Apparently now we have to buy a new kitchen –whatever that is- Susan Morrison

Well, that’s not strictly true. I am a regular user of the kettle and consumer of coffee, not to mention herbal tea. I have a working knowledge of the toaster, but the rest remains terra incognita to me.

This is not to say that I am not proficient in certain areas of food preparation. Slicing is one of my skills. Citrus fruits in general, lemons in particular.

I can pour ingredients carefully and to exacting requirements using the special measure for gin. Popping ice cubes takes time to master, but believe me, I am almost at ninja level. I can carefully mix tonic water with the best of them. Open a packet of salt and vinegar crisps and you have dinner.

No, I’m not the one who stirs the pot and prods the roast. It's generally acknowledged within the family that me staying out of the kitchen is the safest thing all round.

The husband and both kids are enthusiasts for the cooking lark, and prefer it if I do not step into their domain, unless, of course, it's to do the dishes.

So, apparently, now we have to buy a kitchen. Nobody bought a kitchen when I was a lass. They were just there.

Big table in the middle, usually covered in a colourful sheet of oilcloth. Gas cooker with four rings, one was always dodgy. You had to virtually crawl in with a match to light the oven in my old aunties.

Thrilling times. Plates above the cooker. The only thing fitted was the sink in the corner big enough to test Clydebuilt ships hulls.

My husband is rising to the challenge with all the enthusiasm a Yorkshireman can muster, especially since he gets to measure things.

He’s fond of a measuring tape. Especially those ones that extend, lock and then you can release them so they shoot back in. I suspect he thinks he’s a Jedi switching off his light saber.

We have been to showrooms. And very nice those kitchens look, too, but those drawers are neatly clear of the clutter of a family of cooks who just love a gadget.

They have amassed entire drawers of things. We have a doodah to stab into a joint of meat to check how hot it is in the middle.

I know what it is now, but I didn’t at the height of the lockdown when I thought I was running a fever. I wasn’t. The heating had come on unexpectedly on a warm day, leading me to think that Covid had breached our virus defences.

I rootled about until I found what I thought was some sort of specialist thermometer with a huge spike on the end. You will be glad to know that my husband came into the kitchen before I could attempt to take my temperature in a most surprising fashion.

The shiny kitchens are very lovely and not at all tired. The staff are great, but they do keep asking me questions like “What's my cooking style?”

When it comes to hobs, have I “considered induction?” I said no, not since the delivery of our second child, and that’s a very personal question.

What is a hob?