Washing day blues

There are some things in life I just can't understand. Like how can a cat be alive and dead at the same time. You have to find out from Erwin Schrödinger here. Personally I'm a dog man, so prefer Pavlov's dog here

In our house we have neither cats nor dogs, but plenty of spiders to keep us company. And we've obviously done something to upset the neighbourhood fox, who insists on a daily crap right in the middle of our driveway. I don't understand why, surely he or she would prefer to do it in the woods. Like bears, or indeed Army cadets.

However, the thing that mystifies me most and occupies my waking day is why there is always, but always washing to do. We seem to put the machine on every night. And worse still that means there is always ironing to be done. I've mentioned that before. How can that possibly be for just 14 shirts, 28 socks and fourteen pairs of man pants a week? (Don't worry, I don't iron socks and under clothes). It completely drives me nuts...especially as we have no tumble drier, nor much space to hang the wet stuff to dry. I have tried to allay my suspicions that the boy uses the dirty clothes bin instead of putting his clean clothes on the shelves and in the drawers in his room. I'm told that's a harsh thought, but it keeps coming back. Like a bad penny. Especially because every time I put my head around his door, all I can see is clothes everywhere. Except in the wardrobe or drawer unit. The floor is the premium hanging space, with other items draped liberally over the ends and sides of the bed. I assume that when I say (shout) that I'm not cooking supper until the room is tidy, he achieves this by scooping everything into the laundry basket. Harsh but fair.

Losing my shirt

I'm never really sure about Christmas shopping. On the one hand, I love buying people presents, but on the other I'm always conscious about the budget, and on my third hand I know there are some people that should be getting presents that well just won't be....I'll run out of time energy and money, and then justify myself by saying "I won't be seeing them over Chrsitmas anyway"

This year it's been hard to get in the Christmas spirit...as much as anything because it just doesn't seem to be Christmassy. There is not a single Christmas light up on my route to work, and the part invites have been few and far between. May be I'm just a bit bah humbug.

However, this weekend was Christmas present buying weekend. So we headed for Brighton. Andd I'm delighted to say the place was festooned with Christmas lights...the most atmospheric being the ones down the North Laine, where a traditional Christmas still seems important. And not offensive.


I did quite well on the present buying in between stopping for coffee, lunch, coffeee, coffee and then coffee. Naturally I didn't feel it was right to be sepnding all this time and money on other people, without indulging myself. And I happened to spot this shirt:



The boy's response was that it was awfuland I should dress my age. Harsh. Very harsh. I called for a second opinion (how wonderful is photo messaging?!). Opinion was split 50/50, so I decided to vote again as the deciding vote. £75 later and it was in the bag. Time for another coffee. And as we emerged freshly perked, it was pouring with rain, so we grabbed a cab.

It was only as we went to bed some hours later that I realised that the shirt was missing. The only thing from the previous day's attempts to single-handedly boost the UK economy that was mine, and it had gone. We searched every nook and cranny. But it really wasn't in the flat. There were tantrums, there were tempers, there was stomping around, there was door slamming.

In the morning some frantic calls were made...to no avail. So the mystery is which lucky bstrd is going to have an early Christmas present of my completely inappropriate shirt?