lap of technology. Even something basic like a wood-burning stove depends on the type and dryness of wood: You have to stack it, keep it dry, go out in all weathers to retrieve it, risk doing your back in to bring it back to the porch – and so on. Then, if it’s insufficiently dry, there’s a constant vigil to ensure that it burns hot enough and long enough.

At least you can fiddle with the air vents. Worse, far worse oh Lord, is the type of technology over which you have no control.

For the last six winters, the sophisticated gas boiler that our sweet-talking plumber enticed me into buying has been giving me turbulent oceans of grief. I’m now quite certain that the bar-steward was taking backhanders from the company that manufactured it. Alas, I can’t name and shame them. I will tell you, however, that they’re not British, French, Irish, German or Scandinavian.

A friend of mine – who built his house virtually single-handed – had the same plumber and bought the same boiler. Ours at least has worked intermittently; his has never worked. When we see each other, we plot acts of terrible revenge. So far, incarcerating him in a tank of propane seems to be the most appropriate option.

So this is why Debs and I decided to invest in an air-source heat pump this summer. We should have bought one in 2004, but hindsight is a fine thing. Besides, the technology has moved on since then.

We have a Mitsubishi Ecodan and it stands on our terrace beside ‘our lady’. Heat pumps normally come in two units: one outside and one inside. We opted for the Ecodan because it consists of one external unit and because (I know it’s daft) the best video recorder we ever owned was a Mitsubishi.

It works a little like a fridge in reverse. This is how I once explained it in an article I wrote: ‘A liquid chemical, which boils at very low temperatures, and a compressor together generate rather than extract heat. At peak efficiency, the process of transforming liquid into vapour can produce up to 4kw of energy for every 1kw of electricity needed to power it.’

Clear? No, me neither. I can observe that a fan, the size of a small propeller, seems to extract the residual heat in the air. The unit heats the water that passes through it and twin pumps circulate it around the underfloor heating tubes. Remarkably, it makes so little noise that periodically I stick my head out of the door to reassure myself that it’s still turning.

We haven’t had the first EDF bill yet, but each night when I answer ‘the call’ and my feet feel a gentle warmth emanating from the terracotta tiles beneath them, I mouth a little mantra of thanks to Mitsubishi.

If it proves as reliable and as economical as they say, then I may just reappraise our French winters.