People have stopped ironing, they don’t know what they are missing - Susan Morrison
You watch television and then go tell them what you think about it. Well, that's a day at the beach, my friends.
Everyone loves a bit of a blether about the box. I thought the programme up for review was undemanding, but mildly interesting. What I’d call ‘ironing’ telly.
Cue gales of disbelieving laughter. ‘You still iron?’ They hooted.
They might as well have said ‘You still using an outdoor lavvy?’ Mind you, it's only a matter of time before some ‘wellness’ influencer announces that ‘wild wasting’ is the way ahead and we should all be pooping in a hole looking out to sea at sunrise. Just don’t do it at Portobello is my advice.
People have stopped ironing. They don’t know what they are missing.
My face may be wrinkled, but my clothes are as smooth as a botoxed forehead. My iron is my right hand. Well, more accurately, it's in my right hand
I love ironing. It's soothing. There is something calming about a pile of crumpled clothing, a good steam iron and a sturdy ironing board.
Throw in a big mug of coffee and a load of episodes of ‘Come Dine with Me’ or ‘Four in a Bed’ and you are talking practical meditation right there.
Everything becomes calm and controlled. Heft up that iron, hit the steam button and hear that hiss. I am the terminator of tangles.
Now, usually I’m a Morphy Richards gal, but I’m currently in the market for a replacement and must admit, the latest Philips has caught my eye. You’ve probably seen it too. The PerfectCare Elite Steam Generator?
Look at the lines on that baby. Automatic optimal temperature with no adjusting required and continuous steam. Lightweight, even with a separate reservoir.
It's totally top gear, although the vertical steam option makes me suck my teeth a bit. You can technically iron on the hanger. Without an ironing board.
Well, for me, that might be a step too far. Few things in life are more satisfying than lifting out the Brabantia and slamming it open. Makes you feel like some sort of shield maiden.
Ironing is the one domestic chore I do well. My cleaning skills are adequate and my cooking is borderline dangerous, but, boy, can I decrease those collars and sleeves.
The only problem is that there are far fewer shirts now. I’ve a few nice blouses, but since my husband retired, the washing basket is full of polo shirts and even I draw the line at that.
There’s only the bedding, really, which I know doesn’t stretch the skills of a veteran hot plate steamer like me, but it keeps my hand in. I like to think of it as footballers playing a friendly. Only I win.
The revelation that I iron the duvet covers, sheets and pillowcases caused two young comedians backstage last week at the Stand to literally convulse with hysteria.
But, oh, who does not love that touch of luxury when you get into a bed of freshly laundered linen, air-dried in a Scottish breeze, then ironed smooth? What a way to set yourself up for a good night's sleep.
Good heavens, I’ve become a wellness influencer.