Seeing red over a wine explosion

WHEN our two daughters were growing up, one at a grammar school and the other in primary school, they both wore uniforms with white blouses. My husband was always correctly dressed for work with a clean white shirt, too. On Friday evenings, I washed nine white shirts and blouses, ironed them and hung them in the airing cupboard. On Mondays, the girls and my husband could collect one of their own shirts, clean, warm and dry. One Monday morning all was not well. We heard our elder daughter scream in anguish and rushed to her rescue. She could only thrust her shirt into my startled hands. It wasn’t white, but a very bright pink. My husband, a keen wine-maker who kept his kit in the airing cupboard, pushed past her saying: ‘Oh! My wine, my red wine! It’s blown, the jar’s half empty!’ I didn’t care much about the wine, but looked in the airing cupboard. Both girls’ shirts had caught the full blast. Six once white shirts were now a deep pink and very wet. Incredibly, my husband’s shirts were pure white. The girls looked to me for help. It was obvious those stains were not going to wash out. I put the youngest in a white jumper, but the best we could find for my eldest daughter was a pale lemon blouse. The headmistress at her school was known for her strict, unshakeable rules. My daughter was mortified and wanted me to call school to say she was ill. I sent grovelling letters, apologising to the heads of both schools and hoped for the best. The phone rang. To say the headmistress was angry would be an understatement, and she was horrified by the thought of my husband’s wine-making not being a good example for the children. I bought new blouses and cleaned up the airing cupboard. My husband came home with pink roses and we had a laugh about it.

K. Harrison, Burnham-on-Sea, Somerset.