I am here on the taxi rank again.
In the words of the Inspirational Mottoes guru on Facebook, God loves a trier.
I hope so, because it would be nice to have something to show for the evening, if only the affection of a mysterious and possibly, although by no means certainly, mythical deity.
He won’t love Mark, who has stayed at home. He thought that it would be more productive to put the draining board in the new kitchen.
After last night, we were completely in agreement about that.
I am only here because it gives me a chance to read my book, write to you, and possibly get my exciting new telephone to work.
I have got an exciting new telephone.
It was given to me by the Peppers, who explained that they had more telephones than they needed.
They were inspired to do this when I mentioned that mine had become too old to allow me to access my bank account any more.
Also there is a new radio station called Times Radio which has set itself up in opposition to Radio Four. It talks to you instead of playing you music, which I like in a radio station. If I want to listen to music I prefer to choose it for myself. There are no radio stations which know that you just happen to be in the mood for Queen’s Greatest Hits, or possibly Brahms’ Piano Concertos, or even Songs From The Mickey Mouse Club.
Anyway, the point was that my phone wouldn’t do it anyway, because of being practically historic. It did not have a dial and a buzzy noise when you picked up the receiver, but it was not far away.
The new one is not only newer, but larger and more splendid. I have not yet put my SIM card in it because of not being able to get the phone out of its case, but I am sure that with some determined effort I will be able either to remedy this or break it.
I should have asked Mark to do it before I left, but did not think of it. I have had a busy afternoon trying to repair our breadmaking machine.
Years and years ago, when Numbers One And Two Daughters were babies, I saw an article in a thing called the Innovations Catalogue describing a magnificent new invention. It made bread for you. You put in all of the ingredients, switched the timer switch and then woke up in the morning to the wonderful smell of fresh bread drifting up the stairs.
This seemed to me to be the most desirable thing on the planet, and I longed for one with my whole soul.
It must have been about ten years before I got one, but I did.
I don’t suppose they are really the most desirable thing on the planet, because these days we have hand-held portable machines that will let you watch any film in the world that you like, diagnose your nasty rash and let you talk face-to-face with your daughter in Canada.
Also I like the washing machine and the electric shower a lot as well, not to mention cake mixers and hand powered screwdrivers and microwave ovens.
Apart from these things and a few others I have forgotten, the bread making machine has turned out to be very much the most desirable invention in the world. Indeed now, without even thinking about it, I wake up every morning to the smell of fresh bread drifting up the stairs, to which we add the smell of fresh coffee a few moments later. Never has there been a better time to be alive, how my twenty-year-old self would have envied me.
We have had several bread makers over the years, and the current one probably for about the last four or five. During that time it has made a loaf of bread every single day, and occasionally been pressed into service for oddities like pizza dough or focaccia. You can make jam in it, but I don’t. That would be weird.
Over the last couple of months the non-stick lining has slowly started to peel off the loaf tin.
We looked online for new loaf tins but they turned out to cost almost as much as a new bread maker.
The mighty Internet explained helpfully that you could re-non-stick your loaf tins yourself.
Mark said that any stupid idea was worth a go if it meant that we did not need to spend a hundred and fifty quid on a new one.
You had to put a cup of water, a couple of tablespoons of baking soda, and half a cup of vinegar in the non-stick pan and boil it for ten minutes, after which you oiled it gently and washed it out and it would work again.
You would not think that such a small and simple procedure would take half of the afternoon, but it did.
First I had to take the bread tin apart, because there was a mixing thing in the bottom. This was screwed in and would not come out.
Then I had to mix the soda stuff. This was not made easier by not knowing what baking soda is, so I put baking powder in and hoped that it would be right. It fizzed excitingly, so it might have been.
I had to put loads in, because of course I could not just put the bread tin on the stove to boil. I had to put the water in a cooking pan and put the loaf tin in that. The first pan was not big enough, and the fizzy water boiled over the sides and went everywhere. The second pan was not big enough either, but it was the biggest that I had got, so it had to do. It took me a while to chip it all off the top of the cooker afterwards.
I boiled the bread tin, then I turned it over and boiled the other side. I do not know if the quantities were right because I did not measure any of it, and in the end it fizzed and bubbled and frothed and left a thick layer of what looked like mud in the bottom of the pan.
This washed out of the loaf tin all right, but set like a rock in the saucepan, and had to be soaked in boiling water and scrubbed.
After that I had to find all of the screws and screw the loaf tin back together. I oiled it just like the instructions said, and put it back in the bread making machine.
I do not know yet if it has worked. I will find out in the morning when the loaf is ready.
Have a picture of the conservatory. The pumpkin is massive but you can hardly see it any more anyway.
