I am having trouble in the kitchen.
No, for once this is nothing to do with my lack of culinary expertise; the fact
is that several of my kitchen appliances are staging a mutiny.
The cooker started it. For some reason the timer (which I have never used in anger, so to
speak) has decided to go off whenever it feels like doing so, often in the middle of the night. What’s more, I can’t turn on the fan oven or the traditional oven (why have one oven, I always say, when you could have two?) unless and until I activate
the timer which then, after say ten minutes or so, bleeps loudly and turns the oven(s) off. Cooking has thus become a kind of battleground between the timer and me. I will leave you to guess who is winning.
If this were not enough, the dishwasher has now decided to join the conflict, on the cooker’s side. It has decided not to stop when its cycle is finished but to carry on, endlessly, as if even the eco-cycle isn’t
long enough for any self-respecting machine. I didn’t quite realise it had joined the mutiny until Mr B called me downstairs at two in the morning and I found it was still washing the dishes. The dishwasher that is, not Mr B, don’t be silly.
Then, did I mention the printer? Okay, you are quibbling at the printer being included in my list of Mutinous Appliances but it is an appliance and it is positioned, for
easy access, on the breakfast bar in the kitchen. It has decided that it is not prepared any longer to print out documents sent to it via my IPad. This is a cruel blow, indeed because I was sure, until the moment it turned on me, that I could count it as an
The washing machine and the microwave, for the moment, are remaining neutral, a little bit of Switzerland in the midst of my own personal War of Attrition.
So is the fridge, which is fortunate as I am not prepared for another Cold War. Incidentally, I understand that a war of attrition is a military strategy consisting of belligerent attempts to win a war by constant attempts to wear down the enemy (that’ll
be me, then) to the point of collapse.
I have been trying to use peaceful means to bring about a reconciliation between my appliances and myself. For example,
I have bought four new print cartridges at enormous expense to bribe my printer to come on side. Print cartridges, as everyone knows, are more expensive, in volume terms, than champagne. It’s enough to turn anyone to drink, don’t you think? The
printer accepted my advances but then reneged on the deal and refused to enter into negotiations, citing connection problems.
I tackled the dishwasher problem
in the only way I know how - I turned it off at the mains. I have always found that turning equipment on and off again is a good First Point Of Attack. At the time of writing I haven’t yet turned the dishwasher on again so I can’t tell you if this
course of action has proved successful or not. I have loaded it with our dirty dishes from today’s breakfast, lunch and dinner just to show it that I mean business. It is important, when faced by Mutinous Appliances, not to show any signs of weakness.
I really need to start it up again but I’m not sure I have the stomach for the fight this evening. Maybe I should wait until after breakfast tomorrow, making a Dawn Raid to catch it unawares?
I thought I would use a scientific approach on the cooker, so I looked up the on-line manual which sounded as if it might be helpful had I only been able to follow instructions. I will try again sometime but for the moment
I have reached a cease fire of sorts, enabling me to keep the oven working for the duration of cooking time. The cooker, however, still likes to fire a shot across the bows by bleeping noisily in the early hours of the morning if I am ever forgetful enough
to turn it off at the mains before I go to bed.
I am thinking that the first signs of kitchen shenanigans dates back to the evening when, returning from visiting
Mr B in hospital, I found my electric toothbrush singing at me. I kid you not - it was flashing away while charging, as it does, but singing along in time to the flashing. To say this was unnerving is an understatement. Fortunately My Boy was with me at the
time and worked out that the music was actually coming from the bluetooth speaker which, from its position just behind the toothbrush, had picked up the music from his mobile phone.
It was, however, a sign of things to come, a first indication that I am no longer in control of the battleground that is my kitchen. I need to make it clear, through rousing speeches delivered from the kitchen floor, that I will never,
In short, and not to put too fine a point on it, I’m desperately trying to get in touch with my Inner Churchill…