A Pressing Problem or An Ironing Frenzy

Now I don’t know about you (you can let me know by a number of different types of media - contact ed), but ironing is not something that I particularly like doing. But this last weekend I had reached the stage that it had to be done.

There were no clean and ironed work shirts left (you can go to work in a t-shirt you know - casual ed).

In our house, I do the ironing, as the vast majority of the stuff that needs doing is mine, and given that I rarely do the cooking or shopping, I guess it is my way of helping out with the smooth running of the house.

The Weekend Plan

So, the weekend was planned (you plan your weekends - efficiency ed). Well, when I say plan, I mean there was a list of things that needed doing and I was trying to achieve them, there is quite a bit of flexibility about exactly when the “things” are done, some are day dependent and some are not, namely:

• Haircut
• Iron
• Hoover (vacuum)
• Collect Mother-in-law from Heathrow
• See Sister-in-law to hand over Birthday card

The ironing was planned for Saturday morning, followed by a haircut, then hoover, followed by a shower.

The last two items were planned for Sunday, as there was no point in trying to do them Saturday as (a) Mother-in-law’s flight was not due until 07:05 Sunday morning and (b) Clare’s Birthday was Sunday - so doing them a daily early was just not going to work.

Excellent plan.

As with most plans it didn’t quite work out as expected, fell at the first hurdle, like the odds on favourite at the Grand National that I somehow managed to pick.

What can possibly go wrong, you might ask. Well, whether you asked or not I am going to tell you. But before I do, some of my Beloved Context (™), namely the iron...

The Iron

We have (spoiler alert - now in the dustbin of history, aka the local recycling centre) a Tefal steam generating iron. If you are going to iron and the items to be ironed have been lying scrunched up, dry as a bone for weeks (yep sounds like the ironing basket has done it evil, twisted little job really well - told you so ed) then if you are going to remove some of the pain of ironing, then this is the kind of beast of an iron you want.

I sometimes see the items to be ironed as the sun bleached bones of a blue whale left on the beach of time (now that is waxing lyrical - ed)

The iron has a 1.8 litre well of liquid water (well it could be a 1.8 litre of ice couldn’t it - ed), ready to be turned into steam at the touch of a button, and with it you can smooth away even the deepest of creases.

I know, I have removed creases from items of clothing that didn’t even know they had creases.

Don’t come near me when I have an iron in my hand or you face will have its creases removed (perhaps a side line in facial reconstruction beckons, methinks not - Dr ed)

Anyhow, an iron, a deep well of condensed water available to create large quantities of crease removing steam. What could possibly go wrong...

So with the context set, we move on to the main event

---

In preparation, the ironing board was wrestled from its hidey hole, after two falls and a submission it let me up (kind of it I thought) and let me set it up in the front room.

The front room, never large at the best of times, was adjusted so that I could watch TV and iron at the same time - I am man of many talents.

Though choosing what to, Watch whilst Ironing (™) can be quite tricky at times. Probably going to be Netflix - Daredevil, though it can change at the last moment (with a remote in hand the world is my crustacean - ed)

The Layout

The ironing, both hanging on coat hangers on the back of a door, and scrunched up in the pink rubber (or is it some strange type of very flexible plastic - science ed) basket, was brought down from the back bedroom and laid out over the sofa.

What you layout your ironing?

Yes, there are a number of different logical piles and a definite order for them to be pressed in….(I think there is a condition for this - Dr ed):

1. The Rugby Shirts
2. The Difficult (linen, so full of creases and crumples it is a surprise they haven’t fallen apart) Work Shirts
3. The Easy Work Shirts (for some light relief)
4. The Non Work Shirts (including Friday Works Shirts - they are whole other post TBD)
5. The T-Shirts (whoa there cowboy - you iron T-shirts - there ain’t no sanity ed)
6. Trousers (mine or Bridget’s)
7. Bridget’s tops

(You’ll be writing that you iron the pillow slips and towels next - ha ha ha - errm maybe, who’s asking?)

So :

• the items were all laid out (check),
• the ironing board was up and in the right position (check)
• the iron’s steam generator’s was filled (check)
• a glass of water was ready to top me up, as it is hot work and I get cranky if I overheat (check)
• the TV was on, the appropriate remote (just don’t get me started on remotes, universal or otherwise - ed) was too hand to alter channels (check)
• the iron was on (Houston we have a problem)

The iron; all the lights were on but the iron hot plate, was well still a plate, but not getting hot at all. This was a, “Hrumph” moment.

Rechecked the cables.

Reset all the available switches.

Turned the iron off and on again (well it works for most electronic goods these days).

Still no heat. Disaster is pending. The ironing had to be done Saturday morning or the whole plan for the weekend was about to go out of the window.

Luckily, I managed to control my ire (Hrumph had migrated to a Gnashing of teeth moment), so that the iron and the ironing board did not go out of the window in a fit of pique.

The Breath

I simply took a long deep breath.

(Surprisingly effective it was too. I could make a fortune if I could bottle that and sell it at £5.99 a pop. Maybe I can? Maybe in the form of an in an emergency electronic device with, a big red button, that has the words, “In an emergency press me”; this would emit the sound of a deep calming (male/female/LGBT[A-Z]*) voice saying:

“Take a long, slow deep breath, hold it for a few seconds, then exhale, slowly.”

“Good”.

“Now, take another long, slow and deep breath, hold it again for about 10 seconds and exhale.”

“Tense all the muscles in your body for a moment and then relax them.”

“Good. “

“Now what appears to be the problem” [The author exerts his right to copyright this idea - pat pending]

) [Trailing bracket here otherwise I would be in a dangling bracket mode - coding ed)

Crisis Averted

Phew. Immediate crisis averted.

So, what to do?

I thought, “There is simply no way could I get it repaired the same day, the callout fee alone for an emergency iron repair would be more than the iron was worth (at that moment though, a working iron would be priceless - mastercard ed), assuming it could even be repaired“.

Then a sublime thought flashed into my mind (you mean like inspiration - ed),

The Internet

“The internet is a wonderful thing, just like Tiggers”, said the thought in a way too happy way for my liking.

So, I picked up my tablet (not the sedative kind you understand, but a big black Shiney Thing (™), (Now with added keyboard for quicker wittering - ed); I then wandered through into the darkness, known as the middle room, sat down on the indulgent red chair and fired up the tablet. And waited. And waited some more. Lights glowed, beautiful graphics were seen, time passed. Yet more time passed (if I could bottle up all the minutes lost waiting for electronics goods to boot-up  - I would be a Minute Millionaire (™))

Some time later, when the tablet had finally booted up.

(Rant alert - it used to be that phones and tablets would boot up from powered down in seconds, now it appears to be minutes - gnash of teeth. They are manyana devices these days, they will boot up sometime but there is no rush)

Strange thing was that I didn’t know what words to search on, what was the iron called (Albert perhaps - clueless ed).

A Google (™) search using the words, “Iron with steamy thing attachment”, elicited a few hundred million results, strangely the first few seeming to indicate that I didn’t know what I was talking about, which was indeed the case, but I don’t like being told this by of all things a search engine!

I re-arranged the words into, “Iron Steam”, and once I disregarded all the books by Christian Woolmar (https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Christian_Wolmar), I decided to select a link that indicated that the nomenclature was, “Iron - Steam Generator”, well you live and learn.

So, with a click of the heels, I was transported, firstly to a John Lewis website where an “Iron - Steam Generator”, could be purchased.

A fantastic array, of what appeared to be very expensive devices, lovingly crafted with chrome, gold leaf inlay, etched metal finishes and associated domestic help could be purchased for the price of a small Caribbean country;.

“Too rich for me”, I thought, “I just want something the same as I have now, but that simply works. But they do look sleek and fabulous”. (White goods porn alert - ed)

What kind of model did I have?

Checking back in the front room and uncovering the dead iron from the debris of my rage, I found it shivering under the sofa cushions whimpering for mercy. “What’s your name inquired”, in my best, Don’t Scare the Kids voice. “Tefal”, it replied in a husky French accented manner, “Thanks you little minx”, I said and left it to its own devices….

OK, I had been a little rough trying to resuscitate it. Jumping up and down on it with my full body weight; up and down on its smirking face (do irons have faces, and other metaphysical questions will be covered in another post - ed); though, failing to fix it, made me feel so much better afterwards… (I thought you said you had taken a deep breath - confused ed).

As it happens ,Tefal is apparently French - if I wanted to buy one; it would have to be soon; before we stop trading with the French after the 23rd June 2016 - (the date of the up and coming EU Referendum. This will be discussed in a separate blog - coming soon to an Internet Page Near You!)

So, with the knowledge of what I was looking for, I plunged on with a click frenzy, website after website skittered past, as I became transfixed with all of the different versions of an “Iron - Steam Generator” that you could buy!

After what felt like years of searching (minutes in reality), of looking at “Iron - Steam Generator Porn”, on the web, I focussed on the Curry’s website, widely renowned for its huge variety of “White Goods”, (wouldn’t have thought that you could advertise it in that way anymore - PC ed).

Curry’s had two models that appeared, from the blurb, to be similar to the one lying in a watery mess in the front room.

One for £149.99 and one for £169.99.

Hmmm, what is the difference between the two, I thought.

Well, it appeared there were more things that were selectable on the higher priced model, and you can’t go wrong with paying for extra features that you never knew you needed and will never actually use. (Are you sure you mean that - ed)

“The top of the Tefal range model for me”, I thought. The decision was made!

“Hurrah”,  went the cat, as it stalked back out of the front room, wondering to itself how it had missed the tornado that had recently hit one of its many favourite snoozing places.

(Naturally, artistic licence has been applied for and is pending, so the words written in this post, can in no way be construed as the truth to what actually happened that deep, dark and iron damaged day - ed)

Reserve and Collect

The Curry’s website had an option, which was, “Reserve and Collect”, - brilliant - I was offered two stores nearby - Winchester around 14 miles away and Farnborough around 14 miles away. Both had the, “Iron - Steam Generator - Tefal”, model that I wanted In Stock Now!

A quick check on Google Maps, to see which was the easiest to get to, apparently Farnborough as it is just off the A331.

A self-satisfied mouse click and the Reserve and Collect process was instigated (started - plain English ed)

More minutes later, than I care to mention, after I had managed to go down an unexpected path, so that it appeared I was preparing to buy and have delivered to one of the stores for the Sunday morning (which was not what I wanted to do at all) two irons.

I may be a man of many talents, but stereo ironing is beyond me. Luckily, when it asked me for my inside leg measurement my suspicions were roused and I managed to foil this cunniing sales technique. “You can’t make me buy it, I just want to reserve it. Damn you to hell!”. Luckily the website allowed me to cancel the order, but it had been a near run thing. The back bedroom is full of unintended purchases still in their original boxes, I have been caught out before, but no, not this time! (Smug mode on - ed)

So after backing out of this unintended purchase, I started all over again, and luckily on this second I struck lucky; I managed to just, ‘Reserve and Collect’, all with giving the minimal personal information that I could get away with.

My Chrome auto-fill (auto-fill, what a great feature for an Iron - Steam Generator - ed) has a plethora (large number - ed) , of fake name and address. It does keep telling me it is tired and weary of being used to hide my true name and address but I thought that was its purpose?

(I even managed to get it to give me an error message once, “Can you confirm you are: Boaty McBoatface?” - maybe I dreamt that, or maybe I am fibbing just a little, to get Boaty McBoatface into the story? Even I am not sure anymore.)

Sanity Returns

At this point sanity returned; Bridget came down downstairs...

(Where was she through all these tumultuous events, you might ask? Well you ask away, I am saying nothing, not a word, nary a peep, keeping schtum - that’s me, close mouthed and guarded  are my watchwords - ed),

I saw her carefully weighing up my mood, albeit from a safe distance, but failing to hide the sheer horror from her face at the devastation I had wreaked in the front room.

Calmly, she said, “So, the iron broke, you have found one online and reserved it at Farnborough and we are now going to drive there to collect it?”.

My first thought was, “How could she be so reasonable?” The world, well the Saturday ironing plan had just been wrecked and she was being reasonable, I was immediately on my guard

My second thought was along similar lines, “How can she be so calm with all that has happened”. Then realisation dawned, Bridget was using DMS on me (DMS - Davey Management Strategy - ed).

I was surprised that a breadstick wasn’t being brandished from a decent arm length away, I concluded that, as she had bought me breakfast at our Favourite Italian Deli (™) only an hour or so earlier, she knew I couldn’t be hungry.

“I have been drinking water”, I interjected,

“Yes, you have, and you have apparently managed to get it all over the front room”, was the infuriatingly reasonable reply.

“It’ll dry”, I countered, desperate to get out of the house and be on the way to Farnborough as “Ironing Time (™)” was running out, and the failure to get it done could cause a major haircut failure.

You Are Looking Tufty

[Start of Emergency Context Alert ]

A haircut failure event is a major disaster.

I am always keen to get the haircut done before we enter the twilight zone of cutting remarks (ha - all due to the lack of cutting - spot the unintended pun ed) like:

“You’re looking a little tufty today”.

Perish the thought that that should happen.

[End of Emergency Context Alert]

So to keep the momentum going, I sought for ways to exit the house without further ado,

I briskly said, “To Farnborough, my love! Hiho Silver away”, there was, for a moment or two, The Look (™), from Bridget. (We shall come to the look in a further post - ed)

But luckily for me, it went no further (disaster averted, the sigh of relief was so loud the foundations of the house rocked  - got away with it ed).

The Retail Park

I am not a great fan of going shopping at all (is it just me, or is it a general bloke thing - ed), so as I had feared, we ended up in a queue of cars just off the A331 trying to enter something that is called a “Retail Park”.

It apparently even has a name (Stuart or somesuch, but I maybe have got that wrong).

(When I was younger there just used to be simply shops - now there appear to be all sorts of venues to purchase things you don’t need - including something called “Pop-up Shops”, I am sure they were called “Mum and Pop” shops when I was young. What happened to Mum and just what is Pop upping?

Shopping, as therapy, has totally passed me by.

Shopping as a recreational activity - you have to be kidding. Shopping is quite simply hell.

Enough said…. end of dangling bracket… now)

Back at the entrance to the retail park, the cars were barely moving and all backed up.

What I couldn’t understand was why? I could see vast acres of empty car park, just what was the problem?

Well, not being an aficionado (A what? Surely there are supposed to be 2 f’s - but who am I to overrule the serried ranks of web based spell checkers...) of retail parks, I hadn’t realised that all the cars were trying to park as close as was possible to the stores.

Why I wondered? Surely you just pull into the first easily accessible space and then walk a little?

Is walking a short distance beyond the ability of recreational shoppers and those under the care of a retail therapist?

In a blinding flash, I understood why there is an obesity crisis in this country? More importantly the simple way it could be fixed. (Sometimes I even amaze myself - self congratulatory ed).

I leave the reader to work out this simple idea (if you haven’t worked it out within a short while, simply contact me directly and I will share the idea with you, for the easily digestible price of £5.99 inc postage - ed)

So, once the muppets, sorry, I mean shoppers, (marvellous people, stalwarts of the British retail sector, keeping the wheels of industry turning - spokesperson for G. Osborne) had parked as close to the store as possible, I simply rolled the car into the first accessible parking space.

Strangely, there was a chap wearing a Hi-Viz jacket (that for once, wasn’t G Osborne - ed), looking at me park; I assumed with awe on his face, I gave him a magnificent toothy smile and thought, ”See it can be done, shoppers can park more that a few yards away from the store and walk a few extra steps”...maybe he had not seen this before?

Sadly, I was shortly to find out that it was not awe at all, but incredulity at my stupidity.

On opening the car door and stepping out, for what I expected to be a surgical strike on Curry’s (Easy In and Easy Out  is how I execute my shopping trips - the various Special Forces of the world are tortoises in comparison).

I put my right foot down and there was a large, “Sploosh”, sound underfoot.

Damn it!

Cold water embraced my right trouser leg , and I realised why the chap had been incredulous.

No-one was parking in this spot as it was in a large deep puddle. (There may have be a Hrumph moving swiftly on to a Gnash, but being British my stiff upper lip quivered and I pretended nothing untoward had happened, just soldier on, I conjectured and I could pass it off as a trifle).

“You appear to have parked in a puddle”, came the oh so reasonable words from Bridget, as she extricated herself from her side of the car and managed to miss the puddle.

“Minor problem”, came my upper lipped reply,

“Fair maiden, there is an iron to capture in yonder store, let us away, we have not a moment to lose”.

As usual she looked bemused by my switch to my MIddle English Theatrical voice (Surely part of the DMS one methinks (doh!) - ed)

(Are you ever going to get into the store? - ed)

Suffice to say, the store was entered without further ado (about time - ed)

The Collection Point

Bridget turned right at the store entrance and towards the large signs saying, “Know How Guys”, whilst I turned left towards the desk with the large sign, “Collection Point”.

Should I tell her that she was heading in the wrong direction? Was it the wrong direction? Was I wrong in my thinking? Was the, “Collection Point”, merely the place where customers “Collect” their thoughts before starting out on a shopping binge?

My manhood reasserted itself, so I whispered,  “Bridget, you might be heading in the wrong direction”, luckily she failed to hear me.

So I held my position. If there is doubt on the direction to go and you think you know, DON’T, simply hold fast, and perhaps events will shift in your direction.

Moments later, she came back, stating baldly, “The Collection Point is over there”, pointing to where I had prudently not headed. (Holding ground works again -ed).

To ensure that there could be no possible of me having spotted the right place, I gave a sneaky rejoinder, “Really, I had no idea. I was mesmerised by all the shiny things?”

Immediately I realised that this was the right thing to have said, Bridget is well aware that shiny things tend to distract me, sometimes I think I was a magpie in a former life and she gave me a knowing smile (potential being right crisis averted - ed)

We walked over to the, “Collection Point”, and stated our name, “Collins - here to pick up a Reserve and Collect order placed about an hour ago”. The chap then uttered words so terrible so shocking that I find it hard to transcribe them for you my dear dear sole reader.

“Ah, Mr Collins, I was just about to contact you”,

My mind went into shock, my mobile phone was in my pocket and turned off, it had been on charge, so if he had tried to contact me he would have failed. The next few words, struck me like a series of body blows,

The Stock Issue - or The Failure of the Reserve and Collect

“I am sorry to say that there appears to be a stock issue and we don’t have the item you reserved in stock at the moment”, words easily and calmly delivered, but to me I felt each one like a bullet to my chest.

“Noooooooooo”,  I thought, the “Iron Calamity (™)” is upon me, The weekend is now a total and utter disaster and it was not even 11:30 a.m.! All I need now is for him to say,  “We have one on display but we cannot sell it to you”, Strangely, and like a slow motion movie crash, his mouth opened and the dreaded words came out;

“We do have one on display, but we cannot sell it to you as it does not have a box”,

“Noooooooooo!”, (My prepunditing skills are legendary - but this time I wished they weren’t)  

I braced myself, for I knew the weasel words that would come next,

“It is head office policy”...

My mind frothed, the steam was percolating through my synapses, the neurons were firing at an incredible rate; there were so many things I could say, (On the urging our legal team, a large section of this paragraph has been excised to protect the reader from the vitriol that spewed out of our mind - legal ed).

Bridget interjected at this point, in a calm but gently interrogative manner,

“Do you have any other similar models?”, to which the answer was a resounding, “Yes”, and a finger was pointed off into the dim distance.

Lost In Store

We said our thanks and wandered off in the direction of the pointed finger.

Soon we were lost. But luckily for us someone with a badge on their blouse, giving their name as “Emma B”, and for one so young, seemingly smartly dressed. “Can I help you?”, she asked; but I was immediately on my guard.

“What kind of help?”, I responded with suspicion, but Bridget interjected, “We are looking for Steam Irons”. The so named, “Emma B”, said, “Follow me”, Bridget strode off behind our new “friend”, whilst I trailed on the lookout for an ambush,

Help, in a store, this hadn’t happened to me since the early 80’s, and that had lead to a total disaster that will be recounted in a later post.

I was astounded to find that the so called, “Emma”, knew what she was talking about and in moments we were at the right place, if there was an iron heaven, we were in it. Iron’s all around us. Thank goodness I had done research beforehand otherwise it would have been overwhelming.

The model, with fewer features was available and there was one left on the shelf. I quickly picked up, cuddled it close to my chest, whispered, “Mine, my precious” and stroked it with tender love. However, in that unguarded moment Bridget had seen what I was doing….

The Look (™) was given.

Bridget said, “Are you doing that Lord of The Rings thing again?”. Damn, caught in the act, what could I do, how could I extricate myself for this dire situation, misdirection was the answer,

“Was there anything else that needed ironing?”, I said.

Bridget looked suspicious for a moment, but I gave her a Winning Smile (™), and she said, “Yes, I was going to ask you to leave the iron up so that I could do a couple of other things once you were done”, my trap was set, I had her, “That’s ok, I will do it for you!”. Little did I know that I, the trapper, had in fact become the trappee and my offer was to explode in my face later that day.

To cut a long story short, (Really, this is short - word count ed). The iron was purchased and we returned home without further ado (well to be truthful, there was further ado, but I just cannot face going into it now and the circulation editor is after new output - ed)

The Ironing Session

Now, I have mentioned previously how I plan my ironing, so, once the new iron, now named “Tefal 2”, I am nothing but original in my naming of household devices. The ironing was started and finished in the correct order.

The choice on the TV was not a TV program, but instead I listened to Radio 5 Live, to the Saturday football commentary.

All went well, the iron, steamed wonderfully well. Creases melted away under my careful strokes, the one shirt (luckily one of mine) that simply melted was quickly secreted in a neighbour’s bin, and the unpleasant fumes wafted away with a judicious opening and closing of the front door.

Finally the last item was done, the football was finished, the result seemed to be the same as the last time I listened to football on the radio, one team had beaten the other team. I do wonder why people make such a big fuss about football, maybe I am just not getting it?

Bridget, had been applying DMS all afternoon and had been upstairs reading, though that is what she said she was going to do. Occasionally I sneak up the stairs to check that this is what she is doing, as she has been known to take a quick nap when she thinks I am not looking.

This time I simply shouted up the stairs, “Bridget, I’ve finished, what was it that you wanted me to do?”, she must have been anticipating this moment, for the trap was about to close on me. “Just a couple of pillow slips and a towel”.

Not too bad, I thought, that’ll be at most 4 pillow slips and maybe a couple of the special Egyptian cotton towels that Esmerelda Blenkinsop had sent us. Sadly for me this was not in fact the case.

Bridget came down the stairs and walked into the front room. I couldn’t understand why I couldn’t see her face. I initially thought that it was due the front room being like a Turkish Bath, with swirls of steam obscuring the view. But no, it was much worse than that, it wasn’t just 4 pillow slips, it looked like she had dug out every pillow slip we possessed and all the Egyptian towels.

Obviously Bridget noticed the look on my face and said sweetly, “It seemed sensible to do them all.”, swiftly followed by the killing blow, “I could do them if you like?”.

Damn and blast, I had offered and now she was being reasonable about it. But I knew how to play this game, or so I thought, “No, they are easy to do, they won’t take but a moment, my love. Was there anything else you need ironing”. This was a risky play, but given the way the day had played out I felt that not only was there nothing to lose, but that Lady Luck must turn my way at some point.

The Universe paused,

I prayed.

There was an Arched Eyebrow moment and I thought that I had blown it and more ironing would miraculously appear. Luckily for me (thanks Lady Luck), Bridget answered, “No, I think that is all there is”, there was a slight pause, “...for now”.

Pillow slips and thin cotton towels, of an Egyptian persuasion, were pressed and steamed rapidly. Job done.

On the TV (still playing Radio 5 Live), the sound of the Saturday Sports Report music kicked in, my brain kicked back into life, “Damn”, I thought, I missed getting a haircut. There was going to be a, “You are looking tufty”, moment over the coming days. But that was a problem for another day.

The End

And so, dear reader, the tale is told.

Another post will beckon in due course.

Hope you enjoyed this.