I stand in the lounge, contemplating the big pile of ironing.

Already I have placed a couple of mugs in the dishwasher and put some washing on. Honestly, a woman’s work is never done.

“Mind if I put a CD on?” I call out to the LTLP, who is working in the other room.

“As long as it isn’t Leonard Cohen,” comes the ever-familiar reply.

I put on my CD of banjo music.

If you are doing something like ironing, it always helps to put fast-tempo feelgood music on, as it helps you complete the task quickly.

The first couple of bars ring out. There is a snort from the other room. She is clearly very enthusiastic.

Banjo music is great. The iron whooshes across the board as I holler along with the boys from the Arizona Smoke Revue. “Whooooooaaaa!!!!” we sing. “You can HEAR the whistle BLOW a hundred miles!!!!” At this, I blow some steam out of the bottom of the iron, as a special effect.

Listening to banjo music is a bit like dressing up in women’s clothing and masturbating in front of ‘Bargain Hunt’. Everybody does it, but nobody ever admits to it. Some people are way too cool to say they like banjo music, but if I came round to your house with a banjo that I had learnt to play and a couple of mates also with instruments that they were reasonably proficient on, then you’d start tapping your feet, definitely. Especially if you’d had a couple of beers. Honestly, we would have a great time.

The LTLP is very quiet as I iron her shirts and sing along with the banjo music.

I expect she is thinking that she is the luckiest woman alive.

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