Life has never smelled so sweet. My senses are alive again; the fresh smell of olive oil mixes with the odour of a dusty and damp old house, creating an unlikely fusion upon a backdrop of traffic noises and screaming kids. Yes, it feels good to be alive.
But it is only after the storm that this calm can be found.
Today, the storm was turbulent, a force so strong that grown men would weep in blind panic, and women would cast their children to fall prey to the whim of its figurative gusts of wind.
The knob broke off my Gas Cooker. Whilst the Gas was on.
If Death has a face, it is in the shape of a stiff "D-like" valve. Try as I might, bending forks, and fashioning crude pliers out of knives, I could not prise that shaft to the 'off' position. By this point, I had set the hob on fire, not wishing to succumb to gas suffocation. But each moment the hob remained on, money was haemorraging from that gas valve, and I was finding myself increasingly out of pocket (especially since it turned out that certain members of my household decided it was my privelege to provide them with their utitilities). In a state of disarray, I threw my hands up heavenwards and probed "Why has thou forsaken me? Also, how can I turn off this wretched appliance?".
It was then that I was struck with inspiration from beyond human knowledge. There are 3 other fully functioning knobs on this cooker. Use one of them. My get out clause. My lifeline. (For those of you without the flexibility of mind to connect the dots here, I took one of the Knobs that wasn't broken and put it on the shaft where the broken Knob incident occurred, thus fixing the problem.)
And so it was that on April 22nd, 2009, Death came knocking, ever so quietly, on the door of 12 Highland Road, Bath. To my fortune, some wanker has my front door key, so neither Death incarnate, nor the EDF energy man can enter this premises, no matter how persistent their knocking.
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