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Kerplooey (Part 1)

Holy crap our oven exploded. And, while M assures me there was no “POW BLAMMO” sound, exploded is the right word. M cranked the heat up to preheat the oven and the pizza stones (oh, the tragedy of the pizza that never transpired), and noticed an unusually high level of smoke coming from the heretofore trustworthy (if grubby) appliance.

The FNARRRRR and white-hot quasar-like glow emanating from behind the fan added further clues. Being a housemate of stalwart brains, M switched off the oven and grabbed the fire extinguisher as a just-in-case, then switched it back on to see what it was up to.  This time, the lights flickered, the quasar burned, and the oven plumed smoke and blue ash over everything. He switched it back off. Sensible chap. (Unlike the many who simply leave it glowing while they film it for YouTube — I am torn between appreciation at seeing other people’s experience, allowing me to confirm my diagnosis of the element burning out, and astonishment at the stupidity of pointing a camera for an extended period of time at what is obviously a threatening electrical fault.) That was the last appearance of the quasar, for reasons that soon became apparent.

My Dadini came over and had a poke and pulled the back off the oven. Then we remembered to switch off the oven at mains.

Holy crap that's a lot of asploded metal.

Check it out. I love this.  It’s like the interior of the element has boiled out through the external coating. It looks super funky and mechanically, industrially beautiful.

Steamy.

What’s that? You’d like some more hot electrical failure photos? Well, I don’t know…let me see what I’ve got here…

Ruptured elements are hot. Briefly.

No, no, that’s all of it — I’m certainly not the kind of dork who spends twenty minutes with the macro setting on, angling a busted element all over the kitchen for the best light.

Alright, maybe one more.

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