My good friend, Mrs M, came for a flying visit a couple of weeks ago. We had a great time reminiscing about meeting on Monday evenings after school for beer, or lime and soda if we were skint, and chatting away about everything and anything over roll-ups.
Mrs M has since married and now has a one year old son.
We were chopsing away about domestic life. She was telling me that she once had a spat with Mr M because she felt that all she was ever doing was the washing up. She fled to her ma’s for a bit of down-time and, when she got back, found a dishwasher in the kitchen with a large bow on it; a gift she states has changed her life.
I related the story of the time our second-hand washing machines kept packing up. Having to take bundles of clothes to my mum’s and Mr P’s parents’ every weekend was a nightmare, although we did get the laundry returned folded neatly and smelling beautifully washing powder fresh – something I’m sure only mothers can achieve. Mum then actually bought me a brand new washing machine and I love it; in fact, I’d go as far as to say that I couldn’t live without it.
If I’d have known 10 years ago that domestic appliances would be dominating our pub conversations, I’d never gave believed it.