If I were on Survivor, I would lose the fire-building challenge.

When we first moved into our house, there was an open fire. We replaced it with a wood burner that we found on TradeMe (NZ's eBay). It's not certified, but it's much more efficient. The smoke actually goes up the chimney. And it heats our open plan kitchen, lounge and office quite nicely.

I know, I know. The emissions. But wood fires are so very romantic.

Of course, there’s an art to building a good fire. Which I still haven’t quite mastered.

Chopping wood and splitting kindling? Isn't that what husbands are for?

Chicken stock.

When the weather gets cold, for Sunday dinner, we like to roast a chicken. Then I use the carcass to make chicken stock.

Chicken stock is such a staple. Homemade stock makes soups and curries sing with flavour.

And it's so cheap and easy to make. I like to make chicken stock in my slow cooker. I just toss everything in, turn it on, and forget about it.

The child helps chop the vegetables. But not with the big knife.

I have adapted the following recipe from Joan Bishop’s excellent New Zealand Crockpot and Slow Cooker Cookbook.

Chicken Stock
1-2 chicken carcasses
1 onion, chopped
1 carrot, peeled and finely chopped
2 celery stalks, finely sliced
2 tsp salt
Large sprig thyme
2 bay leaves
Boiling water to cover

Pre-heat the cooker for 20 minutes. Put all the ingredients in your crockpot or slow cooker, cover with lid, and cook on High for 5-6 hours. Cool, and strain the stock through a sieve.

Chicken gizzard? Throw it in the pot.

Okay, I admit it. I love our new windows.

When we first moved into our house, there were French doors. I liked them.

But in winter, the wind blasted into the house, through not-so-charming cracks under and around the doors.

Charming French doors. So retro.

Last November, the night that Pres. Obama was elected, there was a gale. Up the coast, we have gales all the time, and we think nothing of it.

But this gale was special. It ripped the latch from the bottom of a French door, whipped the door open, and two panes of glass broke.

We were going to fix the door ourselves, but the door was buggered.

The husband boarded up the broken windows with plywood, and we lived with the windows like that for SIX MONTHS while our landlords tried to sort out a solution.

Hurricane windows. Ghetto chic.

Yes, we are the kind of tenants that landlords dream about.

A week after we returned from America, holes were chopped in the house, in the rain and cold, and at last new windows were put in.

The French doors were replaced, and we got a totally unnecessary new side door and new windows in the kitchen, the lounge and two in the bedroom. Double-glazed windows. Six of them!

The windows look great from here, right?

The job was a bit rough. And the landlords were disappointed with my efforts to feign gratefulness. I'm such a terrible actress.

So the husband has been hired on to clean up the frames and paint and such. We still have all the old glass and old frames scattered about the property. The husband insists all the rubbish might come in handy for something. Kiwis!

It still looks like a building site. And we're using a slip cover for a curtain.

But over the last few days, when the wind has picked up, it hasn't been blasting through the house. And we haven't had to close the curtains at night. Because, hey! The windows are double-glazed.

Double-glazed windows. All kinds of awesome.