Archive of ‘humour’ category

Oven Trouble

Oven: An oven is a thermally insulated chamber used for the heating, baking or drying of a substance,[1] and most commonly used for cooking. Kilns and furnaces are special-purpose ovens, used in pottery and metalworking, respectively.

Lately readers I have been tired. Oh so very tired. I think a year of broken sleep and just the mere fact that I have three adorable children and a husband to keep me busy, has finally caught up with me. I do stupid things like put glasses in the fridge, or forget where I have put things…constantly and it wasn’t too long ago that I forgot to turn the kitchen tap off and flooded the floor (which actually proved a good way to clean it!) Well, the other day my tiredness went to epic proportions and caused me to have an epic fail! If you follow me on Twitter then you might have seen me tweet about this particular incident. Here now is the sorry tale in full….

We are trying (and subsequently) failing to sell our house and have been for several months. A prospective buyer came up who was, for a change, actually quite promising and to cut a long story short I had to get the house tidy and cleaned and sorted in just two hours before they came for a viewing. Now, I don’t know what your house is like, but mine always looks lived in. (and that is putting it politely!) I swear my house vomits crap, everywhere, all of the time. No sooner have I tidied something away than I turn around and a whole heap of sh** has appeared in its place. There simply isn’t enough room in this house for the amount of tat we have. I’ve tried to declutter. I’ve tried to sort and put things into the millions of boxes I have bought in Ikea, but it just. doesn’t. work. So tidying and cleaning my house in two hours is no mean feat.

My youngest had gone down for his nap, middle child was at pre-school and eldest was at school so…I got started. Flinging toys into the playroom boxes and shoving clothes into cupboards I worked my way around my house like a whirlwind. (I still can’t find some of the things I tidied away that day, goodness only knows where I have put them) Upstairs was done and the last room to be sorted was the kitchen…and no, it was not a case of saving the best for last. My daughter had recently had an outdoor party for her birthday and I’d gone a bit mad in Asda buying plastic cutlery. So much cutlery in fact that it would not fit in any drawer, or cupboard. The slow cooker had already been put in the back of my car and this is probably where the cutlery should have been squirrelled away to as well. But no. I wasn’t that clever. I put the cutlery in…my oven (you can see where this is going can’t you?!) Not only did I shove the cutlery in the oven, but in also went a massive Tupperware box, my daughter’s pink baking mixing bowl and spatula and various other things that I couldn’t find a home for. I was just hoping they weren’t the kind of prospective buyers who wanted to look in the oven. Or in any of the cupboards for that matter lest they wanted to forever remain in my house buried under a pile of crap that would inevitably fall on them if they opened a cupboard door.

So, very pleased with myself for making my house look amazing in such a short space of time the first thing I did was text my husband to tell him not to use the oven when he got home. (Why I felt the need to do this is beyond me as the man wouldn’t even know how to turn it on, he does not cook!) Then, having neglected to clean myself at this point I hopped in the shower before evacuating the house with my youngest in time for the viewing to begin, still smiling that I’d done a great job. Ha pride comes before a fall yes!

So, later on that day, my children decided they would like jacket potatoes for dinner. I usually start the potatoes off in the microwave before moving them to the oven to finish them off and crisp up the skins. I switched the oven on and put three potatoes in the microwave before returning to the lounge to play with the children some more. When I went back into the kitchen to check on the potatoes I could smell something funny, and stupidly didn’t twig. I thought it was the potatoes and like a complete muppet even wondered why they smelt of burning plastic. I thought maybe a bit of the plastic bag they were stored in had made its way into the microwave. Yet I couldn’t find anything. Five minutes later and I went back in to find the smell had got stronger. Still, I didn’t twig. (remember when I said I was tired!) I inspected, no word of a lie, every potato for signs of plastic and obviously couldn’t find any. It was then, at the moment when I was walking past the oven snd back into the lounge, when I realised what was happening. In slow motion I reached for the oven switches and turned them off before opening the door shouting ‘nooooooooooooooooooo!’

Carnage. Absolute carnage. The plastic cutlery was all melted and fused together.

The pink mixing bowl had completely melted leaving a small part of the smiley face that had been on the side of it grinning up at me, laughing.

Oh the mess. The mess! The plastic had welded to the sides of the oven and dripped back down into the fan at the back. And the smell was horrendous, to think I had thought it was the potatoes! What an idiot!! I flung the back door open and turned on the extractor fan to try and get rid of the smell, which I’d now convinced myself was totally toxic and going to engulf the house. It took hours to finally go, by which point the melted plastic had solidified and I couldn’t get any of it out of the oven.

I eventually did, but it was clear to see the oven was ruined. My husband wasn’t amused. And now, several weeks on I still haven’t found time to buy a new oven. I must get one soon!

Have you ever baked anything you shouldn’t have? Please do tell me in the comments section below so I know I’m not the only tired fool out there x

I’ve decided to link this up with a brand new linky from @The_Doves all about photos telling a story. Technically you’re only supposed to use one photo, but I’m sure she won’t mind that I’ve used three!

A Blockage and a Potty!

Blockage: The act of obstructing. Something that obstructs; an obstacle.

So today I have the pleasure of hosting the blog hop, along with @Judith Kingston from http://www.secretsofthesandpit, for the lovely Emma @crazywithtwins. As those of you who have already linked up or are following all of the wonderful posts you know we are all here blogging to show support for her and attempting to cheer her up whilst she is unable to cuddle her precious children during her gruelling radiotherapy treatment.

I am so pleased to be able to start this post with some GOOD NEWS from the lovely lady herself! Last night Emma sent Judith and I an email…

On day 3 of isolation, after excessive drinking, peeing, showering and other activities you don’t want to know about…my radiation emission levels dropped unexpectedly to 700, meaning I was safe to be discharged from isolation. I still cannot come within 1-2 metres of any human being (or cat) but have gone home and been given estimated dates for cuddles with my husband on 5th June, 6yr old Bunny on 11th June and 1yr old twins on 16th of June!
This is 6 days early and for any bloggers going to Britmums Live or the BiB awards ceremony… I WILL SEE YOU THERE!!!

This is absolutely fantastic news, but even though she is home Emma is still not able to do what she is so desperate to do, and that is cuddle her girls, so….here is my ‘humorous’ post and my attempt to cheer her up.

Over the past few weeks I have thought long and hard about which story to tell to make you all laugh, to cheer everybody, especially Emma up! I have plenty of embarrassing tales to tell…I am one of those people that things seem to just happen to! I could tell you my most recent tale of mortification upon where I was walked in on whilst hovering over an aeroplane toilet by the fittest guy on the plane, who then had to stand there red faced whilst I ‘finished up’ infront of everyone enjoying the flight. Who, having heard my scream of sheer terror, had realised what had happened and were sat, squirming in their seats stifling laughter. I can tell you that summing up the courage to walk out of that toilet was sodding difficult. And as I did, those stifled giggles erupted into full blown bloody guffaws. *cringes at the memory*

But I’ve decided to tell you another tale of bodily functions and desperation instead. (Lucky us I hear you cry!) When I was a single parent my daughter and I lived in a ground floor flat. It was a gorgeous and spacious flat in an old Victorian building, attached to a new build with three more flats inside. We had lived there for couple of years and I’d slowly been renovating, one room at a time. The kitchen had been done, the windows double glazed and the night storage heaters upgraded to ones that actually kicked out some heat, all be it at three in the morning. The one room left to do was the bathroom. It was a glorious shade of pink, with asbestos under the ancient and crumbling tiles. There was no window, and the sewage pipe from the three flats above ran down one wall and was bricked off. The bathroom was mostly functional….all apart from the ageing, pink toilet. It was temperamental. Very, very temperamental. As long as you used it correctly it would do you no harm, but the minute you broke the rules, the second you stepped out of line, the toilet became your worst enemy and was a pain in the sodding arse. (No pun intended) Vomit, for example, was one thing it did not like and instead of swallowing it up and sending it down the waste pipes to the sewers below it would regurgitate the stuff and vomit itself. Too much toilet paper and it would block, leaving you to put on rubber gloves up to your elbow and scoop the damn stuff out. (Retching continuously as you did, but knowing you couldn’t vomit in the bloody thing as that would only make it worse) I bought fancy plungers and manufactured my own ‘unblockers’ out of wire coat hangers and tennis balls, and mostly fixed it myself. But…then the day came which made me loathe my toilet more than ever and vow to rip it out with my bare hands and replace it as soon as was humanly possible.

It was a normal morning, but the toilet was ready to ruin it. It blocked. Who knows why on this occasion, but it blocked. I went to work doing all of my usual many tried and tested techniques. Scooped the contents out with my bare hands as I’d thrown my last pair of overused rubber gloves away and forgotten to buy more. *heaves at the memory* Swearing and cursing under my breath I flushed, hoping magically that it would all be back to normal. But no. The f***ing thing was still f***ing blocked. And another problem was brewing, one that with me when you need to go you need to go. And I had no-where to bloody go. A plumber was called who promised he’d be there within the hour. I knew I couldn’t last that long. I tried the other flats and all of my neighbours were of course out, or ignoring me, in cahoots with the toilet, and not answering their doors. My daughter was with me, I had to wait for the plumber and we didn’t live near enough to anywhere for me to pop out relive myself and then pop back. Walking didn’t help, sitting down didn’t help, squeezing my butt cheeks together so hard I could cry didn’t help. I was going to go whether I liked it or not, and I had no f***ing toilet to go in. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw….the potty. The tiny little white potty. No I thought, that would be disgusting, I cannot possibly do it in the potty. Besides, where would I put it when I’d finished?! But my stomach growled as if speaking to me saying, ‘for goodness just do it woman, I can’t hold it in much longer, just sodding squat and do your business…NOW!’

And so ladies and gentlemen. I did. With my then 2 year old daughter watching me of course and all the while sh***ing myself that the buzzer would ring and the plumber would arrive right in the middle of my relief. I won’t give you the gory details, but let’s just say it was better out than in. I then, feeling immense relief but immense disgust, got a carrier bag from under the sink, (after I’d hoiked myself up, my thigh muscles did not like squatting for that long) scooped it up and threw it in the bin. My mum was the only person I ever told, until now, about this incident. She laughed so hard that her tea flew out of her mouth and across the room. I’ve never heard her laugh like that before…or indeed since!!

The toilet and bathroom were hastily replaced after that day, and never again have I had the misfortune of needing to use a potty. Have you?

You can catch up with Emma’s news on her blog: and follow her on Twitter: @crazywithtwins
Tomorrow we hand the baton over to PODcast, @The_Doves, but for now if you have a happy, humorous or inspiring post PLEASE add it to the link below and show your support! Xx

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