Whilst holding an IM conversation, I totally forgot about my toast. My toaster has a fantastic feature, whereby if you use the “defrost and toast” routine, it totally neglects to turn itself off after however long you specify. I wonder whether this was a deliberate addition to its specification.
The byproduct of this neglect can be seen in figure 1:
…and, for that matter, in figure 2:
After crawling around my kitchen on my hands and knees, and finally getting all the windows open and every extractor fan turned on, I resigned myself to going back to bed to read another chapter of [The Straw Men] by Michael Marshall Smith.
[the straw men]: http://www.amazon.co.uk/exec/obidos/ASIN/0006499988/
Half an hour later the doorbell buzzed. I picked up the intercom, thinking that it was going to be some helpful and concerned neighbour telling me that there was smoke pouring out of my windows.
“Come on up.”
I then struggled to get into my dressing gown. Well, my left arm found the sleeve normally occupied by my right arm. Hilarity ensued as I attempted to fashion a sarong out of the asymmetrically distributed fabric. I opened the door looking like David Beckham, only probably a lot less presentable (and I never thought that I would be able to say that).
I took the parcel, signed for it, and returned back into my flat.
And stubbed my toe on *everything*.
Uh, that’s it. But what more could you want?