ironing

Awake early,there is a need for the bathroom, a need not to be refused.
Return, why not have a cup of coffee, all are sleeping but for the cat.
Make a cup of coffee using the small espresso machine, the sieve half full, and sit down at the computer, read the news.
About trump.
About brexit.
Iran.
Hong Kong.
No news of any countries without trouble.

Make another cup of coffee.
The son's alarm sounds.
Hear him stagger down from his hight bed, jump the last short stretch.
The alarm stops.

Later , lie down again.
Then hear the son running upstairs to the deep freeze.
Then down again.
The oven starts, a grumbling sound from the little fan blowing hot air through the machine.

Get up, see that the son has laid the table.
Strangely enough, he is wiping the surface after putting the crockery down.
This seems awkward.
The cake that he has heated is some Grecian pastry.


Sit there and talk about cakes and clocks. The battery clock is working again, it needed a new fresh battery.


And then return to the bedroom, and look at the stack of clothes that need to be ironed.
Flattened and put away, that would be another way of expressing it.