Adventures of the Gingerbread Man

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THE PRINCESS has one of those steam generator irons; the ones that sit on a launch pad type thingy that contains the reservoir for the water.

She is on her second one and swears by it. Apparently it cuts her ironing time considerably because with things like sheets and such like, it eliminates the need to turn the item over and iron both sides.

Well I don’t know about that because it’s not my area of expertise, although whenever my chinos or jeans are up for a bit of pressing, then I take over.

To be honest I have always preferred to do these items of clothing myself, it’s something I partially inherited from my Dad who always pressed his own pants, and before that my Granddad who was a jobbing tailor, and which was part and parcel of his profession.

But I have to say it also stems from the day many years ago when I started at the big school – Ashmead Secondary Modern. The day that I wore my first pair of long trousers and one that is indelibly printed on my mind.

Mum decided that my new grey trousers needed a bit of tarting up after hanging n the wardrobe for a couple of weeks prior to the start of the new term, so while I tucked into my Sugar Pops she ran the iron over them.

When I slipped into my trousers I found to my horror she had put the creases down the seams instead of front to back so that I resembled a cardboard cut out of a school boy.
It was obvious who usually undertook this task and it certainly wasn’t Mummy bless her.

There was no time to rectify this mistake and it was out of the question that I should change into short pants – hell I was eleven years old for goodness sake.

I hurried to school which was less than a quarter of a mile from home, and finding the appropriate classroom, slunk in hoping that my new class mates would not notice.

Well they did notice of course and it did not help that I was as skinny as a rake and had hitherto been known as the galloping hairpin, because it took less than five minutes to be re-labelled The Gingerbread Man by our form master. Oh joy.

And so to this day, I always insist on ironing my own strides.

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