I bought an oven. I wish I hadn’t. Ovens are like homes, cars, pets and partners, in that you can like the look of them but can’t know what it’s like to live with them until you’re living with them. And by then, it’s too late; you’re stuck with them. All I wanted was an oven that gets hot, to a temperature of my choosing, until the cooking is done, at which point I can switch it off. That’s it. But functionality this simple exists only in the good old days. In ovens, as in all things, manufacturers seek to excite our feeble minds with ever more fantastical features. One knob is all I want, all I need. But, as Feargal Sharkey might sing to himself, a single knob these days is hard to find.

My new oven actually has no knob at all, which is worse. This curates the vibe of simplicity but is only a mask for unconscionable complexity. It’s like the cleverdickery of a Tesla car’s cabin. Look how simple it is, how clean, how clever! Nothing but a steering wheel and a giant touchscreen, but thereon and therein – as with my wretched oven – lies a world of pain, confusion and entirely unnecessary nonsense.

My new oven has a touchscreen. We got off to a very bad start: I switched it on and was invited to choose what TYPE OF HEATING I would like. Option one was HOT AIR. Hot air? A joke, surely? Hot effing air? Frantically, I pressed and swiped, looking for something, anything, to suggest........

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