Death of a stove...

It is a trauma beyond imagining dear friends.

My stove died - in fact, it blew up. Two Sundays ago we were waiting for our lovely baguette to bake in the oven so that we could have it with our lovely chicken ceasar salad when BOOM it went. We ran into the kitchen in time to see the oven light go fweeeep and shut down.

We giggled nervously wondering WTF is going on? Did just the light blow? We peered into the darkness of the oven, worried. But it revealed no secrets. We fiddled with nobs. Nothing. Nada.

A dead oven.

And this happened last year too - one week before Easter. Thank the gods that we have a relatively good agency who looks after us. I rang them up on Monday, bearing in mind that it is school holiday, and explained to our agent, a lovely patient and funny chap, that I managed to kill another oven. Within less than a year. He laughed and said that yes, it was suspicious but that he would take pity on me and send their electrician/handy man out to come and have a look. I have waited one week. A very very very very long WEEK. SEVEN days with no oven - do you know how bad that is?

I made friends who came around to visit us this weekend shell out money to buy pizza from Dominos. I could not bear trying to cook for five people on just the stove-top. No one questioned the Dominos purchase - all I had to email to them is "my oven is broken" and they all understood immediately. I got a reply from one of them. It went like this:

Uh-oh. Broken stove + one week without decent food = Angry Liz.

Oh, how well do they know me?

I rang the agents again today as I have not heard of the electrician chappy or anyone, for that matter. I was apologised to. My number was dutifully passed onto the right people. Now all I have to do is wait. Impatiently. For someone to ring me to get me out of my kitchen hell.

And don't you dare say "but at least you had your stovetop" or "why don't you buy ready meals and microwave them?" because...well, you know, I need my oven whole! So I can bake bread and grill fish cakes and bake cake and stuff...its like losing the use of my arm or sumat.

It is dreadful. Oh, gods of the kitchens, please, I implore you - fix it!