Not so burnt offerings

One of the great things about our new house was the fact that the previous owners had left behind all of the white goods, lampshades and curtains.  They simply moved out their belongings as they were downsizing to a very fancy pants retirement village and their new apartment would have the works. Brand new.
 
We were buzzed as our last house in London had a lovely built in kitchen, but that did mean we had left behind almost everything we needed to make sure we could eat and stay sparklingly clean.
 
I soon realised that the cooker in the kitchen wasn’t very well.  It’s little fan simply wouldn’t turn, it warmed up nicely, I just had to remember to turn baking trays regularly to ensure that they were evenly cooked. We even found ourselves to be the owners of a very grand (presumably first generation) combination microwave oven.  Ian’s initial reaction we could only cook in it if we wore a lead lined pinny. 
 
As I haven’t owned a microwave since I was at university I shunned the microwave in favour of the traditional oven.
 
But my hand was forced recently when the little oven finally gave up and simple refused to even heat up any more.  Frustratingly we had just done a big shop of lovely foods to cook in the oven.  I simply had to get a grip with the combination oven and fast.
 
I read the instruction booklet, and read it again.  I made a cup of tea and contemplated how to do roast vegetables (I had them chopped and in the roasting pan before I realised that the oven had died). I re read the book to be super sure that I can actually put a metal tray in the microwave.
 
I took a deep breath and set it all off to cook.  I felt pleased with myself as no sparks or smoke were emerging from the microwave.  And then I leaped out of my skin as the car alarm went off.
 
I hunted around for my shoes and the car keys and the garage key, and the umbrella as it was bucketing down.  I beeped off the alarm, shut the garage and headed back inside.  I had just about made it to the kitchen before the alarm went off again.  I repeated the whole process about 4 more times before the penny dropped.
 
Some how, and in some way the microwave combination thingy was pulsing on the same frequency as the car alarm. 
 
I told Ian when he got home, who simply didn’t believe me.  After a short demonstration which left us both amazed an bemused we realised that other than the camping stove in the attic we now have no sensible way of cooking. Unless we park our car quiet a long way down the road, and frankly if it is doing that to the car, what is it doing to our insides?! 
 
Saturday is now looking like a full and fun day at Comet and Currys. 

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