Extreme ironing and freestyle shopping

Day three in ‘the house’ (spoken in an exaggerated Geordie accent). This morning, Harriet was called to the Dairy Room (okay it was the office but I was partaking of cheese and crackers, and a glass of milk at the time) to ask her why her bedroom resembled... insert a metaphor for something messy and cluttered here (or let’s just say, Room 101). As you may have gathered, Wendy has now left for her (nigh on) three week trip overseas and the household is now being run as an Orwellian, Totalitarian State. I would like to think that I am the leader of this new regime but I’m not 100% sure that is really the case. Actually, everything is bowling along as normal with just one or two minor alterations to the usual schedule and a bit of re-rostering of chores. The only major upheaval is that I am now on ironing duty.
Did you know that there is actually a sport called extreme ironing, where people jump off tall objects (buildings, rocks, David Prowse) and iron whilst making the descent. The thing is by jumping off something that high in order to do the ironing I would be creating a whole new load of clothes to be washed by the time I landed, especially undergarments. Besides, to me, any form of ironing is extreme – I think I must have had a traumatic experience with an iron as a young child (as I did with pickled herrings, and bread and butter pudding*) because I definitely have a phobia of ironing. Is there a name for a phobia of ironing? Anyway irons, like dogs, can smell fear – which is amazing really because all I can ever smell when I’m doing it is clothes burning. I can just about cope with ironing most clothing but some of Harriet and Wendy’s outfits have been designed to resist all attempts to de-crease them. They are like those dogs that have been bred to extreme to be just one mass of wrinkles and folds – the name of which escapes me for the minute (the name of the breed that is not of the individual dog). You may have noticed that this section has rambled on a bit (and that is different from usual, how?) but at some point I am going to have to stop procrastinating around the bush and tackle the ‘extreme’ pile of clothes that is sat quivering in the basket waiting for me to attack it with an hot iron.
Just before I do that, however, I should also explain the freestyle shopping part of this blog’s title. Wendy’s preferred method of food shopping is to work out exactly what meals we are having for the week and then to buy the ingredients required in the exact quantities needed... without deviating from the list. I am more of a store cupboard person myself and tend towards a much more freestyle approach to the weekly shop. I’m not saying this is the correct method of doing it, indeed it does leave you open to the odd mistake... I never could find a recipe that truly brought out the talents of the tamarillos (formerly known as the tree tomato) that I bought that time. My method is to buy something and then work out a meal around it. For example I will buy gammon steaks, remembering that there is a tin of pineapple rings in the pantry, with the notion of making gammon Hawaii (exotic or what?). It is only when I come to prepare the meal, and have difficulty locating the tin of pineapple that I remember that during a (drunken) game of Trivial Pursuit some of the wedges had gone astray and in a flash of genius, replacements had been fashioned out of pineapple chunks and food colouring. Instead of changing the menu, after this set-back, I simply find a replacement ingredient... perhaps a tin of fruit cocktail (every store cupboard has one) would work. That subtle blend of syrupy liquid, pear (by far the main ingredient), peach, grape (usually just the one) and two halves of a miniscule cherry would fully bring out the flavour of the gammon. On the subject of cherries, I think it is commonly accepted that the ones in Haribo ‘tangfastic’ are indeed sweets of the highest order. I do need to correct an error from the last blog (what do you mean, that would be all of it?) - When I said the other Haribo variety was kiddie mix, I meant of course ‘Starmix’. I can only put this error down to the huge sugar high I was on at the time due to the consumption of several packets of the aforementioned product. Of course the highlights of Starmix would have to be the fried eggs and the love hearts – everybody knows that.
I’m rambling again, aren’t I?
And now... that ironing.
Actually, before I do that, I just want to have a quick word with Stacey, if I may. The rest of you can just chat amongst yourselves for a while (Quietly!). And no she isn’t getting preferential treatment it’s just that she’s the only one to put her hand and answer questions in class. So don’t go calling her a girly swot and teacher’s pet. I should point out that she never hands in her homework assignments on time... or ever for that matter.
Stace, I do actually have the XX CD and I believe (as Gertrude Stein says**) it’s a good album but not a great album. It’s certainly a well crafted work and I reckon it will get better with a few more listens but it’s not yet up there with the likes of ‘For your Pleasure, Rumours, Seamonsters, The Seldom Seen Kid, or Christmas with the Chipmunks (the re-mastered version... obviously). I missed them play live (the XX, not the Chipmunks) at this year’s Laneways festival because they clashed with (the mighty) Echo and the Bunnymen.
Right, back to the class. Barrett, don’t think I didn’t see what you were doing with that protractor, and Hazel, come away from the door dear.
Okay, ironing.
It looks very sunny outside (20 odd degrees), it seems wrong to keep the kids cooped up on a day like this, maybe we should go down to the beach for a couple of hours. Then I’ll do the ironing later.

* I should point out that these were two different incidents and they were not served up together as one meal.

** A spot prize to anyone who can tell me where I ‘borrowed’ that from