Daisy wants to be a star on social media, like that famous American family. What’re they called? K-k-kardash—summat. But I’ve never done ‘owt interesting or courageous in me life, until now. Daisy walks towards me, her expression serious and, as she hands me the bouquet of wildflowers, she trembles.

I can lift almost anything—cast iron baths, sofas—the occasional RSJ. My husband being a builder, I frequently get asked to ‘grab the other end.’ So, you’d think I’d be able to erect our aluminium rotary line whose arms are not outstretched to welcome a week’s washing but hanging motionless like a belligerent teenager’s. All the same, I can’t waste this perfect drying day. The boisterous breeze and kindly sun are crying out for the family’s clothes to be animated in a flapping symphony. Besides, I will not be thwarted by a washing line. Thing is though, since we first erected our state-of-the-art rotary drier, purchased at such enormous expense that…