I got back to the flat today and walked into the kitchen to find Housemate Louise squatting on the floor wearing naught but shorts, marigold gloves and a bra. I let out a involuntary shriek and dropped my bag.
"What an earth are you doing?!?"
Now wait a minute readers, it wasn’t so much the get-up that startled me (although that said, there hasn’t been near enough girls-parading-about-in-bras at Tufnell Park Towers this past year) but her actions.
"I thought I’d clean the oven," she informed me.
"Wha….? Clean the oven?" I asked, both incredulously and rather suspiciously.
"Outside and …in?" I asked, gulping and trembling in one smooth convulsing movement.
"Here, let me have a look at that," I said padding over. "But, but? It’s shiny in there! It was never a shiny oven. Was it?"
"It was once, and once again is."
"And this window on the oven door; you can see through it! I thought it was frosted glass!"
"If you’re really interested, there’s a load of scrapings from the oven’s interior in that bag over there," she said, nodding at a bag containing a pile of encrusted and sticky mystery items, "some pretty disgusting stuff."
"I am! I am!" I cried in delight. "Ooooo, a fossilised Fish Finger!"
5 weeks ago