There's absolutely nothing like a wet holiday morning, when you go downstairs with the intention of whipping up a bit of breakfast, perhaps with some bacon to help things along, and instead of the happy pop and sizzle of long strips of fatty, maple cured pork crisping themselves up in the microwave you get a rather louder pop and sizzle sound, along with the smell of ozone.
The trusty Nuke-o-Matic gave up the ghost this morning.
Why do I suddenly have a craving for popcorn?