A White Wash

Today, I resolved to do a white wash.
Mostly, I chuck all the vaguely pale articles in the machine together. Whatever happens, at least they’ll be fresher when they come out than when they went in.
But not today. Today, I even purchased some Vanish. So they won’t just be fresh. They will be IMMACULATE.
I was most controlled in my selection of items to be accepted for today’s laundry bundle.
Sorry, Little Grey Pants. Not today, thank you. You must wait your turn.

And so I did my white wash. With Vanish. On a hot setting. And the sun came out.
Hoorah! I thought to myself, in my domestic whirlwind thinking voice. Not only will I have white, clean washing, but I will also get it line-dry today. And all I shall be proud.

It was only when the machine had finished washing my precious, experimental load, that I remembered the carnage of Monday, and the desecration of the garden, and the fact that my washing line may not even have survived the ordeal of the footings being dug around it. So, tentatively, I ventured outside, and investigated.
I found my washing line. I unravelled it, and crept across the rubble and mud in my flip-flops to attach it to its moorings on either side of the garden. I even found my makeshift laundry prop, that had also survived, despite the fact that it is really only a long twig and could well have been bulldozed into the sod like everything else.
All good so far.
It was only when I came outside with the gleaming white stuff glaring at me from inside its basket that I realised there was no way in this world that I could avoid dropping some of the load onto the muddy ground beneath. My fingers shook, and for every peg I removed from my Cath Kidston peg bag, I must have accidentally chucked three on the floor. So it comes as no surprise that one shirt, three socks and a couple of pairs of knickers were muddy before they were even hung out.
Why? Sod’s Law. That’s why.
But, as I always say, at least they’ll be fresher now that they’re out than when they went in.

To finish… there is one nugget of wisdom that I have gained from today’s rather menial experiment, though.
I have learned that concrete that was poured only forty eight hours ago is rather slippery. Naturally, I wanted to capture the beauty of my whites against the stark rubble/mud background combo. Whilst wearing my flip-flops.
And yes. In doing so, I fell into the footings.
Now, where did I put that arnica?

Post script: the Cath Kidston peg bag was purchased in days of yore, when our last house had emerged from its renovation, and I felt it fitting to have such a thing.
Now, it just looks stupid.