Monday, 27 October 2008

Washing Triage.

Aaaargh. Today is, in a Mrs Tiggywinkle-esque way, wash day. I have been running around like a headless chicken for the last week and the weather has been ludicrous so the wash pile has been building to teetering levels that require the services of a structural engineer to keep it from toppling over.

This morning I woke early, thanks to the clocks going back, and leapt out of bed like a spring gazelle. The bed was stripped within minutes and remade up with crisp white sheets and it was off to the wash mountain for me.

The first wash went well. Three thousand odd socks and anything else I could find that was dark went in the machine. Having extracted the Loyal Hound, the wash went through and was hung out to dry.

Second wash goes in. Extracted it half an hour later to discover that the welsh mud is harder to shift than I imagined and the jeans that I slid down the mountain in yesterday still bear a great deal of mountain on them. Damn.

Stuff it. Hang the lot out to try on the second line because the skies are blue and there is a chilly breeze. Two minutes later it starts raining, hard. Bugger.

Finally, time for the white wash. In it goes and I think fondly of white sheets snapping merrily in the breeze. Ten minutes ago I went in to see if the wash cycle was finished. It isn't. But what do I see, waving merrily at me through the glass window? Aaargh. Something that isn't supposed to be there - something ominously black and a hint of something pink. Please, no. Don't let me have swept up the dregs of the previous wash and put them in with my lovely Egyptian cotton sheets. Oh god.

I wrestled with the urge to 'break glass in emergency' and rescue my sheets. It's too late for them. This is washing triage - save what you can and leave the rest on the battlefield.


Home Office Mum said...

Commiserations. I hope your sheets survive. Or perhaps you could paint your bedroom walls to a nice shade of pink to match? I am singlehandedly destroying the environment with my over usage of the tumble dryer. So am right there with you on the washing battlefield.

bevchen said...

Oh no, poor sheets!

It's been raining all day here. Literally ALL day. It never even got properly light.

katyboo1 said...

If Homeofficemum doesn't kill the environment before I do I will be very cross. My tumble drier is practically glowing. I thought I'd done well with the laundry but have just gone upstairs to find a whole new laundry basket full. Where the hell did it come from?

I am impressed you separate your washes. I just throw everything in together which is why everything we own is sludge coloured with interesting creases.

Good luck

Mr Farty said...

Our washing machine is in the spare bedroom while the kitchen floor's getting tiled (it's great having a tradesman in the family), so our neighbour has been taking in our washing. I bet you a fiver that as soon as we're back in business, Mrs F will re-wash the lot properly.

btw, you're tagged. *runs*

Brom said...

You spend most of your time in the bedroom in darkness with your eyes closed... you won't even notice the slightly pinkish hue.

Welsh Girl said...

Home Office Mum - Oh I long for a tumble dryer. Sigh.

Bevchen - telling me. The whole lot are lurid candy floss pink now, I kid you not.

Katyboo - Surely you know that more than two pieces of washing left together will exponentially multiply? All it would have taken is a lone sock and a T shirt to be left unsupervised in the basket....

Welsh Girl said...

Mr Farty - Ohh, I don't know - somebody else doing the washing for her might be Mrs F's idea of heaven. It would be mine.....

ps - thanks for the tag - I think! Must crank brain up immediately. Wonder where I left it?

Brom - I wish! They are nucleur. They cast off a glow that rivals that of street lights. I'd never sleep again. I could send them to you if you want?

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