COLUMN - Older, and grumpier: ‘No iron will for one of life’s mind-numbing chores’

I’ve finally got round To the ironing. In my case, this means—I’m ready to share with you a particular dislike I have.

That lump of metal people spend too much of their lives holding in their hand pressing cloth.

My latest iron is a baby. I’ve owned her for a mere eight years.

Her predecessor lived for nearly 40 which I put down to the fact that it wasn’t over-worked.

In our house, if you really want something ironed then you must do it yourself. I love you, but I do not see why I should suffer repetitive strain injury and intolerable boredom to prove it.

When the offspring were small people I did send them off to school with pressed uniforms.

As a caring and responsible parent I took the view the kids wouldn’t want to stand out from the mob by being creased.

People can be so judgemental and in particular, other kids. It doesn’t really change much as we get older either does it?

Technological advancement in fabric manufacture has helped to some degree with the height of the pile to be ironed.

Further inventiveness is still required.

I recently had lunch with a grumpy friend and the subject of ironing was discussed.

We were in full agreement. If you wear a shirt under a jumper, why iron the shirt?

It’s a bit like, if you know you are going to wear your hat all day, don’t waste valuable time in front of the mirror with a brush and styling tongs.

My friend’s father, a gentleman of a certain era, was apparently an avid fan of the drip-dry shirt.

It is alleged, he saved his wife hours of washing and ironing by his clever and selfless use of the bathtub.

He’d bathe wearing that days shirt before hanging it up to drip-dry. I’d take my hat off to his inventive idea were it not for the fact, my hair is a complete mess at the moment.

When I’ve been forced to iron a heap of newly laundered clothing, for instance, if we’re going on holiday, I am then faced with the decision whether to fold and place in the suitcase or put on hangers until the last moment.

I usually choose the former as I have a rational fear of the coat hanger. Why do coat hangers behave that way?

You carefully place the ironed item on the hanger and before you know it, it’s on the floor.

I sometimes wonder what the collective noun for a group of coat hangers is; probably something like: a tangle, a mess, or a nuisance.

Apparently, there are health benefits to ironing.

Doing mind-numbingly boring tasks can lower stress levels which is a good thing, however, it is always short lived because you then either use the coat hanger or stuff the clothes into your over-stocked drawers, thus negating any benefit gained.

I’d throw the iron into wardrobe 101 were it not for the tangled mess of petulant coat hangers getting in the way.

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