Wednesday, 1 June 2011

Danger? That's My Middle Name! (actually it's Pascal - but I wanted Danger)

You know me - I'm a devil may care, live fast - die young, laugh in the face of danger, pull the chair out from beneath peril type of guy.

No, really I am.

Take tonight for example; I devised a cunning, and yet perilous plan - I would put the jacket potatoes I wanted for tea on (for an hour and a half at 200c) - AND THEN GO OUT WHILE THEY COOK!


Yes, you read that correctly; - not the Dun Dun Derrr bit, the bit before that -  I left the house while my electric oven was on, and walked away from my house for 45 minutes (before stopping, turning around, and walking back in the direction of my house for another 45 minutes). I just didn't care.
Actually, that is not entirely accurate. With each and every step that carried me away from home, I had a nagging feeling that something terrible was going to happen.

Firstly, I imagined some kind of scene out of the "Final Destination" films, where inanimate objects suddenly move for some reason or another, leading to a catastrophic chain of events that in turn ultimately lead to the death of some poor soul. In my case, I imagined that the oven door would suddenly open (due to a previously unnoticed faulty catch), and then the faulty heating element in the oven would start to spark. One spark would fly out of the oven and land in the bin opposite (which was left with its lid not on properly), igniting the cardboard, paper, and sausage fat within. The ensuing fire would spread throughout the house gutting it completely. It would also spread to the neighbour's houses, killing them all.

Then I imagined that I had left the oven on too high, and would be out for too long. In my mind the potatoes were being heated way past the point of being cooked - so much so, that eventually they would simply explode under the extreme build of heat. The ensuing fireball of molten potato and baking tray would engulf the kitchen, setting it alight. The rest is as per the previous thought ( read from "and sausage fat within").

I was walking along the Trailway - my chosen route, as it is quiet and scenic - but now and then I kept turning round and looking back towards my town, half expecting to see a plume of black smoke climb slowly into the sky, and just be able to hear the approaching sirens of the fire engines. A small internal battle ensued - my kidneys were double teaming my liver, until my pancreas came to its aid and pulled out a flick-knife, at which point my kidneys backed off.

I have no idea where that last sentence came from.

But I was a little torn (which is what Irish Gardner's get on their little roses) between carrying on and turning back, but in the end decided to stop being such a wimp and just carry on walking. I had the countdown timer on my phone counting down 45 minutes. When it got to zero, the alarm would sound. Upon hearing the alarm, I would simply turn around and walk home.  At this point, let me say that the Trailway was thankfully deserted - I was very aware of how weird I would have looked walking in one direction and then suddenly stopping, turning around and start walking back the way I had come from. Thankfully - like Superman's and Batman's real identity - my weirdness remains a secret.

Except from you guys - but that's why you love me, right?

Anywho, in due course the alarm sounded. I turned around, and walked home - in less time than it took me to walk to where I stopped. Maybe I was walking a little bit faster with worry about my (possibly) flaming abode. I needn't have worried, and neither should you - my house was fine! In actual fact, the potatoes needed an extra half an hour cooking time - so I actually could have walked for an hour each way. I had my potatoes with Tuna Mayonnaise with chopped pepper in. It was delicious.

And I will be doing more walking from now on, as I need the exercise.

Tomorrow I will be walking laps of my garden. I'm having beans on toast for tea.

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