So it is that I find myself running frantically through the house at 5.20pm searching for clothes to wear to a function that I have to leave for in 25 minutes from now. It has to be said that I have become something of an expert at applying make-up whilst searching for boots and putting water in the iron. Short hair is a godsend when you live this close to the edge.
I eventually find a pair of respectable-looking trousers in the tumble drier, and begin ironing them with force that does not seem to make any difference to the We’ve Been In The Drier For Three Days creases. I note that there’s not much happening in the way of steam from the iron, so I crank up the temperature a bit as I attempt to find my keys amongst the general chaos of the kitchen table. I return to the iron and hurriedly press it against the stubborn trousers.
Oh, crap. I didn’t know trousers could react to high temperatures as dramatically as that.
And now it’s too late to find more trousers, for who knows where such things could be hiding in this house, and I am so very, very late. So I have to go out in a skirt.