This morning I got up, ready to do battle once more and investigate why the oven was not going. Not enough sleep, but more than I had had the evening before. Dammit, I was going to find out what was making the oven persecute me, if it took a further fifteen minutes of twiddling with the timer and clock buttons. Turn on the range again...pause...click, it decides to work! Did I just happen to turn the oven on as the designated start time was occurring? Why did pulling the start time switch not override it? Why do flats always have such awful ovens? As far as I can tell someone must have wound the timer on about 12 hours in advance (good one) and my fevered turnings of the dial were not enough to fix it last night. Or was it something more sinister? And why do ovens have timers anyway, you shouldn't be leaving cooking unsuperintended, let alone leaving the house with it set to start the fry up in advance of your potential non return. Who? Why? Why are there suddenly so many dishes again? Why is it so cold? Who can I blame?
Now I am very tired and cold, but I have to brave the elements again. Looks like another late dinner, but don't you worry, I will be prepared to break some stuff if I get home to the place like yesterday. Not least of all the landlord special oven.
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