There is a moment, every year, when the ironing basket turns into a Belém Tower of crumpled fabric. It’s when the first serious downpour falls over Lisbon and you realise you’ll have to choose: either spend the weekend ironing, or find someone to do it for you. We’ve already made our choice. What about you?
This article isn’t for those who think ironing is therapeutic. It’s for those who feel a shiver down their spine when they look at the pile of shirts and sheets. It’s for those who prefer to go...