THE Empress, who had dominated our kitchen for so many years, and upon whom I relied so heavily in times of hunger, was in the tender care of the technicians at Electro Curro.
I was all on edge, fearing the worst when the phone rang. To cut a long story short, it was the worst – it would cost more to repair The Empress than to buy a new microwave.
‘What do you want to do?’ Enquired the Electro Curro girl.
There was a short pause as my loyalty vied with my financial good sense.
‘I’ll buy another one.’ I answered, sweeping from my conscience her years of faithful service and the gravitas her presence lent to the kitchen.
Even as I said the words I felt a twang of guilt for my fickleness; this was a fine way to repay her!
The twang was still reverberating when the girl asked ‘Do you want to come and collect it, or shall we recycle it?’ I paused again.
Should The Empress’s demise be marked by a full state funeral?
Should I hire 12 professional mourners and a glass sided carriage drawn by six black horses adorned with ostrich plumes, and accompanied by outriders?
The Voice of Reason spoke in my ear ‘If you’re too stingey to have her repaired, then you’re certainly too stingey to pay for a state funeral with all the trimmings.’
True. ‘Recycle it please. I’ll come in and look for a new microwave.’
Alas, The Empress is no more!
