Just Making a Cuppa

I was waiting for my electric kettle to boil, something it does very efficiently, in less time than I 've known any other kettle to boil.  I was mulling over how wonderful my kettle was, as encouraging bubbling noises started emanating from it.  I had had it about 20 years or more and it hadn't let me down.

Two days later, I was again standing over my fabulous kettle, and nothing happened.  No reassuring little red light, no warmth coming off it, nothing.  My kettle was kaput.  It's odd how these things happen once your thoughts break the spell.

The prospect of lockdown and no kettle was too much.  I rummaged around in the cupboard under the sink and found, joy of joys, the little kettle I used to use in my camper van, complete with its ingenious folding handle.

I threw old, trusty in the bin, and placed the 'folding' kettle on the hob.  Instantly I noticed that my kitchen looked better.  Less trailing cable, a socket and more workspace freed up.

It did take quite a while to come to the boil, and my feet were getting cold on the kitchen floor tiles, but then - a forgotten pleasure.  The kettle started to sing to let me know my cuppa was coming.  Yes, it whistled the whistle that took me back to my childhood family kitchen, it whistled the whistle of happiness.  

It sounded busy.  It sounded joyful.  It sounded reassuringly rustic.