Home on the Range

.. or, the Saga of the Aga

FOR WEEKS I harboured a secret desire to have an Aga cooker installed in my new home. After all a country kitchen without a range is like an egg without a yolk.

Methuseleh: Original owner 

of oil-fired stove?

 I tried to explain this to my husband but he went all Algerian on me and claimed not to understand a word I was saying - considering he's fluent in Arabic, French and English there's only so many times he can pull this "I'm a foreigner, I don't understand" routine. However he suddenly became extremely articulate, regurgitating half the Oxford English Dictionary when he saw a collection of glossy Aga brochures and he said it simply wasn't in our budget and we had to make do with the oil-fired stove that was already in place ... despite the fact the original owner must have been Methuseleh himself! He was exerting his authority and putting his foot down. As most wives know, we take this sort of strop as a bit of a challenge.
 Every time I tried to light the oil-fired stove I approached it with great trepidation as one would if searching for a gas leak with a welder's torch on full blast.

Slapstick heroes: Laurel & Hardy

 The long predicted blowback when it happened was twice as traumatic as expected and while I would've enjoyed being a spectator I played the starring role. Blowback is a term first used in 1973 by the CIA to describe the unintended consequences of an undercover operation, but it is also quite an apt description of what happened to me. The two heavy metal cooking plates were blown into the air by the sheer, undiluted force of some sort of explosion which left me momentarily deaf. A fine shower of black soot descended in slow motion over the kitchen landing on my face and singed eyebrows. Just in case I was on fire, I dived at the kitchen sink plunging headlong in to the tepid, greasy water lined with orange scum from a tandoori dish that had been soaking overnight. There was a smell of burning and I wanted to make sure it wasn't me. Feeling like a bit part player in the Laurel and Hardy classic "Dirty Work" when the icons of slapstick played the roles of chimney sweeps, I looked a sight for sore eyes. Yes indeed, a fine mess.

As with all dramas that life throws at me without warning - but on an alarming and regular basis - my other half was miles away blissfully unaware of the murderous incantations I was muttering against him.
 It was one of those "final straw" moments and once I had made sure I wasn't in the advanced stages of self-immolation, I proceeded towards the study and went on the internet where I found a man who sells reconditioned, wood burning Rayburns with a 12 month guarantee. Furthermore, he specially modified his so that a window could show off the roaring fire from the furnace inside. Perfect.

Shooting season finally over for
Benghazi's rebels

 I then set in motion a carefully co-ordinated operation requiring military precision, the co-operation of a local builder and a special courier service to deliver my Rayburn all the way from Cornwall while he-who-should-be-obeyed-but-rarely-is was accompanying me on a film trip for a TV documentary on Benghazi, in war-torn Libya.

 The plan was simple. The builder would remove the old stove, instal the new and it would all be presented as a fait accompli on our return. My other half would immediately fall in love with the new addition and praise me for being so thrifty to find this wonderful bargain. What could possibly go wrong? Obviously I'd forgotten Sod's Law!

Home made: My 

reconditioned Rayburn 

with fire window

 While out filming in Benghazi my mobile went off right in the middle of a burst of AK-47 fire by gun-toting rebels. It was the builder. With one finger stuck in my ear I held the phone close to the other and heard him tell me the good news - Methuseleh's monstrosity had been removed. Then followed the bad news - the new stove couldn't be fitted because an unsafe asbestos panel had been discovered on the rear wall and the area needed to be fire-proofed against the immense heat generated from the new cooker which also needed a double lined flue installed as the current one was designed for oil-fired systems only. On top of the £4,000 plus additional costs he quoted me, he added that the old stove had been condemned because it had been chugging out deadly poisonous carbon monoxide fumes!

 "Look on the bright side. You're lucky to be alive. We'll sort all of this out when you return. Sounds as though you're having fun but the shooting season is closed now," he said on hearing the latest crackle of gun fire. "Tell that to Gaddafi",  I responded before closing the line.
 It took some weeks for hubby to forgive me. But once the Rayburn was finally installed and I produced my first chicken casserole harmony was restored once again.

Future installment: A BEE IN MY BONNET - coming soon(ish)