Ode to Erik
Laundry Day In The Shadow Gallery
"Well, as the title of this little observation suggests, yesterday was indeed laundry day in the Shadow Gallery.
A joyous occasion where at the end of laundry day, instead of crawling into bed with sheets that resemble the Turin Shroud, one can enjoy crisp, clean linen. Where one can dry their weary body on the fluffiest of white towels, rather than the three day towel one left on the bathroom floor in a damp heap. Where one can once again wear that attractive red lacy negligee, instead of the grey, hole infested end-of-week desperation knickers.
Yes, laundry day is indeed an exciting day for all.
The day begins as all laundry days do. The cad dashing about his room; collecting all his dirty clothing into a huge wicker laundry basket. He then goes on to separate said items into whites and darks (this doesn't take long for his clothing.)
All the while he is jollying along dear little Evey to hurry up and give him her clothes that need washing. Sure enough she eventually trots out of her room with a pile so large, she can barely see over the top of it. It contains clothing in every colour of the rainbow. Pink t-shirts, blue jeans, yellow vests, green jumpers, what look like red eye-patches but are indeed red underwear…allsorts.
Then the harlequin takes a while to separate all Evey's clothing. He mutters to himself as he does it…
Can white go with off-beige?
Is duck-egg blue the same as turquoise?
Does hand-wash only really mean hand-wash only?
What's the difference between city shorts and hot pants?
Where the hell do I take a dry-clean thong too?
Yes the myriad of problems is truly never ending, but he muddles his way through the best he can. He then fumbles about foolishly with the bed sheets, pillow cases, duvet covers, towels and other such items, occasionally tripping over them as he hauls them to the laundry room.
In all the items go, on a nice and easy hour wash. (I doubt he knows exactly what to do with some of these items of clothing, but at least they're separated into piles of darks and whites.) If in doubt, stick it on a forty degree wash and everyone wins, is his philosophy on laundry.
So off the washing machine goes; possibly the noisiest piece of machinery I have ever heard or ever invented. One touch of a button and the machine is on its merry way; trundling downs the runway, preparing to take off for a return flight from Gatwick Airport to Malaga International.
So after the hour washing cycle is done and the passengers and cabin crew have safely disembarked the Hotpoint 747, the fop decides to take out his lovely clean clothing and pop them in the dryer.
When all the items are nice and dry, they are immediately ironed and replaced into wardrobes and drawers, or onto beds and pillows. Perfect. Everything runs like clock work.
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Now yesterday was a little different. Usually the cad is very protective about the laundry; I'm guessing he likes it just so. He insists on collecting his own clothing, putting it in the washing machine and the dryer himself, removing it from said machine and the ironing it himself too. Very, very strange, but I will allow him his foibles.
As I was saying, yesterday was different however.
Inadvertently, the harlequin had gone out on one of his weird upstairs jaunts and had indeed left the dryer on. As usual the machine beeped to let him know that it had performed its duty and that it was ready for the next batch of damp clothing. But instead of being greeted by its foolish masked master, the dryer was met by sweet little Evey.
Naturally wanting to help the cad and to lighten his burden, she emptied the dryer and set about getting ready to do some ironing. Out came the iron, the iron board and on went the chariot hero Ben Hurr onto the DVD player (to stave of boredom I imagine.) She had quite a pile of clothing, most of it his; but none the less, unfazed she got stuck in.
She ironed his black tunics beautifully.
Starched his black shirts perfectly.
Levelled out his black trousers amazingly.
She even tended to his multitude of black socks; matching each one with its right or left partner.
Finally she had got to the bottom of the basket, down to the last few items of clothing. The end was indeed in sight! I watched as she leant over deep into the recesses of the basket to fish out his last few pieces of un-ironed clothes.
But then, she began to giggle! Began snickering like a little girl. The corners of her mouth turning upwards as the titter became a chuckle. As the chuckle became a laugh. As the laugh became a belly roar! Until her head was thrown back in complete hysteria!
What could be so amusing? What could have captivated her so much that she was at the pointing of wetting herself in delight? What on earth was she laughing at?
Slowly she stood up, her shoulders shaking with laughter. She turned to me, tears streaming down her face as she cracked up even more.
Oh yes, then I joined in. I began to laugh! Chuckled so hard that I really thought I might fall to pieces again! But I couldn't help it, nor did I want to! This was too amusing to miss! I'm sure my helmet began to shake with the ferocity of my giggling! Now we know just why he is so protective over the laundry!
The terrorist. The radical.
The saviour of London. The murderer.
The revolutionary. The vigilante
The beacon of light in an otherwise dark world.
The one who shadows his life in mystery and quotes...
The one who wears white boxer shorts adorned with big red love hearts!"
