So I did a bit of experimenting with the microwave oven last night.
I'l spare you the technical details as they would involve barrowsful of dense jargon that you would never need again. In layman's terms I plugged the microwave's power cord into a heavy-duty extension cord1 then plugged the other end of that extension cord into various different power outlets in the kitchen, attempting to coax the microwave into showing signs of life at each one by hitting it smartly in the time-honored Slap of Electrical Implement Repair and then muttering some class one Words of Power to ward off anti-handyman demons in the vain hope they would go away so the microwave would start working again.
What I gained over the course of the twenty minutes or so this took was the following insights:
a) There are too many empty soda bottles littered about the floor of the kitchen. Someone could turn an ankle.
2) There is never an Ace Elastic Bandage around when you need one to strap up a turned ankle.
♣) The malfunction of the sockets might have been the result of a treacherous mutiny on the part of the microwave inducing a short that threw the breaker, said breaker perhaps being in need of replacement as the latch is dodgy and doesn't reset properly when recycled. I found one such breaker when the coffee machine refused to start the other day and it is quite possible the outlets involved are on the same circuit as those the fridge and microwave used to be plugged into.
So a bit more poking around with a voltmeter is needed, in conjunction with a bit of work inside Mr Breakerbox. Lovely.
All of which will have to wait ten days because tomorrow Mrs Stevie and I head out for our second annual trip to Florida. We are fed up to the back teeth with shouting and arguing with each other in Chateau Stevie, which leaves us with only two choices: Major dental surgery or relocation to somewhere not inside Chateau Stevie for a bit.
And it's so hard to find a dentist on Long Island these days.