It’s not unusual for people to walk straight into our house but when I heard the door go at past nine o’clock the other night, I did wonder who was calling. And there she stood – my Mum, on one of her unexpected, unannounced, and as Pete would have us believe, unwelcome visits!
For fear of misrepresenting my husband I should add that for him, a visit from the Mother-in-law is in fact welcome as it means ironing getting done on an industrial scale. Pants, socks, and hankies – nothing escapes her hot steamy iron. But this is no ordinary iron, this is a rocket-shaped, turbocharged, steam-spluttering iron that gurgles away for hours on end. Her bedroom door remains shut for days, the only sign of life being the steam creeping out from underneath the threshold and then, as if by magic, there appears a pile of ironing the likes of which our house rarely witnesses. She even puts it away!
Nobody is allowed to touch the iron in my Mum’s absence (it goes away in the ‘stuff’ cupboard until her next visit). I have to say that for me, ironing is a luxury that demands time and inclination that I simply haven’t got. So if anyone spots a strange human form that kind of resembles either Pete or Sam but obviously can’t be with clean ironed clothes like that, it is indeed life – just not as we know it. A week or so from now, their usual vagabond appearance will be resumed.
Of course they could always do their own ironing. Hmmm…
My mum headed off home this morning (looking very smart) and as I left for the station I heard my first cuckoo of the year. Life is good with or without ironed clothes!