The process should go as follows; sort clothing, stick in washer, put washer on, wait thirty minutes then stick in dryer for required length of time. Not rocket science, and indeed on paper not fraught with the problems that always arise.
So today, after receiving some upsetting news from home, I decided the way forward was to work my way through that weekly list of niggling chores that for one reason or another always seem to plague our weekends.
Having run the vacuum cleaner through the flat, I then made my way over to the communal block of our apartments, basket sling over my shoulder like Widow Twanky and set myself up for the thirty minutes or so that would follow.
Two and a half hours later, I'm still here.
See, some doofus (I shall not take the blame for not checking) had set the machine on a full 40 degree cycle, rather than the "quick wash" to which I am accustomed. This I only came to realise over an hour after I had switched the damn thing on. In a state if panic, I twiddled the dial to "drain", thinking that with only an hour until the laundry gets locked up, I might still have time to dry the clothes within.
Well, that's the logical thing to do! I hear you cry! But alas, fair reader, upon opening the washing machine, I was confronted by a torrent of murky, soapy water, and a pile of sodden clothing. My only option was to return the dial to "quick wash" and start over again.
So here I am, sitting atop a washing machine at quarter to eight on a Saturday night (when I was so very looking forward to an evening in with The Voice), waiting for the cycle to finish and hoping that "high power" on the drier will get my clothes toasty within ten minutes.
So my advice for today; next time you're in the laundry, two hours before closing time, check that no bigger has messed with the machine, because I'm going to have to make some real puppy-dog eyes in about fifteen minutes. Either that or whip out my freeze ray. Either's good.
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