I Don’t Iron Things


One rather exciting piece of news this week—this will really amaze you—I bought a new iron. This is a rare occurrence. In fact, I have never ever bought an iron before, because the iron my brother gave me in 1988 when I got married, works perfectly well, despite being dropped a few times. To be fair, I don’t iron things. Not unless I really have to. It feels like a waste of time when they just get crumpled again when you wear them, and so my iron has had fairly light use. But the cables are beginning to get worn, and to be honest, I don’t trust it to not electrocute me, so I decided it was time, and took the plunge, and visited a hardware store. I bet your week hasn’t been anywhere near as exciting, has it?

We also went shopping for a new car. I’m not sure if this is the correct verb, as we often go to look at new cars, and we never buy one, but it’s quite a fun thing to do. This time we were looking at the Land Rover Discovery Sport and comparable models. I rather like the Discovery Sport, though compared to the Discovery it feels very small, and the extra two seats in the back are extremely cramped and almost impossible to climb into. I felt that I should try them out, so asked the sales assistant to help me. He politely moved the middle-row seat forwards so I could climb in, and offered to hold my handbag. I then hoisted myself up, almost fell on top of the sales assistant whilst trying to find somewhere to put my feet, bent double trying to fit under the low ceiling, whilst very aware how completely inelegant I looked with my bottom sticking up and my back bent, and my legs sort of stuck with one on one side of the back seat and the other jammed somewhere near the door. But I managed it. The sales assistant went off for a coffee to recover and I sat there, on a little seat in the very back of the car, wondering if I was ever going to get out again. This makes it an ideal car to buy if you have elderly relatives who you don’t especially like: help them into the rear seats, and leave them there for the rest of the day.

We were offered a test drive, so took it for a spin, with the sales assistant (who seemed to have recovered) sitting in the back (not the very back of course, he knows about those seats). Off we went, Husband driving, me offering helpful advice.

I asked the sales man if he had ever been kidnapped on a test drive. He said no, but his father had also been a car salesman, and one day he took an elderly couple on a test drive, and after about 20 minutes, they drove into a driveway, both got out, locked the car (with the salesman still sitting in the back) and went into the house. Apparently, they had forgotten they were on a test drive, and had driven home!

We drove along the lanes, and it happened to have rained, so there were puddles. Husband has a thing about puddles, and driving right through them so the water splashes over the whole car and you can’t see for a second and the car gets covered in dirty water. He managed to restrain himself, but I was very tense the whole way in case he lost control and decided to plunge the very shiny car through a pond-sized puddle. However, we managed the whole drive with no puddle driving, except right at the end, when there was a large muddy expanse of water and Husband sort of veered almost round it, but not quite. We left the car at the garage looking rather less shiny than when we’d started (but not as muddy as our own car, which is, I think, the absolutely dirtiest car in the country). I’m not sure the sales assistant was terribly sad to see us leave.

We looked at a few other cars that were similar to the Discovery Sport. I can tell you that BMW make beautiful cars but they are very expensive (and the rear seats are no easier to get into). Toyota doesn’t keep a comparable car in its showroom. Audi makes very uncomfortable cars, and when you look at them, there are no helpful sales assistants to be found. But maybe the Land Rover man had phoned ahead and warned them to hide.

I hope you have a good week and don’t get stuck anywhere. Take care.
Love, Anne x

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Sowing Promises
by Anne E. Thompson
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