A clothes steamer is something I'd never even contemplated buying until recently, because I've always thought I enjoyed ironing. Unlike so many other household chores, there's something almost meditative about it – a basket of freshly washed laundry, the living room to myself, something soothing on Netflix, and occasionally even a compensatory glass of wine within reach. It's the one domestic task I've never really minded.
Or at least that's how things were, until one of my sons started needing a freshly pressed shirt every single day for his shift on the reception desk of a busy seaside hotel. Overnight, my calm little ironing ritual turned into something stressful: last-minute shirt emergencies, daily lessons in ironing, and repetitive lectures on the importance of getting your clothes ready before you're due to be at work.
