Mister Tony has been required to share his space in front of the heater rather frequently of late. Not just with the washing, but it has been the place to be. It also seems that whenever I'm home long enough to do my own washing, it rains. But if it stops, I squelch around the line, hanging it up, only to have to bring it in again. There is only just enough hanging space inside for my weekly wash, plus the small amount of Grace's things that make up the second load. And it takes all weekend to dry and clutters up the space I use for the odd five minute burst of sewing that I manage to squeeze in here and there. I know I shouldn't really complain, as G is doing all the other washing, and is getting pretty good at the heater fiddle to boot. But what a drag, spending the weekend rotating your smalls in front of the heater, just so you have enough clean undies to wear next week at work. Not that it's particularly hard, or even all that time consuming, it's just that I have even less spare time than I did before*. And it's tedious. And constant.
We're talking about replacing the dryer of despair with one that actually works. And I'm progressing with my washing minimisation schemes. Socks get two days, as do t-shirts (unless they smell) and skirts and jumpers are going as long as decently possible. I've discovered my black velvet skirt can be worn and worn and worn again. With just an airing in between. Grace is wearing clothes for longer too, although she is very partial to cleen socks. As for G, well he's always been into washing minimisation, or as he says I just don't care about clean clothes. Call us the family scruffnut. Very enviromental.
* so less time to write about it, more time doing it, in proportion to writing about it, hey ho, if that makes any sense whatsoever, which I expect it doesn't, because who in their right mind would enjoy writing about doing their bloody washing?