I was ironing my own clothes when I was 11 years old. My mental strength goes back to those days.

Ironing boards are a classic example of something I find horrible about modern society: the excitementation for want of a better word of mundane things.

I came home every Friday afternoon riding the six miles on the back of a big mule. I spent Saturday and Sunday washing and ironing and cooking for the children and went back to my country school on Sunday afternoon.

The only time I ever enjoyed ironing was the day I accidentally got gin in the steam iron.