The story behind the story

I initially wrote and published this story in December 2015. However, only recently have I wanted to revisit it to see how I might improve it with a fresh eye and perspective, because we still seem, as a family, to be rushing through numerous kettles.

Though I still remember two memorable performances of the pantomime Aladdin: one at Stratford East Theatre as part of a ‘works do’, and the second with family and friends, when we were highly entertained by the London Bubble Company’s version in Deptford, South East London.

So today, I am sharing an updated version while wondering what might happen if a genie appeared from an electrical appliance and if that same genie had a bit of sass and ‘attitude.’

And with everything happening in the world right now, I can’t help but think we could all do with a little magic.

So, without further ado, I give you:

The Genie in my kettle

‘Your wish is my command,’ intones the apparition as it materialises from my Russell Hobbs kettle while I am wiping it down for the first time.

I almost drop the appliance as it emerges from the spout in a swirling mist of red, white and blue that almost fills my kitchen. It takes a full 30 seconds for him to settle into a recognisable shape and hover a foot or so away from me, with a benign yet expectant look on his face.

‘Can I turn that off?’ He gestures towards the radio, which is playing this week’s Archers Omnibus.

I stare open-mouthed, unable to quite fathom what is happening.  

Eventually, I splutter. ‘What exactly are you, and how did you get into my house?’

At my seeming impertinence, he closes his eyes and, with the barest of sighs, replies, ‘I am the genie of the kettle, and your wish is my command.’

‘This kettle?’ I ask, and he rolls his eyes and, with a deep sigh, says, ‘Yes, the kettle you have in your hand. The one you almost dropped.’

I continue to stare.

‘Your wish is my command,’ he repeats.

‘Oh, I’m sorry. Are you on a clock? I ask, ‘Is there somewhere you need to be?’

Another long, drawn-out sigh, ‘No, I am exactly where I need to be.’

‘Do you have a name?’ I ask, whatever this is, he is. I like to know who I am dealing with.

For the second time, my kitchen is filled with a swirling mist of red, white and blue. From its depths, I hear, ‘Jeremy, my name is Jeremy.’

As I gaze into the swirl, it once again takes the form of a man in a sharply tailored suit and bowler hat, hovering about a foot from me, posed as if seated on a straight-backed chair. Not what you would call your typical genie.

I suppose it’s not every day a ‘genie’ appears in your kitchen after you’ve bought what must be your tenth kettle. We’re getting through them at an alarming rate, though, so far, not one has produced its own genie. Still, I want to be clear about a few things before I commit.

‘Nice to meet you, Jeremy. I suppose you’ve heard the story of Aladdin, who has three wishes from a magic lamp. Do I have three wishes with this kettle?’

Jeremy looks at me with a slightly pained expression and says, ‘I am familiar with the ‘Aladdin story’ he shifts slightly, and yes, you do have three wishes. I suggest you use them wisely.’

‘This will require some careful thought,’ I tell him. ‘Do I have to decide right now?’

‘Yes,’ Jeremy states firmly, ‘this is a one-time only offer.’

‘Why?’ I counter, ‘can’t you come back tomorrow once I’ve had a chance to sleep on it?’

But all Jeremy does is shake his head and pull out a silver pocket watch from the top pocket of his jacket. ‘If you wish, I can make a few suggestions,’ he offers politely.

What happens next could and perhaps should be argued in a court of law. It is my firm belief that the words remained in my head; I am sure they were no more than a thought.

‘I wish I knew what to ask for,’ I think, maybe murmur, practically to myself.

Immediately, a couple of sacksful of cash appear on the floor.

Jeremy nods encouragingly at the hessian sacks with their notes spilling over the top.

‘What?’ I splutter.

Jeremy winks.

I am dumbfounded.

Jeremy tips his bowler.

This tiny gesture finally galvanises me. 

‘Hang on, I didn’t ask for that”, I exclaim, with justifiable annoyance. This really is the limit, no good appearing in my kitchen, making all sorts of promises about wishes and then just dumping cash on my floor.

‘Oh, but you did, my dear, first you wished to know, and I have simply provided you with a concrete idea.’

‘That’s not a real wish,’ I tell him.

Jeremy shrugs.

And as I gaze at him, he begins grinning like the ‘Cheshire’ cat from Alice in Wonderland, and a flicker of unease stirs within me. This feels far too convenient, with bags of cash appearing out of nowhere. Then I recall a news story that caught my eye in the local newspaper about a ‘robbery’ and the cash taken, and before he can say or do anything else, I speak.

‘I wish those to be gone, and you with them.’

And Jeremy disappears with a small huff, along with his sacks.

Weeks later, I learn that Jeremy had indeed kept himself busy, appearing at different locations, delivering his bags of cash (always in used notes), which people were initially very happy to accept, until, and this is a bit of a problem, the police arrived, and they were led away, unable to fully explain where the cash came from. 

It seems I had a narrow escape.

Until next time