Here are my parents, on a rather dank February Sunday lunchtime.
My father is mending the toaster, which, as he crossly pointed out, is only about five years old, and was made in China. This is by way of contrast to the 2-bar electric fire, bought in 1952 and still keeping them warm, which he assumes was Made in England (he's probably right). I admire his practicality and the eco-soundness of this laborious task, not made the easier by the fact that braising solder doesn't stick properly on whatever crap metal the innards of the toaster are composed of.
And here is my mother, looking very suspiciously at some flowers that I've bought her, as though there must be a wasp or two buzzing inside there somewhere.