Any Old Iron.



It was the moment my wedding ring fell off my finger and rolled into the seating area of my local Argos Collection Point, as I tried to fit an iron into a plastic bag that was today’s personal low point.

I brought it on myself in a way. The woman at the counter had offered me an in-house bag but I'd declined it, in favour of the Wilkinson carrier I was...carrying. I didn’t foresee a problem. There wasn't a lot of shopping in it and the iron wasn’t big. I was doing my bit for the environment in my own negligible way. What I did for the planet did nothing for my self-esteem: the bag split and I nearly lost a valuable piece of jewellery in the process; none of that Elizabeth Duke shit.

Why didn’t I anticipate this chain of events? Mishaps stalk me constantly. I had hoped Argos would be safe haven – I used to work there – but it wasn’t. My predisposition for slapstick can’t be fought. I’m a modern-day Norman Wisdom, only taller, less successful and less dead. I’ve got a new iron though.


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