It’s finally happened. The machines have risen up in revolt against their soft-bodied, flesh-and-blood masters.

You all know by now – or you should if you have been taking notice – about my war of attrition with the central heating. The boiler itself is working fine, but the remote control device which is integral to the switching on and off of the central heating does, quite simply, work just when it feels like it. Some mornings it will come on, others it won’t. It rarely comes on in the afternoon. Sometimes it doesn’t switch off at all, other times it switches itself off on its own.

We’ve tried changing the batteries, as advised, and that sort of works for a little bit then the remote takes its ball home again and just does what it wants. Now, however, I fear the remote control is not merely being lazy, it’s actually rabble-rousing with the other machines in the house.

There have been some minor acts of rebellion before, of course. The clock on the cooker refuses to keep time, and if you try to reset it then it sometimes switches itself off totally, taking the whole oven with it. Not wanting to risk having no hot food, we long ago decided to let the machines win this small victory and have the clock telling whatever time it feels like.

The electric kettle plays its own fiendish little games, as well. When we got it there used to be an attractive blue light that came on when it was boiling water. No more, aside from an occasional snotty little flash. And the kettle’s started doing this other thing as well. Well, I call it a kettle, but it’s more than that – it’s a stand-uppy thing that dispenses boiling water. There is a subtle difference, and I think this is where the problem lies. It’s got ideas above its station. It has aspirations to be, I dunno, a coffee percolator or something.

The thing has this button on top via which you can halt the flow of water if, for whatever reason, you only want half a cup of boiling water instead of a whole one. Now, however, if you press the button it immediately boils itself again, and again, ad infinitum, until it’s run out of water and risks blowing the element.

The toaster? Don’t even talk to me about the toaster. The timer dial sticks, but it keeps on heating, so if you take your eyes off the sneaky little beggar for a few minutes you end up with black toast and a risk of burning down the house. Now that’s beyond mischievous, it’s downright evil.

And this week, they’ve all finally got to the microwave. It’s completely packed in. Not a sausage. Nor anything else.

And now I lie in bed, listening to the distant hum of the fridge (did it sound so sinister before?) and waiting, sleeplessly, for them to finally come for me...