The Hot Box.

We've been camping as far as the kitchen is concerned, since we moved into the House at Porter Street.  A slight overstatement to say "tormented" by the grime, but tempting to say it anyway.  Truly.  It's too icky to even think about spending time cleaning to occupy temporarily, when the whole kit and caboodle is doomed to the trash heap the very moment we can settle on a company to deliver the splendour we're after at the price we're happy to pay.


Anyway.


Today we had friends for lunch, and so for the first time I ventured to use the oven, which on investigation was ironically grotty as hell on the outside, but reasonably unused on the inner.

And as I had the thing on to warm, before committing my roast to it's toasty chasm, I stopped momentarily to appreciate the branding.


VULCAN.
EVERHOT.
SAHARA.


(Even "fan-forced" sounds stronger in this noble company.)


Nowadays ovens are called things like H4412B (Miele) and PPP76W (Westinghouse), SD012-5 (Smeg) and Logixx, Exxcel, Avantixx and Classixx (Bosch).  


Where's the romance gone, I ask you?  We are poorer for the loss.