A sprint towards the finish line

Folded and pressed



I cannot claim to love ironing, my iron and I have shared a very chequered history. There have been long periods throughout the last 25 years or so when I have seemingly managed not to iron a single item for months at a time.




My mother did not enjoy ironing and it became my pocket money chore at a very early age, once I left home she got rid of the iron & board altogether and became adept at careful flat drying of items upon the Aga's hotplate lids.



In recent years I have learned to accept that ironing must be done and indeed I even now press bed linen & tea towels. I do not love to do it but I pace myself with a little each day and that way I can just about keep on top of it all.



There is one type of ironing that I rather love though. New fabric must be washed and pressed before use and the sight of a length of newly acquired fabric blowing on the washing line is sure to lift my heart. The rhythmic pressing of that fresh smelling fabric follows and as my iron moves across the meterage I become familiar with the pattern, the handle, the weave, each colour. I make plans for that fabric and feel inspired as I steam it into smooth submission.




And at the end I have the pleasure of folding that fresh, crisp fabric. Corner to corner, end to end. It lines up perfectly and I smile as I gaze at my orderly stack of beauty.