Blessings...

I have just got a new iron.
I want you to know that I can hear some of my readers glazing over at that very statement. There are, however, a select few who belong to a happy band of Domestic Goddesses who will stir with anticipation.
I am no D.G. I am more of a Domestos Drone ( see my U-bends gleam).

For those of you who care to read on, I have finally succumbed to one of those big super steam jobs which do not need filling every five minutes because they have a very large tank.
No hissing and spitting or a steam facial like with the previous ordinary one, but one which tackles crisp white cotton sheets as if they were polyester. Oh drool. What's not to love?

It got me thinking about my grandmother, Eileen, who used a flat iron to iron my grandfather's shirts.
The irons were used in pairs and heated in front of an open fire, alternated, as one cooled down the other was picked up.
I remember her telling me that my Grandfather once suggested that she just ironed the bits of the shirt that showed, but added,
"But remember this, Eileen, my shirt is a reflection on you..."
It made me think about how she suffered with her bunions, heroically, and suffered her husband's bright suggestions without braining him with a flat iron.

As I stood and did half an hour's ironing without any pain whatsoever either from my foot or the challenge of my laundry basket, I reflected on my good fortune.