Gathering and reflecting

 

This week I have been pulling together all the laundry stories that participants have sent me. There have been 32 participants with some contributing up to four stories each. They have arrived in different formats: video messages, social media comments, and by snail-mail, hand-written on the backs of the little clothes I sent off in mini laundry bags. 

This week I have been transcribing the online contributions on to more of the little clothes, and pegging them up on a washing line in my studio space. Being to see all the stories in one space has been a great way to really notice the breadth of people's experiences and also the commonalities. They have ranged from the personal, to the frustrated, to the humorous, and to the poignant. There are those that resonate with my own experiences and those that open doors to new insights and perspectives.

Late afternoon, under a moody sky, I took the washing line into the garden and played with photographing, and filmed the clothes blowing in the breeze. Ten minutes in, it started raining. Of course it did! Hanging the washing out is a sure-fire way to signal the heavens to open, and today was no different. 

I'll share the photos in due course, but for now I'd like to share a few of the stories that arrived online...

"The only time I've ever had to use a launderette was when I was living in Paddington Green in London, and I was in a tiny little studio flat. They didn't have space for a washing machine, and the experience made me promise myself that I would never live in a flat without a washing machine again... or I was going to be really nice to my mum.

 The other thing was that there was always a fight for the dryer. People would split their stuff up. They'd all be eyeing up the dryers really weirdly, like a competition or something. It was like people trying to save their sunbeds on holiday. So they'd look at the dryer they wanted and they'd sit in front of it. Like that made any difference whatsoever to which dryer they had. But they all had the one that they liked. Obviously they went there more than me."

"It’s been extremely frustrating although I can do most of my stuff at home, thank goodness. I had plumbing and electricity rigged in my hallway cupboard... it took the council a while to see it was more than possible, but other things are needed to be done at a laundrette, none near me are accessible, I couldn’t find any with an email to contact them, so it meant my carer had to (as I have hearing impairments), so they isolated me in every way possible. Once, because I had questions, I waited outside while my carer was inside, coming out and giving me answers then going back in. Another time I was in the door of  one trying to get answers about washes and was told I was blocking the door. They were not helpful or interested in helping me, and it felt like the prices were even higher... my carers said it didn’t make sense..

I couldn’t use the launderette's app because the way they wrote things was not in plain English campaign style, I didn’t understand some of what the instructions were, it was missing sections and there was no way to find out, with too much risk or cost in setting it up if I’d done it wrong or if the person coming to collect didn’t know. It’s not been easy, I’ve ended up buying new duvets instead of cleaning, or one carer taking it to her local 5 miles away..."

"I can’t get into my local launderette but I need it to dry bed clothes and towels, there is no drying room in our flat. Laundry day is an event in our house. It’s an event that we invite friends to. They even bring their own towels to get them tumble dried. The trick is to use a launderette with a good cafe next to it, ideally an Italian. We arrive at the launderette just before midday, I separate out the washing at the door and my husband goes in and turns the machines on. If I’m on my own that weekend I can always find friends to help, everyone loves our laundry day. Once the washing is on we go next door, to the main event. It’s a proper old-fashioned Italian cafe, the tiramisu is home made and it’s £5 for a square of lasanga and a drink. A bowl of pasta later and it’s time to put everything into the dryer, my husband runs out to swap it over before the coffees arrive. There is just about time to finish the coffee before it’s time for me to wait at the door with the big bags while my husband empties the machines. Then we head home with our fluffy soft towels and full tummies. It’s a necessity that feels like a luxury."