The level of the current heatwave my own country is currently gripped by has been matched only by my husband’s ambition. 

He bought an electric fan.

Rolls Royce jet engine division would be proud of its epic proportions. It’s so noisy even maximum volume on the tv doesn’t block it out.  In fact, we’ve given up trying to hear the tv.

Our lounge is 20 x 12ft. And in it our new purchase feels a tad like a jet engine roaring away at the end of our room – positioned there because in the absence of ear protectors we just daren’t place it any closer.  

And true, the fan has done its work.  If we can continue to afford the electricity bill needed to power it each evening, it should serve us admirably during this long, hot summer of sticky evenings and over-warm telly viewing nights. 

So I cast sneaky glances at our fan, gleaming away in its shiny stainless steel loveliness near a sofa, a little in the distance, wafting everything within 10 feet that’s not firmly pinned down by strategically placed weighted objects – even the dog’s in danger. And for some strange reason I am growing to love it. I admire its ambition. Our fan knows what it’s there to do. It has a plan, it follows its objectives, it remains focused on doing what it knows it can do well, motivated by its own performance levels that are worthy of praise. 

Together with my husband’s ambition in buying it, they make a great team.