I am late posting today, this week has been kind of crazy, we've had many visitors and no time for blogging ahead, as I usually do.
After writing the poem below I spent some time trying to divine how you spell washateria. I always think it sounds far superior to laundrette. When we were in London recently I thought the place we had rented didn't have a washing machine [it did behind a cupboard door, but that was too sophisticated for me] and it led me to think about how boring it must be watching your clothes wash in a washateria. This thought in turn prompted the poem.
he envied his clothes
in the laundrette's tumbling drum
happier without him inside
free to tangle to have fun
to throw impossible shapes
that would break a limb
the next morning he sensed
their longing for something
beyond his predictable moves
their reproach apparent in each casual crease
I was rather taken with the idea of my clothes having more fun without me in them than when worn. I liked the thought that they could be bored by my actions, having seen them so many times before.
I think the poem is just about there and for once I have a title as well.
Here are Sweeney's Men with Willy O'Winsbury, one of my favourite traditional songs, though the king is somewhat dubious, but the tune is lovely. Apparently it is not the correct tune but it works.
Until next time.