Forwards and occasionally sidewards – everyday musings of life

I had completely overlooked a fundamental flaw in our Grand Design: a shiny new kitchen comes equipped with shiny new appliances. Which means a steep learning curve and a staggering amount of paperwork—mostly safety pamphlets printed in every language known to human civilisation, with roughly half a paragraph dedicated to English.

I think I’ve finally solved the mystery of why the world’s tropical rainforests are disappearing. They are systematically being felled to print appliance safety warnings informing adults that hobs get hot, boiling water burns, and freezers are, in fact, cold.

Determined to master the modern age, I dutifully read every single page of the hob manual—twice—trying to locate the section on how to simply turn the heat up. This led to downloading a mandatory smartphone app. Yes, modern kitchen appliances now require Bluetooth pairing, presumably so your cooker can drop you a quick text when dinner is ready.

Eventually, I abandoned the digital future, gave up on the manuals, and resorted to the ancient art of aggressively pushing buttons and twisting dials.

I had envisioned modern home cooking to be the exact opposite of ordering a takeaway. Instead of calling someone to place an order, the cooker phones you to announce what it’s decided to make for dinner. I clearly need to read the manual a third time.

Technology battles aside, we successfully prepared and enjoyed our very first meal in the new kitchen, taking our plates out onto the deck in the warm evening sun. Sitting there, eating proper food made in our own home, it suddenly hit us—this is precisely what every single week of dust, noise, and compromise has been for.

Tonight will be our absolute last night sleeping in the caravan. Tomorrow, we sleep in a real bed, on fresh carpet, under our own roof.