The legend that is Arthur

Everyone takes technology driven domestic gadgets for granted these days. It hasn’t always been the case.

Back in the day, as they say, I worked with a colleague - we’ll call him Arthur - who struggled with technology. Keen to join the kitchen revolution, Arthur bought a microwave. Nothing strange in that, you murmur.

No, there wasn’t. It was the mid-80s, and it was a popular way of heating food in general and reheating meals when you were late.

But this was Arthur’s first microwave, and he destroyed it on day one. He put a full can of beans inside and set the timer for far too long. The resulting ‘explosion’ made a mess of the kitchen.

Undeterred, a few days later, he put a vacuum wrapped beef burger filled cob inside the office microwave. He asked himself how long it would take to reheat? He should have sought advice because Arthur arrived at an estimate of between 12-15 minutes.

By the time the machine signalled the time was up, the burger was extremely small and shrivelled, but the wrapping was enormous. It was a furnace hot blob that filled the inside of the microwave. As Arthur opened the door, it made a bid for freedom.

Arthur became a good friend and mentor, although he was more than a little prone to mishaps. In this regard he could almost be a legend. King Arthur.

I once invited Arthur and his wife round for drinks. During the evening, as the drink took hold, I told him to help himself when he’d emptied his glass. I explained there was a box of white wine in the fridge. (Boxed wine was all the rage then.)

Arthur returned from the kitchen cheerfully holding a full glass and declared: ‘I’m sorry about the eggs.’

How two eggs could leap from the scooped recesses built into the door was beyond me – and beyond his wife, who looked on in amazement. The eggs were nowhere near the wine. Well, they weren’t now; they lay shattered on the kitchen floor. I shook my head and smiled.

The story goes - well, legend in our office at the time - was that when Arthur lived in a city centre block of flats, he frequented the great little pub next door. One summer evening, he put his meal on to cook, carefully setting the oven timer. Then he retreated to the pub for a pint.

Settled down and deep in conversation, Arthur lost track of time. Fellow drinkers heard the fire engine arrive and watched curiously out of the window as firefighters rushed into the block of flats.

You can guess the rest.