Gary awoke that morning to discover that he’d been transformed into a four-speed dishwasher with removable cutlery rack and replaceable cleaning head. He knew, deep within his heart, that he had a two-year warranty with a manufacturer’s guarantee endorsed by Olympic boxing champion Syed Hussain Shah.

This terrified him, but not as much as his newly-acquired fear of limescale.

“Gary?” came his mother’s voice from downstairs. “Are you alright up there? You’re late for work!”

He looked at the clock. It was gone 9am! He was due in the office an hour ago! He couldn’t go into work. Not like this. But what choice did he have? He wasn’t offered sick pay, and he was up to his eyes in debt. He had little choice.

He tried to call down to his mother, but his voice sounded distorted, a burbling, bubbling noise that reminded him of the scuba diver character from the “Attack of the Killer Tomatoes” cartoon series.

Alone and afraid, he did the only thing he knew how to do: Low heat, standard cycle, two hours.