Laundrette Limit

Whilst working for a fashion brand over the past two years, it is hardly surprising that I have accumulated a large amount of designer pieces. However my choice to live alone in London has left me without the exclusive rights to a washing machine. Instead, every few weeks I undergo the menial task of filling a suitcase, carrying it down three flights of stairs and then traipsing fifteen minutes to my local laundrette. These expensive pieces are then emptied into two medium sized machines where I have the limited choice of selecting hot, warm or cold as a wash option. For this so-called privilege, four of my hard earned pounds are deposited into each contraption. Anxiety overcomes me as these worn out appliances thrash the garments fiercely against its cheese grater metal innards.

During the half an hour agonising wait, hoping that my clothes are still intact, I also have the unpleasant task of enduring the laundrette locals. It is certainly a long way away from the scenes of 40 Days and 40 Nights where a handsome Josh Hartnett meets his leading lady. Instead, I am surrounded by miserable unhelpful people who watch your every move as you enter their washing environment. There is one woman in particular I often see on a Sunday morning who seems to get an adverse pleasure of dragging out this tedious task by using all the different equipment provided. She even monopolises the plastic baskets prohibiting other washers from using them.

Finally yesterday I reached my laundrette limit. After my clothes had finished their wash cycle, I was left without a dryer. Knowing full well that many of the users were in fact hogging two machines each, filled me with rage. I confronted the offenders but to no avail, shifty eye movement between the culprits and inaudible grumbles forced me to leave the premises wheeling my wet heavy clothing behind me. For me, this is not within the laws of laundrette etiquette and in order to avoid this monotonous task for another few weeks I have decided to shell out twelve pounds on a pack of M&S knickers to escape my washing needs. This act of desperation will prove more costly but I know it will keep me sane for at least one more week.