…and I do love a good bosom pressing. But I digress.
A week or so ago, I had that disaster, which some of you may recall, resulting in the death of my steam iron. ‘Not to worry!’ I chirped, not a swear word or tantrum to be heard. ‘Somewhere in this
godawful tip workroom, there is a spare iron, which hath travelled with us from one home to the next.’ Reader, I unearthed it, and gleefully plugged it in, and returned to my work table. And a great stench of burning plastic did ensue, and fill my room, yay unto the very heavens, for some total wanker foolish soul had packaged it with a plastic sheet stuck to the sole plate.
Now, some of you may assume that a certain amount of foam-lipped swearing occurred at this point, but no! Dear reader, I can assure you that nothing but a delicate ‘pssht’ did escape these rosebud lips as I commenced to scrape, scour and pick a vast quantity of melted plastic from the new appliance. Ahem.
And after all that, it turned out to be total crap. WAY too lightweight, WAY too tiny a water reservoir, and a ridiculously short power cord, which can’t reach from plug socket to the end of the ironing board. So I waited til payday, and for speed and convenience opted for good old Argos. Fifteen minutes of browsing later [a SALE! a SALE!] and I found what seems to be an excellent deal, in an eighty-squid iron reduced to a mere forty-squid. Whoop etc.
The lovely missus picked it up for me while I was at work yesterday, and lookee lookee, what a bloody sexy beast it is!
Look at that horrible mess of an ironing board cover- I did buy a new one, just haven’t attached it yet
Right, enough of this shilly-shallying, I need to go christen Big Pearl.