Are you stupid enough to think you can clean the oven? A tragedy in five acts

HAVE you made the unwise decision to clean your own oven, based purely on it being unacceptably filthy? These are the stages of your unfolding regret: 

It takes all day

Did you naively put aside an hour? Prepare to lose the whole day. You thought doing it yourself would save money, but it takes time you can never buy back. Several hours bent over scrubbing like a Victorian child, dreaming of other, happier lives not wasted scraping away years of burnt crap. Ironically, it’ll have you wanting to stick your head in an oven.

It hurts 

The task is so physically demanding, it’s practically athletic. It’s a pain in the neck, the back, the arms, the knees comparable to forced labour. Hands and face coated in black grease, breathing in ash and decay.  By the end every part of you will hurt. It’s like a spin class where you’re both victim and sadistic instructor.

It’s f**king disgusting

As household chores go, cleaning the oven is top of the vile jobs. It’s an archaeological exploration into all the awful meals of your past. Unidentified chunks of food, splatters of fat and splashes of long-forgotten sauces coat its walls like a grotesque Jackson Pollock. You’re in hell, trying to scour your own tarnished soul.

It’s chemical warfare

If the foul stench of the scummy oven isn’t bad enough, prepare to unleash a cocktail of lethal cleaning chemicals. Despite the oven being a place to cook food, oven cleaner could confidently strip the fur off a cat. After an afternoon breathing in high-intensity bleach, you’ll either pass out, forget your own name, or meet God.

It stays clean for five minutes 

The worst part of cleaning an oven is using the oven again. After a lifetime making the bastard sparkle and shine, suddenly it’s time to cook a lasagne. And within a week you’re back to where you started. Best drape a tea towel over it and pretend it doesn’t exist. Nobody ever had to clean Deliveroo.

Six British prime ministers who wish they had declared martial law

MARTIAL law was briefly declared in South Korea yesterday because the president was in trouble, arousing wistful longings in these prime ministers: 

Boris Johnson, 2019-2022

Not a natural authoritarian, Johnson looks back at the beginning of lockdown and wishes he’d done the Churchillian thing by dissolving parliament, announcing a government of national unity headed by himself and suspending press freedoms indefinitely. For the Guardian, Mirror and BBC. All the rest are his mates, they’d be fine.

Gordon Brown, 2007-2010

On reflection, the credit crunch was an ideal opportunity to get the troops out given that money matters more than people, Brown often muses. Outlawing the opposition would have been an act of kindness. And imagine how much it would piss Tony off for his successor to be named president-for-life.

Theresa May, 2016-2019

Rebellious representatives not doing what you want? Young people protesting? Nobody listening even when you shout? May looks at president Yoon Suk Yeol and sees a reasonable man taking fair, measured steps to do what was right for his country. What a paradise Britain would now be if she’d done the same.

Tony Blair, 1997-2007

Not a bad kind of martial law. Not the Tiananmen Square kind that has such terrible optics. But a friendly, matey, sorry-I-have-to-do-this-guys kind of martial law, perhaps where soldiers are allowed to wear jeans and polo shirts. Yes a curfew, but understandingly enforced. Dissolving parliament apologetically. He could have got away with it, early on.

Nick Clegg, 2010-2015

Not technically prime minister but only an assassination away, and that would have made a marvellous pretext. A pause in democracy to rejig it and get it right; proportional representation, free university, justice for Cleggs. Still thinks back to that moment when he was behind David holding the knife. Instead he sliced the jamón for the sandwiches.

Liz Truss, 2022-2022

On day one. Obviously.