Tomorrow will be the last day of this nonsense. This is me preparing you. The future will hold further IPEs, of course, when suitable subjects arise.
Long ago I pictured Kathy, our inspiring heroine, but I couldn't picture the heroic Ian for fear of giving away the end results of his labours. Now I can.
The amount of things he has thrown out is inspiring and heroic. I didn't let him throw out my golf clubs and the towel I use when I go swimming. He is like civilisation and we are like Nature, in that Nature abhors a vacuum and Ian loves a vacuum. He vacuumed everything, and he wouldn't mind if everything we owned was thrown by him into a black hole (which is a sort of hyper-vacuum) and replaced by newer things. Especially the television.
He asked if we wanted a bread bin. I said, 'Er...' and he said, 'It's for keeping bread in.' I think I wondered aloud whether, even in the brave and glittery world of bread bin ownership, we would actually keep the bread IN the bread bin. Ian dismissed this. Pre-use:
What's the time, Mr Wolf? It is 15.31.
Among the many reasons they are my heroes is that Kathy and Ian somehow uncovered my big tupperware. I had totally given up on this, and imagined it stolen or wandering the streets in a tiny skirt.
Kathy and Ian pay lip service to the belief that I cook, but they don't really believe it. Thus, they put all the pots in far cupboard corners and put the battered roasting tins under the stairs. This was a tiny piece of rough amidst a sea of smooth, like if Gary Lineker shagged around. Here is the bigger pot than you have (not shown to scale). I picture it to prove that my mother put a name tape on it, though why you don't believe me I don't know.
A question someone once asked me: 'Do you have an old broken stuffed fish hidden out of sight the other side of your sofa that you caught in Africa about the only time you ever went fishing?' Yes.
'But surely you don't also have Christmas mugs memorialising your adopted home town of Bishop's Stortford and demonstrating the artistic ability of your small cousin Nicholas?' Shows how much you know.
'All well and good, but I have been in a state of suspenders (assuming I am a character from Wodehouse) since yesterday with respect to the forlorn former new extractor fan, which had been removed from the wall for NO REASON I CAN UNDERSTAND. Put me out of my misery!' Only you can put yourself out of your misery - that is something all the authorities are agreed on and I think I should know because I once went out with a girl who owned a book called Escape Your Erroneous Zone.
But the extractor fan. First: it was broken. It rattled like crazy because one of the fan blades was knackered. Almost certainly it was delivered like this, though there was a funny period when Ian was showing me and Kathy how to remove the grease filters and he dropped them five times in a row.
Anyway, within a day of Kathy and Ian leaving the kitchen, the lumber section of the room looked like this.
Entropy, entropy, all is entropy. OR WOULD A PHOENIX ARISE FROM THE ASHES! Tune into tomorrow's thrilling finale to find out.