It's all about the Aga these days, says ISABEL MORTON

‘BEFORE THE BOOM, only posh protestants and horsey Hooray Henrys had ever heard of Agas,” I was told by a “non Aga” woman recently. (Apparently, Agas don’t generate ambivalence; one is either for or against them.)

She went on to speculate about the “country set” and how there were always numerous dog baskets placed before rather grubby Agas in large, smelly kitchens (the smell, she explained, was invariably a mix of wet horses, dogs, coal, steaming wax jackets, boiling jam and well-hung pheasant).

“Of course, that lot care more about their dogs than they do about their children. The dogs are cosy and warm in front of the Aga, while their children freeze up in the attic nurseries and playrooms.”

The conversation was going wildly off track; all I had done was to mention the fact that I’d had a week of kitchen design meetings, all of which ended in negotiations about whether or not to sell the family jewels in order to purchase an Aga.

Although, these days, so many people are selling their family jewels along with their Agas and indeed anything else they can flog, that it’s possible to buy a second-hand Aga at a reasonable (relatively speaking) price. Try classycookers.co.uk but remember, prices are in sterling and the purchaser is responsible for the cost of taking the beast of an oven apart, transporting it and reconstructing it again.

And, if you’re concerned about buying a second-hand oven, be aware that there is a certain cachet about owning an old Aga, the older the better, in fact, as it implies the owner is “old money” rather than “new”. (Having said that, being in possession of any money at all these days is considered a feat in itself, never mind managing to hang on to the old Aga.)

Of course, the best market for second-hand Agas is in the UK where ovens are passed from one owner to the next as if handing over the family pet.

Aga sellers are always “reluctant” and buyers always “enthusiastic” and the latter promise faithfully, that the Aga will be going to a “good home”. (Perhaps Aga fanatics might introduce formal adoption papers for their ovens.)

Anyway, back to my Aga Saga week, which included a slightly hysterical conversation between a client, her architect and yours truly, on the pros and cons of an Aga cooker.

The former wanted one and I agreed with her. The fact that she might never use it for its intended purpose was entirely beside the point. Who cared whether it wasn’t half as efficient as any other cooking appliance, took up more space and cost a fortune to run, she wanted one and I backed her all the way. How could I not? I’m a convert and as we know there’s nothing worse than a convert.

Her architect looked at us both as if we were deranged and, indeed, we were. She couldn’t give any logical reason why she should have one, other than that she wanted it and I found myself rabbiting on, in a highly unprofessional manner, about how my son’s sailing shoes dried out beautifully overnight in the warming oven and how you could fit the largest of Christmas turkeys in the roasting oven.

Acknowledging when he was beaten, the architect sketched in an outline of the offending appliance, while muttering under his breath something about sending us both some facts and figures about Agas.

We paid scant attention and concentrated our minds on the correct location for the creature, giving it pride of place, keeping symmetry in mind and ensuring that the “king of the kitchen” could be admired from every angle. We didn’t have to discuss colour; despite the vast range of hues available, it would, of course, be traditional Aga cream.

First thing last Monday morning, even before sending me on his smart CAD (computer assisted design) kitchen layout plans; I received an email from the architect, minus any message, but with a three-page attachment.

The document was a hilarious opinion piece, in which reluctant and somewhat bemused Aga owner, and Housebuilder’s Bible author, Mark Brinkley, ranted on at length about the disadvantages of the device.

Answering an online query on its eco-friendliness, Brinkley remarked, “there is no such thing as a green Aga. They have a Size 14 carbon footprint. You could run two Chelsea tractors and have half a dozen foreign holidays every year and you’d still be using less energy than an Aga”.

He claims that “95 per cent of women aspire to owning one, but 95 per cent of men just don’t get it” and said “the Aga stands head and shoulders above other gender issues”.

He refers to the range as “a huge hot beast, which is both fuel hungry and uncontrollable” which, if you think about it, is precisely the reason why most women find the Aga so attractive.

Isabel Morton is a property consultant