Be afraid

We inherited a combi-microwave with the house. I’ve never had a combi-microwave before, so I didn’t know how to use the non-microwave functions. Pressing all the buttons to see what happened didn’t work either: no matter what combination of buttons I pressed, nothing happened. Fine, we’d just use it as a solo microwave.

But then the microwave function stopped working. I put something in for a bit, and when I took it out, it was if it had been sitting in a box on a turntable for a few minutes. I tried again, just to make sure, with the same effect. The microwave was kaput.

I dithered over a new one for ages, looking to see which one had the best ratings and the fewest grumbles. Should I get a combi-microwave or a solo microwave? This was a few weeks ago, and I put it out of my mind till now, after a few relaxing days with Mr Perkins. I looked again for a new one, and decided to get a combi-microwave by a brand I’m not sure I’ve heard of. Lots of good reviews.

Looking at the space that the broken microwave had occupied, I thought I’d best give it a thorough clean before the new one arrived. I admired how clean it was.

Then I rummaged around among the tools, and set to work.

The banging summoned Mr Pandammonium.

‘What is going on in here?’

I turned and looked at him. ‘I’ve had one of my ideas.’ I grinned.

‘Oh, no,’ he said, and left the room sharpish.

The extra shows what I’ve started.