In May this year, my husband and I bought a wee flat out of the city, in a small village. It’s the village I am from; where I grew up. Twenty-five years after leaving, and via the city centres of Edinburgh and Glasgow, as well as a more leafier part of the former, I am back where I started, in the lovely little village of Roslin, six miles south of Scotland’s capital.
After working on our flat for a few months, we moved in in July, and #villagelife began. It’s been wonderful – and weird, so I thought I’d use my blog to share some of my experiences.
Today, let’s talk about The Washing.
I’ve rarely hung my washing outside on a line. I’m 45-years old, and this is a complete novelty. Okay, our last flat had a garden, but, with a badly positioned whirly washing line, and a massive Victorian brick wall on one side of our garden, and huge bushes around the perimeter, wind – even Edinburgh wind – rarely got through, and our washing never dried.
Hours hanging in our damp garden, and the washing still had to be hung on the indoor pulley, all cold, and wet, and sad.
But in Roslin? Wow. We’ve gone washing mental. There’s hardly a day passes when our washing machine isn’t on (Its a triple A + rate appliance though, so no guilt here) and we’re not out in our garden, hanging all our clothes on the line for everyone to see.
My husband needed a bit of a lesson in how to hang, right enough – double pegging out my Bridget Jones knickers on the line was not a good move…
But I can talk. I excitedly hung my first washing on the line and then had a thought – how long do I leave it out?
I felt anxious. I didn’t want to look like a fool, heading down after a couple of hours, feeling my washing, and having to come away, tail between my legs, peg bag and empty basket in hand, damp washing still on the line.
Oh, how they’d laugh, all the neighbours, all the experienced washer hanger-outers.
So I called my mum.I could hear her rolling her eyes.
– when did you hang it out, she asked. – about 1030? – well check it at about 1230, it’s a windy bright day.
And so I did, and it was perfectly dry, and smelled so good – so fresh, so CLEAN! I’ve got this nailed, I said, really pleased with myself
I got very excited on a hot, breezy, day in July when I managed to – with the addition of an extra line that weekend – get three washes out in one day, each one drying in about an hour. It’s a perfect washing day, I heard myself telling…well, no one in particular.
Now? I’m sitting sadly at the window, watching the rain lash down, and my washing pile getting bigger, knowing that the best drying days of the year are behind me.
I need to get out more. Without the washing!