I approached the oven with trepidation. Turning the knob to "220" to preheat it, the smell of the previous occasion's left over oil filled my nostrils with the stench of returning to a battle field to bury your dead (only in this metaphor the dead are Pizza). I placed the pizza into the oven, sans olive oil, and hoped for the best.
I waited. "15 to 17 mins" seemed like a lifetime to a lifetime+2 mins.
Finally, it was make or break time. Equipping myself with suitable items (oven gloves, head torch etc) I removed the pizza from the oven.
The edge of the pizza hung recklessly over the side of the oven gloves, its cheese and tomato topping hanging over the edge of the abyss like lara croft in that lucozade advert. You know the one.
The triumph of touch down restored my confidence after the previous day's disaster. With precision, I cut the pizza into 6 exactly-or-thereabouts slices, and enjoyed them with a cup of coffee.
I was victorious... But for how long?