Sweet Dreams

I have purged the whole house of junk this week, and only have a couple of cupboards to go. One I noted, as I wrestled with the ironing board, is the kitchen cupboard. As I mentioned before, one leg got stuck on the folding shovel last time. Today, the ironing board snagged on a deer antler. I wondered for a brief moment if everyone has these things in their cupboards or is it just my kitchen that seems rather surreal. (As I write this, I am reminded of the party where a gatecrasher thought my kitchen was actually a club, so fabulous were the flashing disco lights and the fact that everyone was throwing their shapes while crunching across shards of broken wine glasses).

Anyway, as I am still enjoying a vinyl-fest from having discovered how to plug in the turntable, I blasted the basement with the Eurythmics as I tackled my mountain of ironing.

'Sweet dreams are made of this!', I yelled as the iron tried to straighten the crinkles in my favourite skirt. Oh, how I wish I could sing like Annie Lennox, I thought mournfully to myself. 'Purple Rain, Purple Rain' I sang as I swooshed over my purple top - seemed funny at the time, but maybe you had to be there.

The trouble with vinyl is the music finishes so quickly, twenty minutes is nothing before you have to fiddle around flipping the record over. What's worrying is that it seemed quite a long time back in the 1980s. Do we get ground rush as we get older? Do I want to be doing my ironing if the end of my life is approaching that fast? What should I be doing - fronting a rock band? Can I be Chrissie Hynde next time round please or maybe Annie - I'd enjoy being tall for a change.

Perhaps Annie Lennox does her ironing wishing she worked for the local council, shouting 'any apologies for absence before we tackle agenda item 1?'.

Maybe not, but how would she cope if she found herself in a kitchen emergency that required a folding shovel and a pair of deer antlers?