It’s Here: The Time For Heating To Be Turned On

There’s a certain point in October when the air changes. Not a date on the calendar, but a shift that arrives quietly through the toes. The light flattens, the sky turns that soft, indifferent grey, and the house takes on a kind of stillness that makes the decision inevitable: it’s here — the time for heating to be turned on.

Every year, the same debate unfolds in my head. A small, private contest between thrift, pride, and the desire to be cosy.

The Annual Debate: To Heat or Not to Heat

I always try to last as long as possible without pressing that button. There’s a kind of misplaced satisfaction in managing with one more jumper, as though stubbornness might shave pounds off the bill.

Before our little one arrived, I could stretch it out for weeks — T-shirt, shirt, jumper, maybe another jumper on top for good measure. It became a challenge. A sport of endurance, played against my own discomfort.

But the rules have changed. These days, comfort feels less like indulgence and more like care. A warm home means a sleeping child, healthy mornings, fewer colds. My priorities have shifted from stoicism to softness.

The numbers still whisper in the background — the quiet maths of energy bills doubling each winter — but they no longer dictate everything. A single hour of warmth in the evening feels like a well-spent investment.

Working from Home in the Cold (and the Comforts That Keep Us Going)

Working from home exposes every chill the walls can offer. There’s no office heating to hide behind, no collective warmth from a dozen computers humming away. Just me, my laptop, and the slow creep of cold from the windows.

These days I work wrapped in a thick black sherpa fleece dressing gown — heavy, soft, almost ceremonial. A mug of hot chocolate sits close by, a small act of self-preservation. Socks have become a permanent fixture, even in bed.

Meanwhile, my partner begins each morning with Lüften — the German tradition of throwing open the windows for a burst of fresh air. I’ve come to think of it as “I will make you cold for health reasons.” They swears it’s good for us; I swear under my breath as the warmth escapes.

We have opposing philosophies about heating. She’s a believer in space heaters — warming the room we use and keeping doors shut. I’ve always preferred the comforting hum of central heating throughout the house. Between us, we’ve found a rhythm that works: a one-hour warm-up in the evening, enough to take the edge off. And Space Heat if we notice a nip in the room we are currently occupying.

Simplicity, Not Perfection: Why We Prepay for Peace

Over spring and summer, our energy account slowly built a credit. It’s not the most “efficient” approach — the financially sharp would tell me that money could’ve been earning interest or working harder elsewhere.

But there’s peace in simplicity.

A fixed payment each month, no surprises, no winter panic. It’s a small structure that makes the colder months feel manageable. Perhaps not the cleverest method, but the calmest one. And calm has become its own kind of currency around here.

In a world obsessed with optimisation, I’ve learned to prize steadiness instead. The simple way often wins — not because it’s perfect, but because it lets life feel less complicated. This is how we weather the winter fuel bill creep.

The Warmth of Small Wisdoms

A few years ago, one of our radiators stopped working. The plumber who came to fix it left me with a piece of advice I now treat as gospel: when turning the heating off for the spring and summer season, twist each radiator valve up to its highest setting. It keeps the little pin from sticking, ready for next winter.

Since then, I’ve done it every year — and even replaced a few controllers myself. A small, satisfying victory in domestic life, apparently this is the most common issue with the heating come winter, and is very easy to fix (YouTube).

It’s funny how those tiny practical lessons can feel like milestones. They anchor the rhythm of a home. As the weather cools, we pull out old jumpers, slip into slippers, and learn again that comfort doesn’t just arrive — it’s created.

Advice for others: For larger homes, it might make sense to heat only the rooms that are lived in. For smaller ones, a single warm hour can be enough. There’s no universal rule — just the quiet discovery of what feels right for each household.

A few lessons worth keeping close:

• Heat the rooms that hold life, not the empty ones.
• Prepay if it helps keep the winter calm.
• Slippers and a sherpa fleece solve more than they should.
• Always listen when the plumber offers unsolicited wisdom.

Gentle Questions for the Road

When the heating comes on for the first time each year, the house exhales. The pipes creak softly, the faint scent of dust rises from the radiators, and everything feels a fraction more alive.

There’s a certain relief in surrendering — not to extravagance, but to acceptance. The season has turned. Pretending otherwise just delays the inevitable.

• When does the moment arrive for the heating to come on in your own home?
• What shape does comfort take in this season — financial, physical, emotional?
• Could a smaller, simpler heating ritual work just as well?
• And what small habits, passed quietly from year to year, help keep your home — and your mind — warm?

Reflective

As the darker months unfold, warmth takes on a new meaning. It becomes an act of care, not indulgence. Each choice — how we fund it, how we use it, how we share it — carries a quiet intention. The unflattering jumpers, the mugs of tea that steam against frosty windows, the decision to keep things simple rather than clever: they all speak of the same impulse. To make life a little softer. To make home a refuge.

Sometimes that’s enough. A warm house, a calm mind, a sense that things are gently under control. In a world that keeps asking us to optimise, perhaps this is what “enough” really looks like.