Last night, both of us got in from various different things at gone 11pm, me from work, himself from a panto, having not yet eaten.
So, something fast and nutritious was required. I almost had an omelette, but couldn’t be arsed to clear enough space in the kitchen to chop an onion. We settled for beans and scrambled eggs on toast. Can’t go wrong with that?
Our cats have very strong associations between tins being opened and getting fed, even though we feed them almost exclusively on dry biscuit out of a two kilo sack. The tins we open most often are tomatoes, beans and olives, none of which the cats will open. I suppose the occasional tin of tuna makes it worth their while winding themselves around our legs whenever they hear a ringpull or a can opener.
So, two slices in the toaster, tin of beans decanted to a mug and microwaved (we have hundreds of mugs but only fifteen bowls, so the chances of there being a clean mug are higher than the chances of there being a clean bowl - roll on the dishwasher) and two eggs scrambled in one of the remaining non-stick saucepans.
In under five minutes, dinner is ready.
P likes the smell, so I divvy up the eggs and leave some in the pan for him, get another tin of beans and let him reuse the beany mug, and go and sit down to watch the awful Katherine Tate show when P shouts “Alex, help!”
Now I am often rude about P’s cooking skills, but somehow this time, he’s managed to set fire to the toaster. Which takes the biscuit.
It’s quite a serious fire, too, flames leaping out of the toaster. By the time I’ve managed to set down my dinner and get out of the chair, he’s managed to open the two back doors (no mean feat, what with misfitting locks) and I’m clearing recycling bottles away from the toaster, and he grabs it, unplugs it and takes it out to the patio.
After he sets it down, flames continue to lick out of the toast slots for about 10 minutes. Peering in from above, it does look like the orange and blue flames are coming from actual pieces of burnt toast in the bottom of the machine. I had no idea that discarded toast fragments contained such a vital source of energy. There’s the answer to Britain’s generating requirements: door-to-door collections of toaster debris.
P still eats the piece of toast that was in the toaster.
And I now have an excuse to replace the toaster as well as the decades-old-kettle that no longer switches itself off. I can have new ones to go in my new kitchen.