Well, I don't know. We had a slow cooker, which got broken - so it went to the tip. That was 2 years ago. I ordered a new one from Amazon. When it arrived I gave it a good wash, as recommended, and then, the next day, used it for a meal. From then on it sat next to the kettle, awaiting another order. Today I thought I would use it this week. Fine. But it wasn't next to the kettle any more. My wife had bought herself an egg cooker thingy, and that was sitting where the slow cooker should be. Well, I asked her where my slow cooker had gone. What slow cooker, she asked. The one I bought to replace the broken one, I replied. We threw it out, she says. The one from L-, you mean? Yes, she says. What about the new one? What new one? The one I bought to replace the broken one. I don't remember that, she insisted. Crunch. She does forget things. Not the memories of tha war and her childhood; just lots of more recent things. And some bad patches in the past, which have vanished from her memory banks, in the days when I was often sharply reprimanded for drinking too much. You'd think she'd remember all those rows. I do. So I asked my younger son. No, he knew I had bought one, but no idea where it was, or where it might have gone; he hadn't moved it. I hadn't moved it - no reason to do so. So she must have moved it to make room for the egg thingy. Which she denied. Found it in a cupboard in the end, where neither I nor the lad had put it. Not that I'll say anything more to herself; I'll put it back where I can use it, and say nothing. But maybe you can understand why there are days when I think I'm going doolally. Lord knows how she'd cope if I weren't here. After all, one of these days I might get abducted by litttle green men in a flying saucer. If the little Russian lunatic don't blow us all to Hell first. And now I've run out of booze. [Remendado from Daz]