Washer Woman Woes - Trying to Be A Domestic Goddess & Beat The Weather Too
It’s a Sunday afternoon and I’m currently engaged in a game of chicken with the weather and the second load of washing I’ve done today. To be honest, I should have been prepared for this, but as I press my nose up against the conservatory window, I once again find myself cursing the British weather.
There’s nothing quite like the smell of clothes that have been dried on the line outside in the sun (unless of course you’re timed it just right and your neighbours are now cooking up a storm on their first - and most likely last - BBQ of the year. In which case enjoy going to work smelling like a sausage).
Hanging washing outside in the UK takes military planning and precision. Two separate weather apps have been consulted (both of which helpfully make it completely confusing to know exactly what sort of weather we’re going to have today). Plenty of staring out of the window has been undertaken, assessing cloud coverage and wind speed. Looking for the elusive sun and calculating the number of potential drying hours until the end of the day. Decisions have been made about the order in which washing needs to be done - the OH’s work clothes take priority. If we can’t dry them, he’ll be going to work soggy.
And earlier today, everything aligned. The washing was hung - and I was feeling like a woman in charge of her own life. I wasn’t going to need to transform our loft room into a Chinese laundry for the day; a space where the cats could dart in and out of drying trousers and damp dresses - looking charming but actually depositing fur on every available square inch of fabric.
But of course, I couldn’t trust the apps - or the British weather. Which is why I’m poised like a cat, ready to spring out of the dining room chair that I’m now ensconced in - putting on hold all my other plans - to dash into the garden as I’m positive I can see spots of rain on the decking and hear the tiny splatters on the conservatory roof… at least, I think I can. Maybe I’ve convinced myself because I’m so paranoid… no, wait - it’s definitely rain. And now I have to decide. Will it be heavy and completely soak my 80% dry clothes… or do I bring it in. Shit… I’m not usually risk averse but I can’t….nope it’s coming in.
30 minutes later
Yeah, fuck you summer rain. Approximately 12 spots of rain, a basket of crumpled half dry washing - and a pissed off woman (who is determined not to go into the loft today) heads out into the garden again. To rehang the clothes, before she takes her spot watching through the windows - because she knows this little scene will be played out several more times - probably in the next hour.