Everyone’s talking shite. I’m just breathing it in.

It’s been six weeks since I sent my DeLonghi kettle back under warranty. Six weeks of polite emails, web chats, and digital apologies that mean nothing.

Every few days, I get a message saying it’s been “escalated.” Which, near as I can tell, means it’s been placed on a slightly higher digital shelf where no one still gives a toss.

They tell me they’ll “get back to me within five working days.” They don’t. Then they send another email saying the same thing. It’s like Groundhog Day, if Bill Murray had to boil his tea in a saucepan.

So now I stand over the stove like it’s 1943, waiting for a pot of water to boil. There’s something meditative about it, if you squint hard enough. The bubbles rise, the hiss builds, and I stare into it like a monk contemplating the pointlessness of existence.

My wife says, “Just buy a new one.” She’s right, obviously. But there’s principle. I’ve told her I’ll message them every day until it’s sorted — partly out of stubbornness, partly because I’ve already committed to the bit.

Maybe that’s what life is now: the balance between acceptance and escalation. Between letting go and demanding justice for a £49 appliance.

So here I am, every morning, waiting for the pan to sing, learning patience, and wondering if enlightenment might actually come with limescale.

— Tom Kite.