In the launderette washing the duvet. Its very therapeutic being in a launderette, it gives a person time to think, to reflect on the day. I think back to the Levi jeans advert and half expect Nick Camen to walk in (he was from the same town so its a possibility) however, Im next to a woman who is silently flatulent. It might not be silent given the rumble of the machines but the mixture of odours are putting me right off my daydream. Another couple discuss their diminishing underwear which gives me an idea for a story about a launderette but remember its already been done. After finishing my coffee I see a sign in red warning customers not to eat or drink on the premises. Now Im anxious someone will appear from behind the grim looking door (which seems impossible for a grown man to fit through) and will drag me away to a back room where Ill be held prisoner in a redundant machine from the 70s. The flatulent woman rises, extracts her laundry from the gaping mouth of the steel monster and exits leaving a trail of noxious fumes behind, wishing everyone a happy Christmas. Ho Ho Ho. 15 minutes left before its done. Im alone again. Just me and the machine. A cold uncaring stare through a mildew porthole. If only these machines could talk, what tales they would tell. What world do they possess? A sea of towels and a field of unmentionables as my mother would say. Im bored. Its taking ages. I should have brought a book.
Posted on: Mon, 22 Dec 2014 16:28:52 +0000
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