A penny got totally stuck in the washing machine drain. The pump filter has bent (needs replacing, we found one online for £25). The penny is stuck round the corner. In the process of trying, and failing, to remove it, I scraped three knuckles and bruised my right knee in the space of two minutes. That sort of injury speed takes skill. And I have it.
This evening E & I went to see Our Ladies of Perpetual Succour. It was brilliant. We got terribly nostalgic for our youth: and agreed it’s so much simpler on many levels now we’re no longer at university and ricocheting from one wrong man to the next… and fretting over whether to sleep with them (or not). And worrying about accidental pregnancy (we spent so much time worrying about that. Which is ridiculous). I am now on the hunt for a non pink toy iron and ironing board for my goddaughter’s 5th birthday. If any ironing happens in that house, I’m pretty sure her Dad does it. She also wants a sword, so I think we can safely say she hasn’t entirely succumbed to gender conformity yet.
I had a toy iron. I rather loved it. Along with my lego and toy cars. No one did any ironing in our house if they could possibly help it until I got to Guides and needed to iron my necker. Mum bought drip dry cotton and poly cotton shirts and whipped them out of the machine quickly. Even a 100% cotton shirt which isn’t a non-iron shirt can avoid the need for ironing if you’re quick in getting it on the hanger and on the washing line. It doesn’t work so well when drying them indoors, though. It’s the flapping about which is essentially in the process.
The train home has aircon. As did the theatre. Which is wonderful. Because it was so hard to breathe in the heat of the centre of London I’ve had a decent dose of inhaler and a double espresso and I’m a bit wired.