I am being stalked by my oven. Day and night it’s there, in the shadows, watching my every move. It knows my darkest secret (I haven’t cleaned it for two years) and taunts me with endless guilt: about mince pies not yet made and something fishy stuck right at the back. It’s all my fault. I settled. And now I’m paying the price. Such irony, I’ll never be a Fan. But everyone knows when attraction fades all that’s left are the crusty bits. I’m so tired of living a lie, covering for you in front of friends and pretending to listen to your incessant whining. Let’s just turn off the TV and face facts: I’m not in love with you anymore. Yes, it’s Aga. It’s always been Aga. I’m so sorry. I’m sure we can be civilised, we’re adults aren’t we?….