It starts with the big decision: do I have anything that can possibly be worn again? Sheer resourcefulness can result in this decision being delayed for weeks, if not months, but ultimately I inevitably find myself dressed in inside-out pyjama bottoms and a black leather jacket before having to admit defeat. No, there is nothing left to wear. Ok, it’s time to do the laundry.

First there is the carrying of all items to my washing machine, this alone can take several trips and results in one enormous pile on the floor. The machine itself seems to start shuddering at the sight, as if looking for some kind of escape route from what is about to take place. Right, the pile. I start by separating the colors from the whites. This goes well enough until I hit a t-shirt that is mainly white but with a blue logo. Unsure what to do, I start a new pile that I decide I will ‘get to later’. After a bit more sorting it is clear that this third, unclassified pile, is already bigger than the other two so I take on a more cavalier approach and base the selections on percentage of item that are either white or non white. Sounds reasonable enough, I know, but after yet more frantic reorganizing of the three piles I am left with two piles and soon loose track of which is meant to be white and which is meant to be colored. Exhausted, I reason that it now makes more sense just to start some kind of washing and separate out all the black stuff and relegate the rest to the later pile. This black load now gets pushed, shoved, rammed and forced into the mouth of the machine. After the large items are safely in, I then carefully squeeze the smaller items such as socks around the body of the main load until it looks like my washing machine is vomiting clothes. Happy with this progress I then adopt the position of an Olympian athlete as I push (with the knees) the door shut. Ok, good, stage 1 is complete. Now to set the program.

Why? Why does it have to be so damn complicated? These machines appear to be designed and built by NASA. I have a Standard cycle, a Fast Spin cycle, a Heavy Load cycle and even something called a ‘Delicate’ cycle; and believe me, there is nothing delicate about my washing regime. Regardless of all of these options, I leave the dials set to Medium, ignore the temperature setting for fear of my life, and deposit a generous amount of washing powder and softener into the trays - praying I have put the right solution into the right receptacle. Now sweating heavily, I stand back and review my work before muttering my usual prayer, ‘Oh, fuck it’, and press Start.

To be continued…

Credits: Merrick Whyte