351/366: fried, eh?

At about 8 a.m. I was awoken by a crackling sound. When the noise occurred again, I was concerned, as the electricity feeds into the house just outside our bedroom window. So much for the sleep-in I needed.

I got up and went through to the kitchen where, to my dismay, there were little tendrils of smoke wafting out from the cupboards under the hotplates.

hazy smoke emanating from the cupboard smoke under the hotplatesThere was a surreal, ghostly quality to this mist.

Of course, this happened on a day when my husband was already at work, so I took the cordless phone off the wall, but it didn’t work. Thank goodness I had charged my mobile yesterday, and also that I have a battery on my laptop so that I could start typing up the experience. I’m also glad we kept the old phone that is plugged in directly to the telephone line.

Calling him, he instructed me to open the cupboard to check if the hotplates were plugged in, as there was a burnt plastic smell emanating from under there. However, although the plug was still in the socket, it was turned off, as we hadn’t been able to use the automatic pilot light for some time. The hotplates themselves are gas, so he suspects that maybe the electric oven had burnt out, though there was no smoke from the actual oven.

I made him stay on the line while I turned on the gas and lit the pilot so I could boil water for a cup of tea, just in case there was an explosion. My imagination tends to run riot.

Checking the fuse box on the front porch, nothing seemed untoward there.

On my laptop, utilising the battery, the internet logo had a big red cross on it. Interesting; must look into that. Temporary?  It said wireless networks were available, but when I clicked on connect to a network, it led to a screen that told me none were available. Make up your mind, cyberspace. The penny dropped. Oh yes, the modem has to be plugged in.

After reporting the fault once I found out that I was the only one in the street without power, the men duly arrived within the hour, to discover a fried line between the main line and our house, where the wires had rubbed against another set.

the problem

fried wires

dangerous

Meanwhile, I had utilised the waiting time to do some weeding and pruning, as the rain had fortunately eased off. As it was morning at least I didn’t have to contend with lack of light.

Now I’ve just enjoyed a cappuccino, well deserved after all that excitement. The odd thing is that the oven appears to be working, so the smoke remains an unsolved mystery. Another strange thing is that it’s Sunday, not Fried-day.

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