It was all going horribly wrong from an internet connection point of view.
The connection from my house decided to cease operations and the provider of the service had been less than helpful with either a diagnosis or resolution. That was followed by a few days as a nomad in search of a wi-fi connection, who quickly became a nomad with lower back trouble due to excessive amounts of laptop carrying. The final straw came with the discovery that, having travelled to my parents house to visit for a few days, I had neglected to bring the laptop’s power lead. Clearly there was a message for me here somewhere!
Dear Pressure Cooker,
I would like to apologise for what I put you through the other night. To tell you the truth, I am only just about recovering from the experience myself.
Let me start by saying that you have been a faithful kitchen servant for many years. I need only think of the speed at which you have allowed me to cook a myriad pulses: kidney beans for that tex-mex chili and the Nigerian stew with the peanut sauce; black turtle beans for Mexican “charros”; black-eyed beans to be eaten with sweetcorn and a cider vinegar dressing; butter beans later slow-baked with carrots, tomatoes and oregano; soy beans for homemade tofu (though that was only the once); and chickpeas a zillion ways.
You were never, alas, meant to be used for jam-making.