Big OOOOps

I just made what, I think, may stand in line for an entry in the Guiness Book of Records as the most expensive slice of crispbread....

It all started innocently enough. I got home from a hectic session of aquarobics, and thought "breakfast would be nice... " check the fridge, nothing really grabs me... look around, there is only my dad's sliced white bread, which is not my favourite... look in the cupboard and there is a box of crispbread... except it is no longer crisp.

"No problem" I tell myself, "a few seconds in the toaster will re-crisp it, and it will be very nice with mashed avocado pear." Now my immediate family will realise that this is quite a revolutionary statement. Ever since I was a kid, I have thought that avos were the most revolting thing on the planet, almost in the same category as some of the gross items the competitors on Survivor get to sink their long teeth into... my worst was the Tatrantulas.... eeeeuuugh!!! I now LOVE avo, and can't believe the wasted years when I missed out on them! But, as usual, I digress.

However, as I have previously pointed out, I have the attention span of a gnat these days.... so into the toaster went the un-crisp crispbreads, and I turned around to see that the tumble drier had just finished. Off I trundled to fold my dad's laundry before it creased, and as I was finishing that, I heard a strangled yelp from the kitchen.It was Princess, our char, who had arrived in the kitchen to see flames pouring from the toaster and engulfing the top cupboards! The plug, which is in a section of trunking running under the top cupboards, had melted and was dripping a plastic puddle into the toaster
the plastic sides of the toaster were also melting, and the earth leakage had tripped, leaving the whole house without power.

The electrician has just departed, struggling manfully not to laugh openly.

The amazing thing is, just this morning, I was thoroughly enjoying reading Bill Bryson's book "Notes from a Big Country" containing columns he wrote in 1997. One of the chapters deals with his mother's cooking, and clearly if we met, she and I would bond instantly and recognise in each other a soul-sister. To quote Bill Bryson "A combination of haste, forgetfulness and a charming incompetence where household appliances were concerned meant that most of her cooking experiences were punctuated with billows of smoke and occasional small explosions. In our house, as a rule of thumb, it was time to eat when the firemen departed."

I wonder if there is any connection between all this, and the fact that Mr Farty has recently developed a love for raw sprouts, nuts and salads?