For the past three years I’ve used the same kettle. It’s not a bad kettle, but there’s one key flaw. When the kettle has just been boiled, the design of the lid renders it incredibly difficult to re-fill due to fear of massive steam burn. Sometimes, I want to refill that kettle quickly. When the hot water isn’t on, for a spot of washing up for example. Or to chivvy along the bubbles when boiling is required. When these times come, I curse the kettle. But do I ever replace the kettle? I do not.

Why I don’t replace the kettle is something I ponder on a regular basis. Actually, that isn’t true… Why I actively recognise the fact that I need to replace the kettle, and spend good hours that could be spent watching ‘Come Dine With Me’ thinking about replacing the kettle yet do nothing about it, is what I ponder. I did actually try and buy a new one once, but I didn’t agree with anything they had in Argos.

So here I am, committing to keyboard my kettle anguish. And where has it led me? To one simple conclusion: I love my kettle. Despite its touch of limescale, and aging flex; and despite its horribly designed lid, I love my kettle. Because it’s the kettle I have, and have long had. It’s seen the good times and the bad.

Or maybe I just can’t admit that I bought the wrong kettle on one dark night, three years ago. Maybe I keep my kettle because I am, at the end of the day, nothing more than a man. A stubborn, lazy man.

Fucking badly designed kettles.