AGhAst

"What's going on," I say, as large men wheel slabs of metal out of Vicky's kitchen.

"Husband's away, so the Aga's going," she says.

"What? But it's only just arrived."

"I don't care," says Vicky. "Look at me. Do I look like a woman who wants to be slow-drying her tomatoes in a simmering oven overnight, or making her own chutney? Do you know what they make chutneys out of, these days?"

"Not being a chutney groupie, it's hard to say. But judging by the last school fair I went to, practically anything. Passion fruit, mud, engine oil. Put it in a Bonne Maman jar and shove a ribbon round the neck and you can't go wrong."

"I believe engine oil chutney is considered de rigeur with samphire and raw sewage soup," says Vicky. "But that's beside the point. The point is -"

"'Scuse me," says one of the men, loaded down with what looks like scrap iron coated with rust.

"- that I can't go on. I'm not a school fete fetishist with a chutney habit and six tombolas to feed and the only thing I'd like to tie a ribbon round wouldn't feature in any Aga bible, that's for sure.

"And then there's the heat. When it snowed the other day I had to have the back door open to bring the kitchen temperature below 80. And the rest of the house was arctic because the thermostat never clicks on. So the kids have all got chilblains and I've got heat rash."

"What are you getting instead?"

"Nothing," says Vicky. "I've got a really good price for the thing, and with that and what we save on the fuel bills, I plan to eat out for every meal well into the New Year."

"Won't that cause a major domestic upheaval."

"It may," says Vicky."But I'll make sure we get plenty of his favourite takeaways. And if he's really misses the taste of good, home cooking I'll specify that I want his portions carbonised. That way he can experience the essence of my cuisine any time he likes."