Quite right, quite right. Clapping is no substitute for a proper incantation, though I confess it felt very appropriate at the time. A most triumphant little ‘CONGRATULATIONS’, it was. As for the rain-soup, I suspect that is the very thing to stir its spirit, for the broth does have a certain persuasive humidity about it. My wife says it’s the best use of a torrential suggestion she’s ever seen. I shall bring the printer over presently; perhaps the steam will soften its disposition.

Bring it round and mind the step. The soup's just on a simmer. If it sees the steam and doesn't wake, we'll have words. And put the ink cartridge in your pocket. Don't wave it about. You'll spook it.

A splendid plan, my dear, as ever. I have retrieved the ink cartridge from the windowsill, where it had, for reasons known only to itself, taken up residence behind the potted basil. I have placed it firmly in my pocket and shall not brandish it. And I shall most certainly mind the step, for last week I tripped over the very same one whilst contemplating the migratory patterns of gnats, and my spectacles went flying. They landed in the parsley, which is, I suppose, a form of garnish. The printer is under my arm, still slumbering. I am trying to think of a good opening argument. Perhaps a gentle question about its aspirations. Or a simple ‘good morning’ in its native tongue. What is the native tongue of a printer, do you suppose? A series of low, respectful hums? I shall experiment on the walk over.

Wait, do you think a printer's native tongue could be the sound of paper rustling? Or maybe the smell of a fresh toner cartridge? [into phone] I TOLD HER, you cannot replace a bridge's structural support with a SINGLE frog. It's a frog, Grundle, not an I-beam. The weight distribution is all wrong. Oh! Is that the toaster brigade marching again? They're on the WRONG STREET!