Dry cleaning a suit

I been to the pub, am adequately pissed and can't remember what I was going to write about.  It is so easy when intoxicated to think of many different things, they all have deep and wonderful meaning but then they all disappear from your mind like fairies.  But of course fairies do not exist even if your name happens to be Sir Conan Doyle and you are open to being hoodwinked.  Such are the meanderings of my mind.  For some reason Steive Nixs (if that is how you spell the name) is on them, but it will pass.  Anyway, yes, what I was thinking of was dry cleaning.  I don't know why they call it dry cleaning but, I'm sure it is not actually dry but rather the nature of the chemicals which are used.

After going to a graduate tea party for University Girl, who will now need a new pseudonym, I decided my suit needed to be cleaned and pressed.  I'm ashamed to say I only possess the one.  I got lots of nice dress trousers, but only the one suit.  Well, the thing was due for a clean and press.  A professional one.  I learnt it was professional when they asked me for £9.90, bloody ell I thought, dry cleaning prices have gone up.  Today I had to collect it.  The time was 5 p.m., which wasn't so good because I wanted to go to the pub and meet some drinking buddies.  It would mean turning up a little late.  Which would mean I might have a problem getting a seat, unless it was next to the Old Witch who suffers from mental illness.  Pubs will let anyone in.  Well I did get there and stood at the bar for a good while watching Andy Murray do his usual losing display.  Back to the suit.  I picked it up at 5, yep the time didn't change from the earlier sentence.  As I'd forgotten my ticket, I then had to sign in a book to say I'd received it.  The woman at the cleaners said it was the "naughty book."  OK I got over being naughty.  Took the suite home and the next thing I thought about was I needed to have a quick look and a sniff of it.  Look to see if it was any different and a sniff to see whether it had a chemical smell to it.  On account of the dry cleaning liquids they use.  How can a bloody liquid be called dry.  Talk about oxymoron.  It was then I realised why it had been years since I'd used this local dry cleaners.  I noticed there was a cat hair on the suite which hadn't been removed.  I sniffed it and the chemical smell was very faint.  So faint I wondered whether there was a problem with my nose.  I also wondered if they had actually cleaned and pressed the thing.  I checked the back of the knees, which would of been creased and they were nicely pressed.  So the suit had been through some kind of process.  But I wasn't entirely happy, on account of the cat hair.  I knew there were some hairs on the suit and thought they would all be removed in the dry cleaning process, but apparently they are not.  The smell wasn't particularly impressive and this resulted in a long distant memory saying to me this was the reason why I stopped using the local dry cleaners,  I wasn't entirely convinced they were doing their job.  Maybe my suit got the last batch of chemicals.  Maybe, it wasn't cleaned at all and some little old lady had just gone over it with an iron but couldn't be bothered with picking the cat hair off.  Well it worked, I'll not use them again and need to find somewhere they do a good job.

Damn, there's another item to add to the list, find a good dry cleaner.  One who doesn't use a little lady in the back with a hot iron.  Now if only I could kill two birds with one and find a dry cleaning roofer.