Last week I was thoroughly spoilt by my Swiss friend (and his mother). Not only did he give me his bedroom, complete with water-bed and boys toys including a gi-normous HD TV, but he also made me breakfast and bought me a book on the centenary Giro. That guy knows the way to this girl’s heart! Meanwhile, his mother whipped up some delicious evening meals and sent me home with a bag of her home made goodies. I’m definitely going to be visiting them again soon.
On my return home, I was looking forward to a couple of weeks of peace and quiet, tackling a few outstanding chores. Yes, that Vuelta ironing mountain is still there and my husband is nearing the bottom of his t-shirt box. We are now on seriously dangerous ground. My husband has in excess of 100 polo and t-shirts, if he’s nearing the bottom of the box then you understand how many I have to iron. Given that he wears formal shirts most days, I’m finding it difficult to work out how he’s managed to get through so many casual tops between the end of the Tour and the end of the Vuelta; it’s only just over two months. The pile of formal shirts seems similarly high although, having counted them, there are only 32 shirts. Let’s do the maths. In 67 days my husband has worn 32 formal shirts and 97 polo/t-shirts, that’s almost 2 garments a day! Excluded from this total are his cycling jerseys which, thank goodness, do not require ironing. Methinks I might be looking into getting some assistance on the domestic front.
Unfortunately, my husband has had a re-occurrence of his gout so now he’s been grounded for a week and been told to stay off his feet. The phrase “What did your last slave die of?” has hovered on my lips on a number of occasions in the past few days. He’s also been researching the illness on the internet and has issued me with a long list of foods he can no longer eat. Thank goodness I can escape on the bike for some peace and quiet; meanwhile that ironing mountain is continuing to grow.