I'm a bit like one of Pavlov's dogs in that I have been conditioned to perform certain behaviours. Finish a sound-check; go outside and smoke a cigarette. Finish Sunday lunch; do a crossword puzzle. Wake up in a hotel; eat a fried breakfast.
As a schoolchildren there were certain domestic routines that my family had to follow. On Sunday night you had to locate your P.E. kit and you were subject to a mandatory bath (need it or not, like it or not). Finding my P.E. kit has turned, over the years, into finishing my ironing, which I always do on a Sunday as well as having a bath.
When I was 40 I was given a clothes-folder like the character Dr. Sheldon Cooper uses. For some reason I remind my friends of a socially awkward professor. When next I did laundry I played with the clothes-folder, ironically imitating the good doctor. The problem is that it makes a really good job of folding T (and short sleeved) shirts and you can stack them in neat piles. This bastard contraption has imperceptibly become part of my laundry routine and I can't pretend that there is an ounce or irony left it using it.
Richard "post irony post ironing" B
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