A slow-boiling kettle may be bewitched and contain a toad

[Scene: A cosy kitchen in Manchester. Rain patters against the window. A kettle is on the hob, taking its sweet time to boil.]

Emma (superstitious):
You know, Tom, this kettle’s been slow for days now. I’m starting to think it’s bewitched. Maybe there’s a toad hiding inside it.

Tom (rational):
A toad? Inside a kettle? Come on, Emma, you’d notice if a frog was swimming about every time you made tea.

Emma:
I don’t mean literally hopping about! It’s an old saying—“a slow-boiling kettle may be bewitched and contain a toad.” My nan swore by it. She’d bin a kettle the moment it took too long to boil.

Tom:
Right. And how many toads did she actually find in them?

Emma (pauses, sheepish):
Well… none. But the idea is that the toad’s spirit—or whatever—makes it sluggish.

Tom (grinning):
So your theory is that amphibians are moonlighting as kettle saboteurs? Imagine the union meetings: “Right lads, today we’ll slow down the tea in Manchester.”

Emma (laughing, but defensive):
Mock all you want, but some things can’t be explained. The kettle feels… off.

Tom:
Or maybe the heating element’s got limescale. You do live in Manchester—water here’s hard enough to build a wall with. I had the same problem with mine last year. Bit of descaler, and boom—tea in three minutes flat.

Emma:
That’s such a boring explanation. My nan used to tell me that if you didn’t pay attention to omens like that, worse luck would follow.

Tom:
And my grandad used to insist that whistling indoors would summon the devil. The only thing it ever summoned was my gran telling him to shut up. Traditions are colourful, sure—but they’re not proof.

Emma (playfully):
Alright, Mr. Science. But what if ignoring it actually does bring bad luck?

Tom:
Then I’ll take my chances. Besides, think about it: if every slow kettle had a toad spirit, Britain would be the world’s largest amphibian sanctuary.

Emma (snorts into her mug):
Fair point. Still, I’m not using that kettle again.

Tom (stands up, grabs the kettle):
Fine, let’s test it. I’ll descale it this evening. If it boils faster, we’ll agree it was science. If not, you can blame your ghostly toad.

Emma (grinning):
Deal. But if you wake up croaking tomorrow, don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Tom:
If I wake up croaking, it’ll be because you overfed me biscuits, not because of your kettle-toad conspiracy.

[They both laugh, kettle finally whistles, and Tom smugly pours the tea.]