Last night the timer dial stopped turning and started to make an annoying click every few seconds. So time for it to go. It has served us well and owes us nothing.
We were trying to work out how old it was. We both knew we’d brought it back from Hull after Dad died, and we emptied the house. But neither of us remembered when Dad had acquired it. His first microwave was gifted to him when a family friend had died, and his family were emptying their family home. I don’t know if this was that one or not. While we were talking about it, Richard said that he bet that I’d have a photo of it in situ somewhere. And I remembered this photo.
In 2007 I carried my proper camera around with me quite a bit, and often took photos. It was a Saturday. Dad was making us some jacket potatoes for our lunch in the microwave. We were probably going to go out for a drive in the afternoon. That was the routine at this stage of Mum’s dementia. I snapped a couple of photos. Because I could.
I’m glad I did because, to me at least, this photo is gorgeous and shows my family kitchen exactly how I remember it.