We had a lovely brunch with the Preston-LeBlanc clan this morning. Liam is uncharacteristically subdued; we think he may be fighting off something.
Unfortunately, the oven has died. I discovered this when I went to bake a batch of scones to take over. It’s not the fuses; it’s not the elements being loose. We tried both of those.
As the creature is only four years younger than I am, we’re fairly certain that the cost of a service call plus whatever repairs might be required, if they are even possible, will be more than we’d pay for a second-hand replacement stove. I already have sent queries out to two or three people who’ve listed very affordable stoves on Craiglist, asking year of manufacture and model numbers.
It couldn’t have waited three more months till Ceri and Scott could sell theirs to us before kicking the bucket, oh, no. Of course not.