My beautiful launderette

I was trying to remember the last time I sat in a launderette, feeding coins into machines and getting vaguely hypnotised while watching the washing going round and round. It was probably when I was an impoverished student in Portsmouth, circa 1988. Well, this morning I found myself recreating the experience. I can wash most stuff by hand, but bedclothes and towels present more of a challenge.

Whilst the machines did their work and the drums filled up with soapy suds, I walked into town with André who was giving me a lesson in the finer points of French laundrette etiquette. I’m glad he was there or I wouldn’t have had a clue. We went for a coffee in a café which could have been a stage set for a David Lynch film. The cavernous, nicotine-stained place was deserted except for a line of individual men of a certain age loafing at the bar, eyes fixed on the television screen set high in the corner showing a glitzy game show. Damn fine coffee though.

Back at the launderette we dried and folded and then returned home. The sun was still shining fiercely so I was able to dry off the last of the stuff by draping it out of windows and along the balcony, shoo-ing away the resident pigeons.

The afternoon was spent catching up with my writing pursuits. I wandered around town later on to catch the last rays of sun, use the cash point and buy some cigarettes. The elderly lady in front of me in the queue won €100 on a scratchcard and there was much rejoicing, handshaking and kissing. I was so excited for her I nearly forgot what I went in for.

It was time to get my finances in order and matching how much I have spent against my budget. I made a new hole in my belt and took a sharp intake of breath.

‘’Allo ‘Allo!’ then goodnight sweetheart.