This evening the cooking of my macho manly dinner was disrupted by a kitchen failure. Namely, the oven door would not close in the way that is normally required for efficient cooking of a man's meat. For the purpose of illustration, the door is seen here, screen right, in the silver colour which mine is not, accompanied by cheese and vegetables and lovely worktops which my kitchen does not contain.
A troubling situation. Dinner had to be aborted, replaced at the last minute with that which could be cooked on the top of the cooker. However, this did not mean that the fight was over, no sir.
As the evening rolled around, and the cooker had cooled down, it was probably under the impression that it was victorious. No sir, for into the kitchen I burst, armed with an armful of screwdrivers, ready for revenge. Within moments the door is open and I am looking for screws. Two on the top, two underneath. It probably thought that the underneath screws, being difficult to access, would be enough to save it, but no. Seconds later the cooker is down, on the floor, on its side, where I can access all of its parts with ease. It's not a fight, it's an execution. And it is not long before the door is off and I am examining the strange mechanism by which it stays shut and/or open.
It's a strange little dealie with springs and rollers and stuff. There wasn't a whole lot I could do with it, but jabbing it a few times with a screwdriver at least seemed to restore proper operation for the moment. I did consider spraying it liberally with WD40, but paused once I noted the word "FLAMMABLE" on the tin. Coming to the conclusion that flammable solvents are perhaps not a good thing to have hanging around the inside of your oven, I chose not to use the lubricant. Purely for the wellbeing of the city's women and children, of course, and not because I am scared. If my cooker bursts into flames then I'll have that thing down on the ground again in the blink of an eye, just like John Smeaton.
It seems that a little prodding has made it work right again - the best kind of repair - so I put it all back together again. I also took the time to examine whether the earth wire should be hanging off like that, and during my investigation I was forced to unscrew the wall socket to assist with my enquiries. Also fine.
There are ten million stories in the naked city. This has been one of them. Now where's my dinner..
2 comments:
I'm enjoying your battles with technology (hi and low) even more than the tidying up with a myriad of boxes and a real life pretend chalk outline stuff. I expect Sue is too but is too shy to say.
(the musical taste isnt my own, but my daughter did once see orson at the UEA)
My, but you're prolific lately.
Eek! I have readers! Eek! Er.. I mean.. Thankyou, citizen. [Rushes off to save any local cats stuck up trees in a manly fashion.]
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