Heart of the home

It has been said that I only have a kitchen because it came with the house.  This is not true; I needed somewhere to do the washing and keep the beer.  It is true, however, that I only have a cooker because there was a gap between the cupboards and, being of a kindly disposition, I couldn't bear the mystified horror of my friends when I said I was going to put an armchair there.

  According to the leaflet that came with it, the lid lifts up if you want to use the hob.  Obviously I exaggerate.  I've used the hob on at least four occasions over the last six years, mainly to boil water for rice or noodles, but last year I actually made two pots of jam!

  {The normal-sized mug is there to give you a sense of scale.}

I tend to use the kitchen more as a morning room than anything else.  {Contrary to appearances, I am well in touch with my inner Miss Austen!}  My kitchen table is usually full of some creative project, the sink is full of dirty mugs, and the work surfaces are full of objects that inspire me or bring back happy memories.  Next to the microwave I currently have two pretty {but sadly empty} cake boxes, a margarine tub full of self-assembly dolls' house furniture awaiting sale on Ebay, a half-finished mosaic and my old door knocker.  The chopping board is somewhere upstairs, where I was using it as a drawing board.

My beloved was therefore somewhat puzzled when I showed him my latest charity shop bargain.  "Very nice," he agreed, "but what do you want that for?  You never cook!"

"Isn't it obvious?" I replied.  "It's in case I forget where I am!"