No, after tutoring, I hurried home ...
I was excited. My oven saga was coming to a close.
I was going to use the repaired oven for the first time this evening!
I had to get home and prepare for the momentous, almost historic occasion. I would have an oven for Christmas afterall.
The moment of truth arrived. I switched the programme on to number 4, stood back and admired the fact my oven was now working.
Meanwhile, I prepared the meal.
Out of the corner of my eye, the oven light flashed, or did it twinkle in unison with the fairy lights on my Alt-tree? Whatever, this was exciting stuff. My oven was on its test drive for Christmas.
As with all test drives, there are hiccups.
After 30 minutes, the oven was still barely warm. Something was not quite right. After an hour, the oven was at 170 degrees. Hardly hot enough for my dish and oven french fries.
The rain was teeming down outside, so no recourse to the barbeque. But there's an idea for roasting, if I can find the twirly whirly thing that spit roasts meat.
Frustrated, we grilled the meat and grilled the french fries. It was an interesting experience.
I wrote an email to the supplier. Thank goodness I had not paid them. There is always a purpose in holding back on payment, until someone comes after you with a huge stick or something ...
Bah flipping Humbug. The picture in my mind of a succulent roast turkey, roast potatoes and parsnips grew hazy.
No use calling anyone to "á table!" when there's nothing to eat. This is worse than Bob Cratchit's house.
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