AaaaaarGhA

"The Aga man said why not dry citrus peel in the roasting oven and use it as firelighters?" says Vicky, looking at the shiny lump of metal the size of a small mini that's now occupying most of one wall in her kitchen.

She's on her knees in front of it, a reluctant worshipper, contemplating it with mixed awe and loathing.

"Tosser," says Bad Lindy. "You'd get a better blaze toasting his giblets and using them as firelighters instead. Speaking of which, mind if I toast my gusset?"

"As long as you're properly dressed," says Vicky.

"As if I would," says Lindy. She pulls up a chair and sits, legs well apart, revelling in the heat.

"That copper I know said he tried cycling to work commando fashion and kept sitting on his plums," she adds, conversationally.

"Not a citrus fruit," says Vicky. "And the bruising probably stops them heating evenly."

I've gone round to Vicky's to commiserate on her latest kitchen acquisition. Her husband, yearning for an Aga, has got just enough of a bonus to buy one and, despite Vicky's frequent and vociferous objections, has ripped out a couple of kitchen units and had it installed.

"It uses so much fuel that I've asked for the bills in black-edged evelopes," she says. "The meter shoots round so fast that you could attach a couple of sparklers and flog it as a catherine wheel, and I'm convinced we've created our own personal hole in the ozone layer. Look through a telescope and you'll probably find it's formed itself into an arrow shape pointing downwards and the words 'she did it'. I'm expecting Greenpeace round any day now, anchoring one of their dinghies to the main burner until we sign a treaty of casserole non-proliferation."

"So what are you supposed to do with it?" asks Bad Lindy, "Apart from warm your bits."

"Stew and baked potatoes, apparently," says Vicky. "And I'm not a great one for either."

"Blimey. I hope it's good with nuggets and frozen chips or your kids'll starve," says Lindy. "Mind you, they can always suck the ice off the sides if they're desperate."

"I've never wanted to be a domestic goddess and now I reckon Brett wants to turn me into Aga Woman, with my 200 dernier tights firmly outside sensible pants and a lamb tucked under cape, liberating mankind from its brink-of-disaster seasoning problems."

As the woman who put the carbon in Carbonara and could burn a fruit salad, Vicky clearly has some way to go.

"Mind you," she says, looking speculatively at the hotplates,"It's supposed to be able to dry anything. And it's children's bathtime tonight. You never know. It might just prove more useful than I'd thought."