Microwave

Early yesterday morning, having breakfasted on Nan bread left over from Christmas Day,  I slithered my way to Tesco’s on the icy pavements to check out the Microwaves. My aged and somewhat foul machine is falling apart from the inside and desperately required replacing. I noted the prices and observed the cheapest at £32.95 for a basic machine of 700 watts, or 'D' capacity, enough to meet my needs. I headed for Argos and here I purchased, for a couple of pounds less than the Tesco’s price, the same machine under a different name. The last time I ventured into Argos I waited so long I was tempted to lie on the counter and play dead! In the store behind headless chickens ran about while a queue stood expectantly as the disembodied voice cheerily announced "Number two hundred and seventy five to your collection point please," all the while ignoring the fact that number sixty eight was still waiting! The lass at the till that day noticed the people waiting to be served by her, she also noticed those awaiting delivery of their items, which appeared regularly as a headless chicken dumped them on the shelf, and she took immediate action, she disappeared! This time a bright young thing took my money, almost immediately, another stamped the ticket and off I went, within minutes! Wow!

I carried this brute home, a huge distance for one as fit as I, walking on the cleared road to avoid the ice bound pavements. The next few hours were spent struggling to get it out of the box and removing the old one. I then tested the thing with a cup of water. It worked! Hooray! I noted some condensation on the front glass but this appeared to have no effect so placing a bowl of Flanders Soup' inside it ran happily for ten minutes. Shortly thereafter I then placed the small Xmas pudding inside, switched it on and Phut! It said, and died! Ten minutes worth and the guarantee was for a full year! Later I realised, as I ought to have done immediately, that the glass ought not to contain condensation as electric machines do not require it. I later repacked the brute and staggered back to Argos wondering why the thing was heavier once repacked than it had been carrying it home? I dumped it on the counter ans wheezed my complaint only to be told to take it "over there." I left it and wandered 'over there' noticing the lassie had brought the box round for me, smirking at my lying on the floor on all fours attempting to get my breath back. The bright young lass (where do they all come from, they appear to be missing in such shops usually)    convinced me to choose a different version. This in fact turned out to be a cheaper version in stainless steel (we shall soon see how stainless this remains) looks much better! £27.95 I ended up paying, having £2 whole pounds given back to me! Hooray! Once again carrying the thing home was lighter than taking the other back. Why?   

Naturally as I woke this morning I ached all over. Muscles that are usually 'resting' do not like Lactic acid or whatever it is running around inside them. I tend to agree with them at the moment. Why me? Why can I never buy things in a straight forward manner? It's just a good thing that I am not one of those miserable people that complain a lot, for if I did folks would here about it I am sure.

Motor Ward

Top Gear, that excellent BBC programme, took it upon themselves to attempt to recreate the journey of the Magi (that's the three wise men to you) from the East to Bethlehem. It is fair to say that this programme was as biblically accurate as much of the Church of England's preaching, so that gives an indication of how far from known facts they were! However it was once again a programme worth watching. The fear of being shot in Iraq was somewhat exaggerated but an excuse to run around in a fast car chased by a helicopter was typical Clarkson. However the plane failing to land and going round again was a delight to watch. The problems on such trips are always magnified, although James banging his head and being rendered unconscious was not planned, and if nothing else I enjoyed a view of the countries they passed through that is not often given by news coverage. James's bang on the head was worrying for a while, but not as much as three men dressed in Burqas driving into Damascus. Why they were not shot as suspected suicide bombers I cannot tell. Some may well have decided Clarkson was being rude while imitating a cut down Jesus at the Sea of Galilee but I don't. Nor did the final ending upset as I burst out laughing in a way I haven't for some time. This was the usual 'Top Gear' send up, funny and cheeky but not offensive, quite unusual for Clarkson right enough! Possibly you will be able to access the BBC IP site and find the programme 'The Three Wise Men.'  It's worth a look!






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