Well I’m stumped.

*drums fingers on table*

By all rights I shouldn’t be writing a blog today as I can’t think of a damned thing to write about and it’s been the same for days. In fact my brain is utterly devoid of ideas and resembles a big sucking black hole, I can see an idea on the event horizon but that was sucked in weeks ago. Where’s Prof. Brian Cox when you need him, naked and oiled up…? Sorry just a fantasy of mine

So here I am with nothing to say, oo! No, nothing to say at all.

It’s nice out. I do believe that they call these sunny bits just before Autumn an ‘Indian Summer’ on account of it being all nice an warm and stuff. They call the rest of it ‘a shit summer’.

Actually I could do with cleaning my oven. It fills my house with smoke when I use it which is always a sign that I need to squirt my Mr Muscle all over it. It often amuses me that that many of my male friends still believe in the urban legend that is, the self cleaning oven. It would be fantastic to own such a magic thing but I don’t expect I’ll see one in my lifetime.

Ovens that purport to be self cleaning never are. All they do is get clogged up with grease and start to smoulder, which is OK if you like your house stinky but I prefer not to have beef scented lungs. Don’t get me wrong they work fine if you only use them to bake cakes but if you primarily use them for roasting meat, like I do, then they tend get a bit slick. Adding to that the grill function and dozens of spurting sausages (and you all know how I like a nice sausage) then you get some idea of the mess that it gets into and no amount of self cleaning ‘magic’ will fix that.

That’s it today.

Magic Ovens
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