We moved to our house fifteen years ago. As soon as the front door opened it felt like home. It felt big and airy and light. This was down to the fact that they had moved loads of the furniture out and taken down pictures – the owner had worked in an estate agents so knew all the tricks!
Looking from the back garden we gazed at fields and trees (oh and the A14 in the distance). There were four (OK, 3.5 really) bedrooms all seemingly super spacious (remember the furniture trick), and a front room/lounge (depending on your upbringing) with an open fireplace. When we looked out of the kitchen window, we could see a muntjac deer (never seen one in there since!).
And there, nestling in the corner of that kitchen was a lovely blue Aga that had been there since the house was built in the early 70s.
I love my Aga. I bear the fuel bills. Put up with the fact that I can’t deep fry or stir fry, or cook too much on the hot plates at once because I lose too much heat. Or that the dogs are all sat in front of it all day. It gives the house heart. Casseroles, slow roasts, bakes are brilliant. It warms plates, it dries clothes. If you’re feeling a bit chilly, open the oven door or lift the lid for a blast of warmth.
My Aga – it’s my favourite thing.