One of my friends just got married and I was bridesmaid for the first of 3 times this year. I know “3 times a bridesmaid, never a bride”, but I have already been so twice before so am now up to 5 in total.

I have subsequently discovered that years ago bridesmaids were believed to distract and confuse evil spirits and therefore protect the bride on her wedding day. Nowadays it is more likely that duties may include organising the hen party, encouraging the bride to get very drunk and then helping her with her dress on the big day!

It is a good job that hen/stag nights are more in advance of the wedding nowadays as both the bride and groom are likely to be not at their best the morning after!

And with weekend trips away becoming more popular too, the craziness can be spread over a few days and not all crammed into one night!

Anyway, us Laundry lasses have had our first lunch of the year outside which must mean Spring is here I wonder if the scientists would appreciate this data being added to their spring-tracking?

Do you have any fail-safe method for identifying when spring has sprung?

Spring Fact # 1: Daffodils were brought to Britain by the Romans who thought that the sap from Daffodils had healing powers. Actually the sap contains crystals that can irritate the skin.

Ooh itchy.

Ladies (perhaps men too?), do you remember,  have you ever lost a heel on a London tube’s escalator and then had fun with the passers by as they take in your unfortunate situation?!

Or, perhaps the taste of a white coffee you were expecting (the same as it’s been for years) but have in such a hurry ruined it by adding salt instead of sugar!…

Or, similarly,  ruined both your books in your bag by putting in it (even though extremely carefully it must be said) a cup of tea for 2 seconds when need your 2 hands!

This is Florence’s routine over the last few days!

She could be a friend of those characters of this book’s collection for children…remember! Mr Clumsy, Mrs Chatterbox, Miss Giggles… what about you, who could you be?

Anyway, I googled Hatton Garden Helicopter, thinking we could figure out why there seems to be a helipad that is regularly used in such a seemingly normal area of the city… I mean yes there’s diamonds and everything, but its not like we’re in Chelsea or in a James Bond Film.. or is it.

I stumbled across this pilots’ forum that has all kinds of rumours about who the helicopter belongs too. That it might be the CEO of De Beers Diamonds getting ferried into work every day. Classic! Imagine, avoiding the rush hour and travelling to work like that every day. The only hustle and bustle would be a few pigeons twanged out the way by your whizzing heli-blades.

Have you heard any rumours about this helicopter landing around Hatton Garden? Or do you have some strange neighbourhood commuters in your neck of the woods?

This has ranged in extremity from the odd phone call about dirty linen, to my sister thinking that I worked in an eco-laundrette, to our sales pitch involving the preamble- “No! You do need to speak to us, honest… it’s not clothes.. it’s PAPER! Like a paper Laundry… WE CLEAN YOUR DIRTY PAPER!!”.

We were considering putting ‘It’s a metaphor’ as our strapline, but then realised we’d been beaten to it by a certain Tango ad (D’you ever do that? Come up with a brilliant idea and then realise you’ve just nicked it from someone else?!)

So, although there is much confusion, we do still ride the gag and play on the words. For instance, calling ourselves The Laundrettes..and.. sending you Christmas cards of us inside a Laundrette… and.. calling our blog ‘Clean thoughts’. So its not like we are cursing the branding genii that came up the name.

So,  for this blog I am going to embrace the theme of Laundry:

1. Check out this pretty special invention that former Laundrette Steph (ah steph you are missed) emailed me through:

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2. For those who need a little help when it comes to getting started understanding the washing machine:

http://www.ehow.com/how_46_laundry.html

3. OOh ooh! Another Laundry that isn’t a Laundry

http://www.laundryline.co.uk/

Keep it on the straight and narrow, Harry. You said you were going to revere REAL Laundries- now give it to ‘em!..

4. Check out this futuristic Laundry-goer:

Have you got a favourite Laundrette? Did you almost turn me away from offering you wonderful recycling because you thought I was trying to peddle you washing services?

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It’s the smell of my burning coat.

It smells like when you accidentally burn your hair, or your nails. Hmm hair burning, why do I know so clearly the smell of burned hair? I’m having shimmery flash back to some school nativity thing in church with these candles with little paper funels wrapped round them to catch the wax. The children would sing something cute and christmassy and do a little procession round the church, candle-to-plait, like elephants trunks-t0-tails. Needless to say my coordination wasn’t too hot back in those days. Hell, it’s not so great now, but no one asks me to do things like walk in a candle-to-plait procession these days.

Anyway, back to the coat. It also had a candle confrontation at a friends house. I thoughtlessly draped it near some candles whilst waiting for a taxi to arrive, and then this horrible stench crept in the room and I leapt up seeing the steam/smoke rising from my poor new special woolly coat. Haven’t bought a bloomin winter coat in about 5 years because every year I think about it and then deliberate over which one is best, then wait for the January sales, then can’t hack shopping in the January sales, and then suddenly its March again and I think ‘oh there’s no point spending all that money now..’!!! And then I make the effort to invest (who was gonna get through THE BIG FREEZE without a proper coat this winter?) and ruin it within about 2 days of ownership.

So, it is a disaster.  Florence our lovely new sales person, thinks it smells like a pig. I think this might be a saying, like when you burn your hair in France you say it smells like a pig, but we haven’t got there yet.

Basically, I’m looking for some commiseration from you lovely Laundry lot.

Something like, how my brother once had a snake who only goes to the toilet every 3 years dump its load on his brand-spanking new white jeans. That’ll teach him for wearing white jeans.

Have you ever spilled a blueberry smoothie on your brand new handbag? Hot washed your man’s favourite pants?

Write in to us now- accidents of attire we stand united xxx

Like, when I do something wrong in excel its like this really uncharacteristically microsoft kind of HOOOOOHHHNNNNNK, like a small train has been passing through (though not stopping) in  my ear. It made me recoil and tear the ear bobblets out quick sharp. A bit like my reaction to some other wondrous variety of the world’s worst sounds.

Like the squeek of leeks when chewing, for example. Or the sound of nails scratching startchy shirt collars. Or the classic black board screecher. Urrrgh. I’m tugging a my neckline (weird reaction I have to being tickled and hearing baaad noises) as we speak.

I wondered if you have any similar noise-focused hates you’d like to share fair Laundry luverrrrs?

First off, one of our customers Mumford Fine Art of Soho is holding an exhibition of a whole load of art works all created on, or using, or about paper:

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They describe the exhibition as “Ranging from photography to etching, and watercolour to graphite, the exhibition champions original fine art on and of paper”.

I’ve visited Mumford’s roof top delight and it is pretty spesh. A totally Soho experience.

Here’s their contact deets: Mumford Fine Art, Rooftop Gallery, 12 D’Arblay Street, Soho, London W1F 8DU. Opening hours Tues-Fri 1.00-6.00pm, Sat
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info@mumfordfineart.net

Now this website has a catalogue of some amazing paper snippery. 100-extraordinary-examples-of-paper-art Check out the first one where the skeleton looks like its rising from its papery grave to come and haunt us.

At Christmas last year I did some snowflake art… boy does that take a while to get back into. You know, to remember the rules of which corners to cut so you don’t just end up with a pile of confetti or an ugly mishapen square.

Look how good these guys are at snowflake making:

If you, like me, need a little help making the perfect flake see here:  snowflakes.html

Do you have any wonderful or straightforward things you do with your paper before handing it over to The Laundry. Remember we love pics and so does the blog..

x

Anyway, I find it quite hard to tell whether girt-big sky scrapers have any aesthetic appeal at all , so I thought I’d put it to you, Fair Laundry Lovers. What’s your fave London building (sky scraper or not)?  I’m going to mull it over and will be commenting with mine.

So this is the theme of my pondering. Which version of things is better: Fake or Real?

Noooo noo noo not thinking page 3 material here. More like, What’s better fake banana flavour or real bananas. Definitely real i’d say. What about Xmas trees- there’s this whole eco debate- (and perhaps some would say an aesthetic debate!)- what’s better for the environment real or fake?

I’m thinking REAL will triumph over FAKE in most cases, but also getting quite into thinking about the anomolies where it’s all about the phony imposters.

So I put it to you:

What’s better Real or fake Coffee?

Real or fake money? (gotta be a diehard monopoloy fanatic or true crusador against capitalism to go for the latter..surely..)

Real or fake flowers?

Real, or fake, fires. That plastic molded charcoal that flickers electronically and is tipped in fake fire effect oranges and gold.

Fake sea (swimming pool) or real sea (ocean- seaweed? Tsunamis?!)?

I think I’m more of a realist. But I’d like to hear what you think

Here in the new office the fridge is pretty much bare apart from some muller fruit corners, milk in cartons (not bottles, boo) and one s0litary can of diet coke and some proper coffee. It is pristine-clean as it’s not really used for storing propper food (there’s only a micro wave, no hobs) .

In both fridge sharing situations there is the potential for shared-house style stealing/borrowing to go on. To what extent is this practice moral? That is my question.

download House of 9 I got caught red faced ‘borrowing’ our friendly neighbours cafetiere (the star of last weeks’ blog) and now he thinks that I was stealing his real proper coffee too! To me- the chaste use of a cafetiere is OK- but stealing the actual coffee a big no-no that I’d never want to get caught doing.

Now, I’ve just put 2 cold bottles of cava in the spotless fridge at the new office. And it got me thinking, should I put a sign on them ‘THIS ALCOHOL IS FOR THE LAUNDRY’?? Or is the practice of labeling your food with your name the reserve of pernickety selfish folk?

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Tell me your feelings in this matter. We would like to know.

A few lucky customers might have had the pleasure as she’s been ploughing the streets in the east these past few weeks, door knocking to convert more of your fellow office dwellers to the way of The Laundry.

Anyway, during our first few weeks working together Florence and me have learned a thing or two about our cultural differences.

For instance did you know the the French (besides doing many real-life kiss kisses) don’t write ‘xx’ after their names in birthday cards or text messages? Florence kept wondering ‘what is this xx? What does it mean?’. And then I tried to explain.. and it all sounded a bit odd. How exactly does ‘X’ stand for kisses?

Other notable points, seem to be areas where a certain English teacher of Florence’s got it a bit wrong. For instance, Flo was picking up the phone saying ‘Here is Florence’ as she’d been told it was the most polite way to announce yourself. I thought it was quite cute, but Rachel couldn’t bare it any longer and broke the news that its not the most traditional way of saying hello on the phone.

And I’ve always thought that those coffee devices- ‘cafetiere’ or FRENCH PRESS was something all French people would be familiar with. Well this is not the case at all. Florence asked me to show her how to use this to make coffee. A little delving into wikipedia shows that the name is a little misleading. Although Flo reckons her grandparents used to use one during the war!!

The classic mince pie confusion also came up a couple of days ago. Florence’s french friend would like her to pick some up and bring it back to France for Chrimbo. It’s the just the name isn’t it?!! Why call it mince meat when there is no meat. She was going mm yeah, I’ll try that, spicy sugary mince meat filling, still thinking that there was bit of beef inside. Thanks to pictures of the Internet and some gesticulation its all square.

So, this is what I learned about the French this week.

Are you French, and find some English thing bizarro? Are you English and have a funny tale of getting it all wrong on a French holiday? Do share

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You know the rules of benches.  If there are any empty benches you can’t sit on one that has someone sitting on it.  That would be weird, that would be breaking an unwritten social rule.  Keep your distance, same with buses. So today I sat on my lonely park bench and was admiring the peace and quiet, the lack of traffic, the green paintwork on the bright red stone building.  There was a rush and a flutter, I looked up and I’d say about 50 pigeons swooped into the air, a lady in one of the flats was throwing them some bread.  They did a circle of the square picked up some bread and then returned in a swoop gaining momentum to pick up the other 50 of their mates hanging out in the tree above me.

That’s when I heard it, I want to get this onomatopoeicly correct, but won’t be able to – it was a cross between pat, pap and splat. All these weird wet noises around the bench.  I looked up, a shower of white was raining down, not an early snow storm but 50 pigeons defecating their way to a free lunch.  I got up, I had to run to take cover like Billy the whiz running through the rain.  Right, left I dodged, I ran to the only bench that wasn’t under a tree. But a bench that did have a lady on it, who did not appreciate me sitting next to her when there was clearly an empty bench.

I don’t know which shower of shit is worse, the real or the social and metaphorical?  I opted for the non-dry cleaning one.

My friend Sam does tours around BEDZED the eco-village.  It was the end of the tour, during the final words of inspiration and a pigeon pooed on him.  He wouldn’t have minded too much as he has a sense of humour about these things, but no one laughed or smiled or even acknowledged it.  Which meant that he couldn’t mention it either.  Which made it awkward. He had to carry on with the importance of sustainable lifestyles in the context of the built environment all the while knowing, and knowing that everyone else knew he had a white shite on his shoulder.

Is it laugh and the world laughs with you, or does the world need to laugh first?

Has anyone any ideas? I would send a picture but  lacking the wherewithall… lead/photo transmitting airwaves as I’m writing this from my technologically deprived computer desk at home…

More clues are that it has the texture of a pear/ banana and the taste of sweet tea…? Anyone?

I would like to return the favour.. If you have a plant/pciture/object/song that you can’t identify and think The Laundry might be able to help.. do show and tell.

Here’s some other weird fruite to inspire you:

square melon

corporate fruit

weird fruit medley

religious fruit, very weird

Sadly, none of these are my weird fruit.

Apparently the whole practice of reading someone’s future from a crystal ball  could stem right back to the megalithic peoples of ancient Britain. That’s pretty old stuff. They were all about rocks and stone structures, and this thinking that it all goes back to them comes from an observation of the similarities in practices between these guys and the Druids, known fans of crystals in general. Tentative, but hey. History isn’t science is it. Unless it’s archeology- that could well be a  science. Anyway, point is crystals seem to have played a major part in people finding out what was going on with their world before Mystic Meg and Wikipedia (source credit!) came along.

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It’s interesting though, that even nowadays when Science has really expanded the minds of humans; their understanding of the hows and whys of the world always growing, that still, we look to older, less concrete ways of finding out about the world and ourselves. Star signs are always to be found sandwiched between the real news and sports section of the major newspapers, and I always read them when I come across them, even though I’m pretty sure my logical mind thinks it’s a load of old boot. Mine and maybe my boyfriends too- nosy parker. And why? What is it that I think I’m reading exactly? A personal advice column written just for me? Some piece of cosmic star dust sprinkled between the words, waiting to be read and unravel my destiny? I really couldn’t tell you. But I have to say I like them. Sometimes, anyway. (and then when they don’t say quite what I’m looking for, I think: Well, it’s all a load of codswallap anyway!!).

Do you trust any particular future predicting method? Tea leaves left in your mid-morning green tea cup residue perhaps? Or, maybe the letter of the alphabet your apple stem breaks upon whilst twisting, wishing for wedlock. Wow those are healthy methods.

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Or daisy petals?Don’t snort them. Pick them off, one by one deliciously. And then loose count when there’s only a few left as you can see the outcome unfolding, and you don’t like it. He loves me.. erm…. Ah! He Loves MEEEE!

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Lines on your hand? (Personally this one scares me.. I’m thinking that craggy line that cuts off half way between by thumb and forefinger can’t be great news).

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One Night with the King download I’m looking into my crystal ball (actually it’s a globe-shaped blackboard that lovely Rachel donated to The Laundry) and it’s telling me… it’s telling me.. maaaanny maaaany Laundry customers are going to write in and tell me they are as mad as me.

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Isn’t it funny how Google’s sentence completion works in the search field up there. Maybe someone who knows about this sort of thing can tell me how it works. Like when you’re searching for Gilles Peterson (tee-de-dee..great  sound track to my revision..) it starts to come up with Gilmore Girls (saccharine US TV show that I have been known to watch of a Saturday morning while consuming scrambled eggs, too-do-doo..yes I do I do I do).

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Now, I get the word-structure similarities going on there(ya hah)- but is the Google function where it shows you a list below that search field based on popularity of the search across the whole world?!! Are the Gilmore Girls really that popular in the whole of the google/internet-using world??!! That they come before gills (on fish) and hmm Gillette razors.. and I don’t know Gillian Anderson (you know who)?

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Well. Perhaps I will never know. Or, maybe I should just google it.

You see? Now mysteries have a whole different way of presenting themselves. There are so many answers to one question, that you think you know, but then don’t. Is coffee bad for you?

Wrong Turn 2: Dead End film But also, innocent dinner party chit chat… ‘Is a tomato a fruit? Really, truly a fruit?’ And then someone gets out their internet phone gizmo (starting to sound like my Grannie) and right then and there checks it out and tells you the bloomin answer! Without even a hope of a little debate, the googling has tranced defiant over all perusal.

Google. No stone lays unturned. Catchy innit.

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Exited about the lunchtime purchase potential (try and not be too unethical… we are moving near the diamond district of Hatton Garden after all. Not that the recycling business can be said to provide the diamond sort of lifestyle but hey.. we can window shop).

Exited about the idea of after work summer-time-sprawling-in-a-square as a cheap and romantic alternative to pubs. Oh oh oh. Excited about pubs too! Maybe that’s a more seasonally relevant thing to be exicted about. There’s quite a long time till the park is an option again.

Excited about it not taking an hour to get to any after-work event.

Excited about living the life of a Laundry customer, and you know, getting to understand your needs all the more better.

Excited about windey cobbled streets and little bits of history seeping out of doorways and into your eyes.

Excited about the view as you cross the river on the train and the sun is rising and catching the city skyscrapers.

Not excited about the sardine-squash for breakkie in the morning commute.

Are you still a romantic about working in Central Lon? What’s your fave thing about it? Or do you relish the day you can get away and have a nice comfortable commute in a volvo through the countryside?

Share and share alike.

New address details to follow!

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Which makes me wonder, why have I missed remembered this.  I love sleeping and going to sleep and waking up realising that I’ve just had a brilliant dream, I love my bed, I love the duvet, I only love one of my pillows, because the other one is a bit flat and sad.  To not remember my extra time here, in my place of worship, the bed, is not good.  I feel like I’ve got to evaluate my outlook, what else have I misremembered as a disappointment, when actually it was pretty great.

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One of my friends says you should make a mental note to celebrate when something great happens like the bus comes just as you approach the bus stop, or your lost phone gets handed in, or you make it to the loo, just as fervently as you would have cursed if you had just missed the bus, your phone got nicked etc.  You have to shout in your head YES YES YE, just like you shout nooooooooooooooo, grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr, when someone gets in your way.  Bask in the golden appreciation of the sheer luckiness of it, because we’re too cross about things that don’t go well and forget when things do. I’m going to be appreciating my lie in with extra verve, hope you enjoy yours too.

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Some people do functional rucksacks, sharing the weight of stuff that might be useful (polos, diary, umbrella, tape measures…) between their shoulders, like a good sensible person. Even when I had the opportunity for rucksacks to be The Bag in my life (at school), I think I only ever hoicked it up on one shoulder. Now lying in bed at night with a twinge in my back,  I can hear my mum’s voice saying ‘You’ll only regret it when you get older and your bones are all misshapen’. So she was right after all. It may look well-cool for a bag with two straps to be worn on one shoulder, but in the long run we all pay the price.

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That’s wierd. That also looks kind of like a crying, snotty monkey. Sorry bout that. Didn’t do art, obviously still don’t.

And some people do the zsshhi-zzssshi clutch bag. That sort of out sized purse a slebritee might balance between their elbow and hip bone? Dainty indeed. But what is a bag with no handle, no strap, no means to attach itself to your person?! I have trouble enough keeping the essential contents of the bag in the bag, let along trying to keep the bag on me.

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Have you got anything surprising lurking in your bag? For example a brown leather briefcase with nout inside but a buttermint. Or, 2 pairs of socks to protect against puddle incidents. What sort of bag person are you? Leather tassel swinging from your sides? Hard-shell lap top case rucksack future-dude combo?

I want to know. After all, I’ve confessed I’m a coffee accident bag girl, just trying to make a step up in life with a leather investment in organization through pocket provision.

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Conkers act similar to seashells and beach stones that look so eye catching and brilliant whilst wet and shiny in their natural environment, but are never quite the same when arranged on the windowsill at home. голова болит секс голова болит секс

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Anyway, conker keeping aside, if you’re looking for a fighting conker. One that can bash up other conkers. Then ‘dried out’ is probably quite a desirable feature- and there’s all those school playground cheets to emulate the dried out hardness with vinegar varnishes and stints in the oven. If you’re too busy or cold to engage in some real, live conker fights this year, check out this online game I found: голова болит секс

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What I’d like to know is if there’s any other uses for conkers out there? Have you heard of a conker appreciation society that makes musical instruments out of their hollow shells? Or, maybe your mum knows a special sort of conker cake (probably not though, think they might be poisonous them conkers. Yep. they are. It’s all in the name, see? Chesnuts that are for horses, not humans…).

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I’ve decided that they look quite like people’s faces and am going to decorate some for your pleasure! Tell me what you think, or maybe make my conker man (Gerald) a friend and send me a pic.  He’s just bobbing along to Dizzee’s tune happily bending the words to suit his own needs. ah Gerald:

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I am about to untangle an ungrammatical little mystery:

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Why is sweetcorn sweet, and corn corn not?

Now, righteous posters in news groups everywhere will tell you that it’s to do with the age of the corn – as ‘SpiritX’ charmingly put it: “the age difference..same between a sixteen yrs old and a thirty yrs old lady ha ha ha” 70 порно – on behalf of everyone closer to 30 than 16, I would like to say, for once and for all:

THAT IS NOT (ENTIRELY) TRUE.

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In fact, sweetcorn is a mutation Lower Learning ipod of maize, where recessive genes produce a higher sucrose content. This occurred spontaneously at first, but the result was tasty and delicious, so it was farmed into existence by several Native American tribes. It enters recorded history in 1779, when the Iroqios gave some cobs to European settlers, who were impressed enough to document the transaction.

Another difference between sweetcorn and not-sweet-corn is that the former is harvested in the milk stage (i.e. when it’s still gooey) rather than at maturity. This, technically, makes it a vegetable, not a fruit or cereal. So SpiritX is only a partial buffoon.

Sweetcorn did not feature much in my childhood. We were not a family of sweetcorn eaters. The closest I got to it was building a pyramid out of Green Giant cans at the harvest festival, right before the pumpkin bowling incident which saw me lose my position of responsibility as class can counter. There was a superabundance of tinned sweetcorn that year, much to the disgust of one intended recipient of our collective generosity, who rifled through his harvest basket and rejected every tin, leaving nothing but peach halves and lobster bisque.

Commando Duck psp “Trying to finish me off, are ye?,” he pointed his finger at the discarded cans, adding darkly, “That stuff is in-di-gestible.”

download Light in the Piazza And yes, it is quite sturdy stuff, a fact I tried to turn to my advantage as a small child by saving and drying kernels from school dinners, painting them white and loudly remarking that I’d lost some teeth. I was hoping for a cash reward from the toothfairy, but mostly just earned the consternation of my parents.

FYI, another good use of sweetcorn is to turn it into gruel and use it in a Shamanic ritual to cure absolutely everything that could ever be wrong with you. I can’t vouch for it personally, but, hey, wouldn’t that be sweet?

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Groaking.

Groaking is a form of food envy which involves watching someone eat in the hope that they will give you food. Children are terrible groakers, but dogs are even worse. You know that poor-me hopeful face they do? With the little huhhnmn sound? That’s groaking. Adults groak too but they are sly, couching it in flattery (“Ooooh, that looks nice.”), power play (“Can I have a bit? Or you’re fired.”) and reverse psychology. The last is the most sophisticated form of groaking. A conversation with a groaker employing the advanced reverse-groak might go something like this:

Eater:              Nom nom nom.
Groaker:         Oh…
Eater:              Nom nom.
Groaker:         No, never mind.
Eater:              What?
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Groaker:         It’s just…
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Groaker:         Nothing.
Eater:              Burp. No, really, what?
Groaker:         Well.
Eater:              Yeah?
Groaker:         I thought…
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Groaker:         Oh never mind.
Eater:               Dude, what?
Groaker:         Aren’t you on a diet?
Eater:              …No
Groaker:         Really?
Eater:              No.

Groaker:         Oh, my mistake. Hey, what’s in that sandwich?

Eater:              Um, sausages.
Groaker:         Gosh.
<pause>
Eater:              You think I should be?
Groaker:         What?
Eater:              On a diet.

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Groaker:         Like, a sausage diet?
Eater:              No, a diet diet.
Groaker:         Nah!
Eater:              But –

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Groaker:         You look…fine. Better than fine.
Eater:              Are you sure?
Groaker:         Nah, you look great.
Eater:              Really?
Groaker:         For a sausage.
Eater:              [       ]

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Groaker:         Kidding! Jeez.
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Eater:              <stony silence>
Groaker:         Hey, are you not going to finish that?
Eater:              Um.
Groaker:         Well then. Mind if I do?

SUCCESS.

My dear friend Emily was the world’s worst groaker. When we went to a restaurant, she would do a tour of the room, then when the waiter came she’d point to another table and say, “I want what she’s having.”

Later, when the food arrived, her face would drop and she’d start gazing at my plate. The more she ate, the hungrier she got. It was like going to lunch with Erysichthon*.

For the first five minutes I would eat as fast as I could until, inevitably, with a wobble of the chin, out it came:
“I WANT TO SWAAAAAAAAAAAP!” Followed by some grizzling.
And a big smile as I gave her half of my steak.

Since then I’ve fixed the problem. I just order what she’s having.

The conflicting morals of the story are:

Groak as you would be groaked by

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– and -
Good things come to those who groak

– and -
In an equal world, there would be no groaking.

Think on it.

* http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Erysichthon -  I like the end bit, where he eats himself. That surely is the ultimate groak.

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Established a local charcoal distrubution company which now sells to B&Q as well as some major supermarkets

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And set up a worldwide initiative to help everyone  live within their fair share of the earth’s resources with their One Planet Living standard

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It’s pretty special and it’s where The Laundry comes from, so I thought you might like to know! You guys are part of this by recycling your rubbish with us.

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Seeing as we’re (I’m) talking about Birthdays. B-days (Not Bidets- what a weird invention they are, though. When I first saw one I thought it was a sink for shorter types. Not so), I thought we might share some Birthday experiences.

Infestation ipod I forgot my Dad’s this year. Very very bad. He called me! And I proceeded to talk to him about my week, and have a little moan, and then I asked him what he was doing that day and he said, ‘Well, it’s my Birthday, so, you know ..’ Arrrgh. Dad, if you’re reading this I’m sorry!!

Bad daughter behaviour besides, I remember one year having Mumps on my birthday celebration. Let me tell you it is NOT as fun as the name suggests. Big old painful face you get with that. Not a good replacement for birthday bumps either. Whatever happened to Mumps, do people not get it anymore? Was it a name  my mum made up for some really terrible disease? Might just have a little googlige..OH MY GOD! Look at the face on this child: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mumps It’s not made up it’s real!

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XIII rip Moving back to more healthy birthdays…Have you ever tried a suprise Birthday party? Like in the movies, and soaps. Waiting with suspense in the dark to then screech at a frazzled looking suprise-recipient who is dressed in their yoga gear or something, and then either weeps with joy at the touching-ness of it all, or with pain at the proposition of spending the evening with a bunch of people they haven’t managed to keep in touch with (for a REASON!). It’s my other half’s 30th this year, and I’m thinking maybe it might go down well for a suprise-it-up treat. But you never know. He’s not the weeping type, but he might be the through gritted-teeth ‘Erm,how exactly is this supposed to be a treat?!’ type. It’s gamble. Maybe I should use that Derren Brown lottery-guessing trick? If I ask all of you guys- yes I do it/ no I don’t, I’m bound to get a more accurate answer, no? I think that Derren might be pulling the wool over our eyes. Surely if you can guess the lottery numbers, through whatever method, you’d do it every bloomin week!!

Posse from Hell move онлайн бесплатно сперма Lovely Laura Volunteer (who you may remember from comical editions to the blog such as ‘It’s not a big deal but it hurt my peelings’ and the classic expose on my and other Laundrettes’ bad habits: ‘Less of a habit, more of a lark’) is coming back!! Woo hoo. While I go off to Cornwall to survive a week of my boyfriend’s family’s quirks she will be holding the fort and putting on her best Harriet impression. So be nice to her, she is of course lovely by nature as well as by name.

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Anyway, the link to this ‘animal rescue’ installment is that lovely Laura has just moved to Dalston, where I once had one of many doomed animal rescue attempts that have dotted through my life, it has to be said, most of which before the age of 10…. Walking down the market Tom (boyf) and me noticed a small pink baby animal thing about to be obliterated by the market clean-down hoses, so we scooped it up. It was a bit hard to tell what it was, or what it was going to be. But we spent hours trying to recouperate it with little droplets of milk delivered to it’s lips by our outsized fingers. Where’s a pippette in the kitchen drawer when you really need one??!

Looking up on the internet we though it might have been an abonded baby hamster. Turns out it was a common rat. You know, vermin, they like to call them. So , the RSPCA doesn’t take in rats for looking after till they find a new owner. In fact they said they’d have to exterminate it (maybe they used another word) because rats are pests. So, so sad. We became quite attached to that helpless little pink peanut.

Other failed animal rescue attempts include:

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- half dried out bat that I found outside my childhood house and kept in a yoghurt pot hoping that the dregs of petit filou might somehow revive it from the after-life. Didn’t. Ended up smelling like marmite

- slugs exploited by neighbour playmate Joseph in a game of throwing them at my face till they stuck and then fell off slowly. Urrghgh. shudder at the memory of that texture. Tried to hide them under leaves as camouflage. He found them and did his worst.

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Have you ever tried to be a hero for a fury fella/ emulate Rolf Harris/do key hole surgery on your pet stick insect?

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Maybe it’s because I grew-up in South Africa where it’s not common practice and the whole pub culture ethos does (sadly) not exist. Or could it be that I’m merely inherently stingy and unable to shrug off the sense of injustice of being caught out buying an early round only to find that moments later everyone has mysteriously and quite suddenly vanished into the ether?

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I’m aware I could be taking this all a bit too far, but I’m convinced some people (naturally this does not extend to any of our morally upstanding Laundry blog readers!) purposefully time their arrival at the pub to best ensure getting the most out of the ’rounds’ system while incurring the least possible expense to themselves. ‘Cynic!’ I hear you shout! Possibly…

When I first returned to the UK  I was initially unaware of the general etiquette surrounding the ’rounds’ practice, so when it came to going to the pub with some colleagues after work I would often go and sort myself out at the bar. Naturally I was none the wiser to the social effrontery that I had unwittingly caused, and would return to the group to find that  most were looking at me as if I had something nasty hanging from the end of my nose.

It took a while before I realised the reason for this (coincidentally around about the same time that people started to vacate the communal kitchen area whenever I entered), so I took it upon myself to do some investigating.  For those of you who might be interested, apparently the custom is also commonly practiced in Ireland, New Zealand and Australia – where for some inexplicable reason it is referred to as ’shouting’. It soon became apparent that there was even more to this ’rounds’ ritual than I had originally imagined, and I soon unearthed a list of commandments that one clearly needed to be aware of – two of which I have included below:

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How High full movie It is generally accepted that not everyone will stay long enough to buy a round, instead of trying to avoid being in the round it is better to accept the drink with thanks. This is done on the understanding that at a later date this might be reciprocated.

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Etiquette demands that items of the same or relatively similar value should be requested by everybody.

Again – maybe I’m alone here, but this is all too much for my mind to take in after a long hard day at the office. Clearly I need to just go with the flow and stop over analysing the issue. Either that, or I become the lonely guy in the pub with a scruffy dog that everybody avoids sitting next to. At least that way I can go to sleep with a clear (if slightly groggy) conscience.

Anyone have any thoughts on the matter?

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Thanks for reading – Michael.

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Do you know any animals that have strange penchants for human delicacies?

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Last night I saw a cat tucking into a beef burger, and thought ‘that can’t be right’. Imagine a cat stalking a cow in the wild, clinging on to its heafty butt with delicate feline claws. Or yeah, neither of them actually are wild animals…Maybe an ancestor of a cat could have taken down an ancestor of a cow, I’m not too sure.

On a side note. Whilst said cat was tucking into the beef burger there was an advert on TV for real cat food, the stuff they are supposed to eat. And my gosh, try as they might to sex it up with silky curtains and high heeled womens’ ankles, the shot of that glistening pile of meat chunks could never look like something surely anyone, cat or other, would want to devour. So maybe that’s why the cats are turning to junk food. We should get Jamie Oliver on to them.

My old dog Megan used to really get going for red cabbage. Wierdo. You’d come home and there’d be the beginnings of a coleslaw shredded all over the carpet. Veeeeerrry strange. But conversely healthy to the other exhibit of animal/ human food confusion. Maybe that’s another feather in the cap for the great ‘dogs-are-better-than-cats’/'no-!-cats-are-way-better-than-dogs ‘ argument.

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Does anyone have a favourite London public transport journey that they indulge in from time to time even though it might not necessarily be the quickest point from A to B?

Last night while on the hottest evening of the year so far (so I was reading at that minute in a certain free evening newspaper) I was stuck on the Victoria Line between Euston and Kings Cross for just a millisecond more than is tolerable; just long enough so that my throat began to close up, my skin prickle a bit, and for my brain to begin to process thoughts like “I wonder if there’s enough oxygen down here for a whole carriage of people to survive on..?”.

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Anyway, finally, after that mechanical shudder the trains make when they restart their journeys up through the tunnels,  my knuckles  unclenched themselves from said free newspaper which was probably stenciling its pretty average news stories across my sweaty palms, I had the thought: If I hadn’t been so damn late to visit my friend way up north in Stoke Newington. What would have been the preferred method to get there?!!

I could have had a luxurious above ground tottle through the rooftops on the Thameslink train to Kings Cross and then taken the 73 buzzz and, mayyybeee got a little annoyed in the traffic around Angel but still, there would have been no panicking and I would have been above ground seeing London in it’s sunshine slathered glory.

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Other total faves: No 38 bus from Dalston to West End- down the snake/ladder that is Roseberry Avenue. Either slithering you down into town, or winding you up the hill and out of it at the end of the day.

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No 37 bus from Pekham to Clapham Junction via Herne Hill and Brixton. It’s nice, it’s friendly looking, and, it goes between such useful places. кожевникова порно

No. 205 bus from Whitechapel to Euston Road. That’s just nostalgia- but.. pretty useful little bus that one. You get to see the wonders of Whitehcapel High Street, a little bit of life in The City. The most beautiful of London Landmarks: Old Street Station Round-a-bout (!!) and then up the hill past Angel. Ideally skirting the congestion zone like a pro.

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Am I mad? Am I the only person who likes a little solitary bus ride from time to time? It might be that you just have to go past  a house you once lived in, or a neighbourhood of an old flame from many moons ago, or just a classic array of London sightseeing spots. I want to know what they are!! Post your comments and share the public transport treasures with all the Laundry lovelies out there.

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It’s been very useful in moments of Laundry-stress. Especially now that we have headsets and can do about a million gazillion things at once. Like an octopus or an Indian god, or even Mr. Tickle.

I wouldn’t like to try and make one of those mwetal shape de-stressing things, but did you know that you can make your on stress balls? Here’s how:

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I seem to remember having one of these metal/bead shape objects (anyone know the official term?) when I was very very young… maybe from this shop on Neal Street that is now a boring old shoe shop but used to have cavernous rooms of retro kiddies toys like  these :

or the more naturelle versions:

This shop was also a big specialist in magic gardens. Which are most certainly the most magic bunch of chemically drenched carboard trees ever.

Ah simple pleasures.

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Also something else surprising to report on a similar theme. I can remember how to do all the stages of cat’s cradle. Who do our brains hold such useless (if not a little bit amusing knowledge, and not important stuff like how to use an excel spreadsheet).

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Proud though I am of this recent discovery, I also discovered I’m not very good at teaching it. Especially when the tut-ee is circa 5 years old.  You def need another pair of hands ( see I should have been wearing my limb-multiplying head set.. you know just kicking back in the breeze with a madonna-like-mike and the phone dragging along the floor behind me)- it doesn’t work trying to nod with your nose at which bit of the string needs pinching and pulling and looping through another, it tests even the most patient saints. Which I am definitely am not.

If you would like to learn again with a friend here’s how.

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My fave one is no. 13.

And shazam, the blog is tentatively  linked together with a de-stressing activity to help you through your working day and a some childhood nostalgia for which everyone is always up. Yep. 80s Tv shows. Check.

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No not that TV show that rallied a DIY fever in Britain back in the early noughties, with mdf embellishments of extradordinary proportions and fluffy curtain trimmings. But actual real changing rooms. Where you get changed.

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I think something needs to be done to make these nasty corners of clothes shops smarten up. Never have I looked so hideous as the angle from which H&M’s changing room mirrors in their covent garden store managed to capture. You should never be able to see yourself like everyone else can, without a chance to rearange your face into something more reasonable with a pout here and a raised eyebrow there. Mirror Face as my friend Jess calls it. 

I blame it on the lighting, and the mirrors (but if it was dark and with no mirros, it’d be a bit unfit for purpose.  Anyway, you’d kind of think that looking good in those mirrors would be a given, considering the shops are trying to sell you stuff, which you will only buy if it looks good. But they are yet to crack on to that obvious angle for gaining competitive advantage.

Maybe it’s just where I’m shopping maybe if H&M was switched to D&G I’d encounter a new universe of changing rooms with fountains and powder puffs and mirrors with little lights bulbs dotted round the edge?

Rachel of ex-Laundry Madamme fame told me a story last night about a friend of hers who was getting changed in a very posh shop which had shared changing facilities, so everyone lumped in together to try on their goodies. She got stuck in a dress, but luckily was with a friend who was on hand to help push and shove her out of it. Evenutally after much grunting this friend of Rachel’s was released from the garment, but catapulted naked, beyond the curtain of the changing room onto the shop floor!!! Oh my gosh. Can you even imagine?

Tell me your tales of changing room misfortunes, and I might just buy you a drink.

Dramatically, I said I’d leave the country last year if it was the same again this summer. But actually it turns out that just that little bit of really-bloody-hot a few weeks  back at the end of June/ beginning July is seeing me through. A bit like a solar panel, but waaahhhy less expensive

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Sometimes it’s better when the sunshine is fleeting. I’m telling my self. You know, when they ground is full of puddles, and then through the thick grey clouds emerges a ray of sunshine and your heart leaps and then you get sprayed by a bus, but you don’t even care cuz of that one little ray of sunshine. yah.

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I think I might take up sauce production- chutneys and what not. Growing a tomato plant on the window has fruited one red beauty. Not quite enough for ketchup. Not even quite enough for a salad. But still.

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Other things I might get round to in between burying my face in the sofa and screaming why why why (once the reality of the greyness has hit me) and watching an episode of friends I have already seen 7 times out of the corner of my eye, are:

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chips and mayo, ala a certain mayo advert in a country cottage by a fire

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Get myself onto the whole Itunes/ mp3 world properly. You know record all the cds onto the computer, start buying digital stuff that doesn’t come with an actual albumn sleeve but a virtual one. I know that this is very very late, but it seems like a massive deal. Like hoovering, I have been putting it off.

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This week though, all the posts are about social enterprise related words. So far: ‘profit’ (yep that’s a bit of a biggie in the world of social enterprise- what is profit?!! Is it not just having more at the end than you did at the beginning… ? Or, does it have to mean MONEY), ‘work’ (yeah, what does work really meeeeeaaaan maaaahn. I could look like I’m not working on the outside, but really there’s a million processes and ideas buzzing around getting a sweat-on inside) and ‘intercourse’ (ooh er. Actually,  I think, when you go and view the vid, you’ll find the bloke (founder of the big issue John Bird) is referring to ways individuals or organisations communicate and that we’d all be a lot better off if we shared ideas).

Anyway, I was thinking about what I would put up there if I had the wherewithall (hmm.’wherewithall’ that’s a classic word, I love to slip that in to sentences- not quite sure I could chat about it for any great length of time though, but just love it when english bungs lots of words together like that and then they mean something else). I’m working remotely today due to an illness that I promise isn’t swine flu and not quite sure how to get things between my mobile and the computer. There are wires. There’s bluetooth. Not sure how any of it helps. So no video. Just words about words.

Contenders would have to be

‘Honesty’ (which is a great plant that dries into penny-shaped seed pods FL-Moonwort.gif as well as being very important to all relationships between people. Although maybe kindness comes before it sometimes. He he. Like when my mum first dyed her hair and I told her it was orange. Honesty-not good)

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‘Wicked’. Way too overused. Plagues my spoken word indefinitely. I’m always looking for a more professional substitute. Like ‘fantastic’ or ‘marvelous’. Any suggestions please send them in.

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The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants 2 download ‘Curmudgeon’. hehehe. I like this word. I like to use it: “He’s a right curmudegon” I might mutter. Probably wouldn’t ever say it in  a propper sentence. It’s a word that suits muttering.

Tell me what words you like and what they mean to you. And, if there’s any funniness with pronunciation or arguements over their meaning.

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Suddenly I saw my pants lifted high into the air. Then my thermal vest and some raggy woolly socks darted past. What the…??? My hilarious friends, entrusted with a bag of my winter clothing and other things of woolliness, decided to parade the contents of said bag in the air and run after the train waving and shouting at me. What a send off. My co-travelers, unsure of what to make of a young girl with such ‘comical’ friends with such a disregard for perfectly useful items of clothing, remained stony-faced. My face on the other hand was bright red with that fiercly fiery combination of rage and embarassment. Damn, what a send off.

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So anyway, good byes are emotional, sad and at times, extremely embarassing (see above).

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This one is sad, it’s a bit weepy and a bit hang-dog. I’m leaving you, dear Launderers. It’s been fab, sweet and mad and I shall miss chatting to you all. This is my last Laundry week so it’s goodbye from me.

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Dear Laundronauts, in general I am an insect fan.  I think they are quite well-made, and they come in a range of interesting colours and sizes, and they are very predictable.  Some always dive at lightbulbs, others can’t walk around objects properly, and some tidy up.  My top insect moment was watching a line of Monster Munch migrating towards an anthill.

My even-handedness towards them is based on a principle of mutual respect: if they don’t bite me, I don’t bug them.  If they do, well.

IT IS WAR.

Take, for example, the mosquitoes which ate my leg on Hampstead Heath last week.  They have eroded my sympathy towards their entire genus.  I don’t care if they only live for 7 days, and that it’s only the females that are murderous, and that they’re an essential part of natural ecology.  If I see one, it is toast. I have 38 radioactive bites, so 76 mosquitoes are going to get it.  I’m doubling up because it is difficult to ascertain the gender of a mosquito prior to setting it on fire.

I am incredibly attractive to mosquitoes.  At barbeques, my friend use me as a lure, and set one little table for me, away from the group, with a flyswat, some gin and candle.  When they want me to go home they lay a trail of antihistamines down the driveway.

I can’t think what it is that makes me so tasty. Perhaps it is the gin. Or perhaps (just perhaps), I’m on their hitlist, too.  After all, I’ve killed swarms of them.  My earliest holiday memory is of saving drowning insects from a paddling pool and then performing an uncomfortably (in retrospect) partisan sort of triage: pretty ones to the patio step, mosquitoes to the preying mantis.

Apparently, though, it doesn’t have to be as brutal as all that. There are ways, I’m told, of repelling pestiferous insects which do not involve wholesale slaughter. So here, especially for you, are some top tips for deterring common pests the friendly way. Most of them I found on barmy newsgroups.

Repelling: COCKROACHES

Web says:

“The best way to avoid cockroaches, tried and proven, is with bay leaves. I keep a bay leaf on each shelf in my kitchen and in each drawer I have never seen a cockroach.”

“Yes, if you strike the cockroach with the pandan leaves, they will definitely scamper away and may even get killed!”

Laura says:

WHAT.  You are both mad.  Bay leaves will not kill cockroaches. Pandan leaves will not kill cockroaches. Nuclear waste will not kill cockroaches. It takes a hammer to kill a cockroach. Or, as one poster suggested, a house gecko.

Repelling: BEES

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Web says:

“Dilute one part lavender oil to six parts baby oil and add some citronella, and rub it on your children.”

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“Shoot the nest with a supersoaker full of hot water and bleach and the bees will die.”

Laura says:

1)    Why not just smear your child in honey, instead?
2)    No they won’t.
3)    Ok, will try this.  You go first.

My favourite: “I personally have seen a kitten eat a bee.”

Me too! I will fill my house with kittens.

Repelling: FLEAS

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Web says:

“Fleas are nocturnal. I used to catch them by putting a light night near a pan of soapy water (it has to have soap, so the fleas sink). At night the fleas jump in the water and die.”

“Spray your dog with vinegar.”

Laura says:

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General conclusion seems to be boric acid powder.  Throw it everywhere, don’t breathe for a bit, and then vacuum up the corpses.

Repelling: ANTS

Web says:

“Here is something interesting: it is said if you take a shovelful of ants from one hill or nest and put it in another ant hill then take a shovelful from that hill and put it where you took the first one the ants will then wage war on one another and do themselves in.”

Laura says:

Now this was actually quite interesting, so I’m not going to snark at it. There seems to be a general theme of fighting nature with nature which I find pleasingly symmetrical and low in chemical load.

Furthermore, it’s well known (on the internet) that ants prefer to walk in straight lines along known routes, and that if you disrupt the route with a barrier, they would rather recalibrate their entire worldview than cross a line of soapflakes. Seriously, this seems to work.
All you need to do is live in your very own tetris nightmare of chalk lines, double-sided tape and Vaseline.

But my absolute absolute favourite is:

“Use a large sponge with big holes in it. Soak it in a strong solution of sugar water and place it where you want to catch the ants. They will be drawn to the sugar and get lost in the sponge and will overdose on sugar.”

Revenge is sweet.

***

Hey! Quick quick, if you want to recycleCOMPUTER STUFF….:

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Deadline for return of forms is: 17th July (so get a wriggle on)

Collections 3rd and 4th August

The Laundry is working with ECO Computer Systems to offer a computer recycling collection for businesses in central London.

It’s a fantastic opportunity to get rid of any old or broken IT stuff you may have in the office, help the environment, and potentially save your company money in bulky or hazardous waste disposal. ECO Computers will mend it, recondition it and sell it or give it away to their trainees. If it’s not worth repairing, the machine gets stripped down and all the separate parts get recycled where possible. ECO Computer Systems also ensure that all drives containing data are wiped clean so that there is no chance of the new owner accessing it.

Regular Laundry customers will be invoiced in the usual way. If you do not have an account with The Laundry, you must pay in advance for your collection. When we have received your form we will invoice you. You can either pay by card by calling 020 8404 6330 or send a cheque payable to The Laundry Recycling Ltd.

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Dead pens

Exhibit A shows two of the victims, each less than six months old and made of recycled materials.  In both cases, the pens appear to have been tortured.  Preliminary investigations point to Laundrette Harriet as a possible suspect, though copycat activity has not been ruled out.  What is clear, is that someone has a bad habit.

How naughty is that?  It got me thinking about habits, and whether it’s worth the effort of changing your ways. I didn’t have to look far for more evidence.

…

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Say hello to my desk.  I should clarify that: say hello to my desk at 12:30pm.  If you used time-lapse photography on it you’d see the ebb and flow of cups, plates and toast crumbs, peaking just before the lunchtime clear-up, and then swelling to a 5pm logjam of biscuits, teabags and 4 kinds of mug.

I appreciate the seriousness of the situation, I do.  My first ever boss had a horror of breakfast bits and insisted on total desk hygiene.  For a couple of weeks I kept it up, but I got monumentally busted when she knelt to check out a spot on the carpet and discovered the stash of milksops, puddled mugs and crusts I’d been hiding behind my PC tower. So after that I kept them in a drawer.

While I was in the kitchen today, finding a new, fresh mug for my desk, I saw this.

Really Could Not Wait

I can understand the chain of thought that leads to this. Especially if it’s your packed lunch in there, and everyone else has already started on the salad. It reminds you of being six.

Is it ready yet?
No.
Is it ready yet?
No.
Is it ready yet?
No.
Is it r-
Ah who cares.

I think food-related impatience is an acceptable bad habit, but only if you reset the microwave.  You can do it with your fork in your mouth if you want, but otherwise it’ll beep twice and blink for hours.  Blink. Blink. Blink. Meeeeeep. Seriously, just press STOP.

A quick survey of the office revealed that nobody has any bad habits at all.  This is a lie. The very point of a bad habit is that you think it is ok, or you wouldn’t keep doing it. It is just a great quirk that makes you the scamp that you are. This is how I feel when I take out a marker pen in a café and correct the punctuation in the menu.  I pretend that I am a superhero, and my power is pedantry, and my secret weapon is the apostrophe.

The fact is that we continue with our bad habits because it is more fun to do them than to stop.  It is FUN to bite your nails. It is FUN to chew up a biro. It is FUN to pull a googly face at a baby so that its parents wonder what it is laughing at. Just, you know, keep it in check.

Don’t, for example, do this:

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This was the handiwork of my ex-flatmate, who got into the habit of staying up really really late, getting 100% bored, and then making sculptures out of food.

But after the initial shock, I started to look forward to these occasional breakfast table set pieces – I actually found them kind of charming.  His bad habit became a source of amusement to me, and I returned the favour every day, by hiding all six of our mugs.

So go on, what are your naughty habits?

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The more concrete my reasons, (tonnage of landfill, %age of carbon emissions, smelliness of indoor bin) the more mysterious his counter-arguments became:

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“The foxes will play in it.” (Um. I’ll put a brick on it.)
“Who will take it when you leave?”

Now that’s a killer. Am I really that committed to compost that I’m prepared to take my mulchy carrot tops and wide-eyed potato sprouts with me from home to home? Can I be a travelling wormer?

For a couple of weeks I started fly-tipping my bits in a neighbour’s bin, just a little each day, never enough to fill it.  But then it got to beetroot season, and there ain’t much you can do to disguise crimson chippings, and the upshot of the matter is that they drilled a small hole in the bin and locked it. Some people are quite territorial.

Despite my landlord’s misgivings, I tried digging a food grave in the garden and burying my vegetable mess, furtively, like a cat. But one can only hide one’s peelings for so long.  The squash seeds sprouted, and the tomatoes grew legs and it all came back to haunt me in a tangled patch of vegetation which I then had to mow, as per sub-clause 6 of my tenancy contract.

Next I posted my quandary on Freecycle, but the only serious respondent wanted direct delivery to Mitcham, and a guaranteed minimum quantity, and I’m not sure I can produce 3kg of mouldering scraps on demand. I also had a message from Noel, who asked me if I would consider meeting him in a neutral location to discuss the possibility of pelting him. No deal, Noel.

It really does distress me to chuck veg into the big black bin of doom, especially, for some reason, the aubergine bonnets (the green bits, you know, that make them look like purple babies in hats, if you squint), but what else can I do?

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1)    Eat them.
2)    Post them to my landlord.
3)    Quill them into patterns and paste them to a greetings card. Post it to my landlord.
4)    Brew them into wine (grape skins = grappa; turnip skins = ?)
5)    Install a pig in the garden, instead.

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The Laundry is now on Twitter! Find out what our drivers see as they swoop in for your bags, what’s happening at Laundry HQ, and what the Laundrettes had for dinner.  Ace.
Follow us here: http://www.twitter.com/The_Laundry

Anyway, when Rachel drew a picture of the Laundrettes last week I was inspired to get people in the office using all their hemispheres. Pablo Picasso famously said that “Art washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life”. We encourage you to get dusting! We here at The Laundry really care about you our customers and want you to be as well as you can be. Four people in our office have taken part and the results are rather good. And by that I mean you can see their souls shining bright thanks to the good dusting a bit of scribbling with crayons can  do. The pics are attached here – I hope you can see them as some are in pencil. You get the idea though. Spot the Launderettes!

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Light from the moon takes about a second and a half to reach Earth.
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Let’s have yours! Thinking caps on!

Then in the election that gave us Boris, I was all set to go with my polling station googled and my name down on the list. No more cringing at the man with a zip for a mouth adverts. But alas the Laundry truck was in a spot of bother and I was out helping collect the bags and there was nothing to be done- I missed the opening hours.

But this time I am ready! Nothing is going to get in my way of the experience. Hmm. I wonder- what will it be like in that booth?!! Hot and boxy with tension in the air you could cut a knife with?! Will I be surprised by a sudden verge to political extremes… Yeah. Probably not.

download Dragonfly movie Anyway.. in the words of Sarah Jessica Parker.. “I couldn’t help but wonder..” what other things have I missed out on in life so far?

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I’ve never eaten a steak. I’m a veggie so that’s not that impressive actually.

I’ve never been on the London Eye even though I’ve been saying I’m gonna for about a gazillion years.

I’ve never been to Paris. Oh well, I’ve been under it on the tube. Or Metro or whatever it’s called. But that does not count.No Eiffel Tower was spotted.

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Recently someone told me that they’d never tried marzipan. That’s pretty shocking. Marzipan has a new found love in my life- less of the coloured fruit and the underwear of the christmas cake- more chocolate coated.

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To summarise- the main points are:

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There’s some other stuff I never did as well.

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You could be forgiven for thinking we pulled our April Fool’s punch early this year, telling you all your collections times had changed twice in 1 day on Monday. But no there’s mow. prednisone tapering

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Which one of the scenarios below is the real explanation behind April Fool’s Day?

1) In 1579 King John II’s Court Jester was ill for a very long time, but unusually for those days made a full recovery on April 1st. The King, delighted at the return of his confident and enterrtainer, proclainmed April 1st as the Fools day to celebrate his recovery.

2) Fool is another word for Fouelle, the gallic term for Joy. In another classic case of the English changing the original term for something more pronounceable changed it to the Fool’s Day. Literally translated as the Day of Joy. This is a spring time festival scheduled to coincide with the 10th Day after the spring equinox. The true date of the original festival is unclear, but Historians have rotated Norman text referring to this day of Joy, or Laughter as early as 1406. This celebration of Joy, or Laughter, provoked people to tell jokes and play pranks resulting in the festival we know today. paxil anticholinergic

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3) The Fool in April Fool’s Day, refers to someone who was not adhering to the generally accepted change from the Julian to Gregorian Calendar (the one we know today). They would celebrate the 1st day of summer a month too early because of the change to ordering of the year and thus they were a Fool.

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4) April Fool’s Day is hard to pin down. We don’t know exactly it’s origins. It becomes a subject in lots of texts around the 18th Century, but before that references are scantily touched upon and theories hang like uneven bridges between them. The main gist that Anthropologiest can find between all the historical references is that the day is similar to festivals in many cultures that they refer to as a ‘Renewal Festival’. A celebration  between the end of Winter and the start of Summer which breaks down barriers. Servants might become masters (like Jesters in courts becoming the Lords) and disguises are oftern worn.

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Which one is correct?

Shoulder Arms movie download In that case, you can’t know much about the loopy life of your recycling. And in that case, as well, I’ve got a little Laundry story for you. So, if you’re sitting comfortably, then I’ll begin.

The Laundry started life all those years ago back in 2003 when it was cool to wear your jeans with turn-ups ALL the time (but you had to get the turn up width juuuust right, or it wasn’t cool at all).

We started collecting bags from a few faithful Soho businesses who wanted to save money and recycle and were a bit outraged that the local council wasn’t doing anything about it. Did you know that we were the first ever kerbside recycling scheme in the whole of London Town? Sticking up for the SMEs (that’s you guys) – small but perfectly formed offices with not much storage space and no great desire to pay and arm and a leg for doing your bit.

(See what we’re doing here? Yep shamelessly jumping on the heritage bandwagon of ads on the telly of late- no matter that we didn’t start out with a market barrow back in 1904…)

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Anyway, after a couple of years and some great start up funding things were starting to look up for the Laundry and our lovely customers. We added cardboard stickers to the portfolio of recycling products and people wowed at their subversive slogans. Oh yeah. Wowed you were. Rachel (ex-Laundrette) hates this one, so we pulled it out of production. She thought it was a bit too 2003 :

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Then you lot started going on about other things you’d like to recycle, and in a matter of minutes the then Laundry business brain Jess Hodge had launched a bright orange recycling bag and bin for your old drinks cans. Nowadays you can also put your tins (for all you baked bean queens) and your plastic bottles in the orange bag.

These are the lovely ladies we used to promote can recycling. See, you can can recycle too. Geddit.

Right from the beginning we were all about being very green in everything we do instead of being green so we could say we were. In fact we didn’t go on about greenness at all in the beginning because the whole ethos of The Laundry was about making recycling cheaper, easier and more fun than anyone else.

Since then green has been on the up in peoples’ minds. So I can just go right out and say it. Green Green Green Green Green. There we go.  And so we figure we can let you know a little thing or two about the greenness that’s bubbling under the surface without making you cringe or ruining our blue is best street cred.

The Laundry recycles everything we pick up from you!!!

That’s right 100% paper, cans, plastic bottles, tins and cardboard gets sorted and packed and squashed and sold to buyers in the UK who use it to make wonderful new things like office paper (wow that’s original, see what they did there? They made office paper out of office paper. You’re probably thinking I could do that. Look. See? Tada). But actually it’s the best bit of The Laundry because we take your dirty, all written-over paper and then our friends make it back into proper bright-white ready-to-use-again-paper (called EVOLVE, which you can buy in the shops) and by buying back this paper and using the Laundry instead of chucking it and buying stuff that’s made from trees and transported half way round the world it’s a massive saving on your eco footprint).

The way we make sure we recycle everything is all down to the crafty 2 bag system. 1 blue one for your paper and one orange one for your ex-food and drinks containers. If you mix things up in the same bag that 100% comes down and down, with more of what you think is getting recycled ending up landfill. Rubbish. Isn’t it. So we just don’t do it.

Here’s some evidence to back up our story. Ex-Laundrette, That Rachel, on the prowl at the recycling yard with a camera, sent us these pics. It’s a bit like Blue Peter when they’d do something educational with a feature on a factory. But this is your stuff so you can feel even more proud.

This is what it looks like when the bags get emptied off the truck:

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And this is paper getting processed through the picking line (they need to take the lower grade stuff out and keep the white stuff in).

This is your bags getting stashed for recycling back into bags again.

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This is your cardboard coming out of the baling machine

What a lot of tea you guys drink. Or are people skipping breakie at home and having a bowl of cereal when they come into the office. I think they might be.

Here is a pic of the paper all baled up. Look how nice and bright it is- this stuff is going to get made back into EVOLVE office paper so if you use this in your office say hooray. Hooray!

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That’s all folks. You can put your head down on your desk now and have a little sleep. Night night.

My walk to the train station in the morning has to be one of the nicest of any early morning toddles I’ve ever done (definitely beats the chicken feet on the floor, pungeant smells, and general assault course of people and trolleys of fruit that a certain east London Market used to give me every day… oh and even as I say it now I’m getting remeniscent and starry eyed!!)

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Only thing is, I’ve been having this wrangle with the lollipop lady that crosses kids down my hill…for a good few months now. She’s there, every day without fail. Obliging the local kids as they dash across the zebra crossing with a  reckless abandon, one toe on one of those bloomin retro-skooters, some parents with a learned nonchalance about the way their kid crosses the road, others screaming: ‘Philimeenah!’ ‘Albert!’ ‘Do Slow Down!!’ Anyway… back to the lollipop lady.

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Anyway. Since spring has sprung I have had a new found confindence when it comes to Lady Lollipop.

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One sunny morning just a week or so ago I said, ‘Good Morning!!!’. Those magic words, they’ve opened up the floodgates of recognition. Every day I get a little nod of the head, or a ‘Mornin’. Wooo hoooo! Life is good and great again. It’s made me think I might say Hello to more people I don’t know, what do you think? People will think I’m a loon? Or love the breaking down on the barriers of the London bubble? Ha.

I thank Spring for all of this, and have been hearing a few spring ditties recently. Please send in any more that you know.

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I lost my phone last week. It’s like a bi-yearly ritual I perform in order to provoke feelings of self-loathing and to crunch down the number of people I’ll ever be able to contact again. Which I probably never would have, but still, thought that I might someday.

The frequency of my phone-loosing is pretty shameful. If I had one meshed to my hand indelibly maybe I’d have a chance.

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I also lost my old car. It was a vw polo with a fading red roof and bonnet. I left it somewhere for a couple of weeks and then turned up to meet the car recycling man (as it was broken beyond repair and had no tax or mot), and it was gone. Nowhere to be seen. Vamoosed.

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You might by now be agreeing that I am indeed a big looser.

Anyway, what made me feel better is thinking that someone might have found the phone (or the car) and put it to good use. No, I don’t mean rinsing it out making calls to Quebec or anything like that. Rather, an art project maybe, or a toy for a toddler who loves phones.

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Once, I found a cushion made of seatbelts outside a house in my area of South London with my friend Jess. We took it home and presented it to our other housemates as a prize of glory. Then some flies flew out of it and it was relegated to the garden.

More successfully I remember some serious golden ammonite findings on a holiday once (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ammonite) and I thought I’d struck it rich, but actually there is a whole beach of them. Which, incidentally, you’re probably not supposed to rob from nowadays. Anyway, I don’t think it can be worth going and unsticking the fossil from its celotaped place in a scrapbook in my dad’s attic to repatriate back to it’s rightful place!

Share with me please. I’m all on my own this week as Steph is on her holls in Israel (oo ee) and I may go mad with the lack of conversation. So, if you do phone up sorry if I go on a tad.

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Anyway, through all this waiting and queuing (and hoping to be given the chance to progress up to the alpha queue section, just 10s of people away from the door) we realised that as queues go, this had to be one of the better ones in life. It was warm, there was a certain luxury convenience supermarket upstairs selling their infamous ‘cocktails in a can’. We could even nip to the loo if neccessary. Now, as my birthday girl decided to give up waiting for her friends to get entry and come out and take us to a nearby bar I am still not in a position to review the club- BUT I can reveiew the queue, and I’d say pretty bloody good. Not very fast moving, but why would you want to move when you’ve got all that luxury on hand.

Other queues rated:

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Queuing at Victoria station of a morning. Bad. Bad. Bad. There’s nothing that could remedy this one. Wel… maybe if they gave out free ice creams or something- Borris! now theres’ an idea for redeeming yourself…

Well that’s all I’ve got time for. What about you guys, any queues you’d like to review? Send them in!

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It’s one of those weeks where we say goodbye and hello to some great people in The Laundry team. Your usual driver, Jimmy has left The Laundry fold for pastures springier and juicier by making his own way in the world setting up his own business. He’s still going to be driving about doing a bit of this and a bit of that so you might still catch his cheeky face flying by your office on Laundry days. We’ll bet, Jimmy, that you’ll not be able to stay away from those blue bags…we wish you lots of luck with your new adventures!

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So, not to leave The Laundry team short of that third pair of capable hands, (JJ and Sunday, what would we do without you!) we welcome Steve to the rounds. The Laundry family is so tightly knit, oh man oh man, it’s like an winding tale of genetic mystery and intrigue. Ok not quite. But Steve is Bob’s brother. For you newbies, Bob was the original Laundry driver all those (6) years ago and was famous for his yup yup yups. So Steve, good luck, it’s a zany blue and orange tinged world out there on Laundry days but I’m sure all our lovely custards will keep you smilin’.

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Wednesday by default. I had a thing for the holographic owl sticker. There was nothing I would swap for it.

I loved the fact it was so shiny and so darn wise looking. Actually it was the shininess that really did it. And the fact it wasn’t just a row of boys in the same shirt with muddy knees. Not for me the whims of Tottenham Hotspur supporters, the feuds of Liverpool and Man-U fans. It was all about the shiny owl. How odd that Panini has come to mean Mediterranean veg and melted cheese sarnies rather than the makers of packets of stickers with weird tasting, strangely tough-to-chew gum inside. Ah, globalisation…

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I have a competition for you jolly old souls.

How many plastic bottles, cans and tins are in The Laundry’s orange recycling bin today?

It’s like that how many sweets in the jar classic.

Closest guess wins a free orange recycling bag, part of my Christmas party costume, some instant hot chocolate and an alien transfer sticker (to make you look especially cool, whilst sleeveless on these sunny April days).

You might suspect that these winnings are merely items found on my desk. You might be right.

Treasures from time, collected and washed up here, like flotsam and jetsam on some far away exotic pirate beach. Ha. Desks, like hand writing are quite telling of a person’s personality. I think if one of my friends were to come to the office now and scour the place from table to table they’d be able to sniff my desk out from the rest.

I really admire the minimal approach. Everything tucked away in draws and pen pots, but I’ve never been able to manage it.

Every now and then there’s a little fracas as someone from the top of the organisation complains about the level of paper piles in in trays (what? We don’t ever want to throw things away, we are environmentalists!) Or coffee cups that are having a bit too much of a good time with their mates, have overstayed their welcome and need to pass on to the other world and be made clean again. They might not have said it quite like that.

Anyway, it’s always interesting when Steph and I are on our visiting days, to try and speak with more small businesses and see if they’d also like to recycle with us (just like you lot). We see the vast array of London’s offices and these offices’ desks and it’s always so great to see the space behind the name (plus it’s kind of crazy how many of London’s buildings we’ve now been inside).

You’ve got your trendy-Wendy offices with Macs and pretty flowers and beanbags dotted about, your super-slick-Ricks who have a concierge on the door and polished floors, your Up-and-At-it-in-the-Attic types, crammed into a small but very beautiful space with views of roofs and sky and fire-escapes all clattered together to name just a few of the veritable selection.

So- I have 2 things to ask you lovely laundry types this week:
1)    How many bottles, cans and tins in our orange bag (remember it’s a competition for my desky-treasures)?
2)    What type of office are you? Have I missed you out? Can you name yourselves better?

Let us know…!

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Wow wow wow! Have I been having fun or wot? Seriously, this super cool thingamy wotsit that was emailed to me by Rachel of Laundry fame’s fella, Tom (so oft drawn upon for inspiration: Thank You Tom!) enables even the most camera shy of you Laundry lovelies to make a movie.

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It would be AMAZING to see your attempts! Go on, give it a whirl!

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Anyway, besides the strangeness that was Gareth Gates in woven technicolor splendour the thing that really got me going was that Saturday must have been the first day all year that has felt totally like summer. You know, actually no need for a coat, or a jumper even, when sitting for a while on the grass. And we went to a matinee.

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The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou download It made me think of other things that are not the best idea to do when the weather is warm and balmy:

Exams in stuffy classrooms

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The tube

the busses

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Planes that have problems before taking off, with their air conditioning (serves me right for getting on one in the 1st place)

Work in a kitchen washing up

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Hmm, yeah they keep on coming.

But you know what? I would happilly suffer all these, just for one, long, hot summer!!

Tell me of any places you’ve been, whilst wishing you were outside smelling the cut grass and kicking back in the sunshine.

I was at the docs the other day, looking through the glossies stuffed with health and I got to a page with one of those cool-o-meters of what’s hot and what’s not. It wasn’t the latest issue, this mag, so apparently there’s no recession, climate change hasn’t been acknowledged yet and me oh my, pop tarts are all the rage. No, seriously, it wasn’t that old (wow, the pop tart. What a crazy little package of molten jam-lava), but it did make me consider, once again, that getting dressed in the dark will provide results that can be equally in and out of fashion depending on which month’s fashion season forecast you’re attentive to. Once the clocks go back I shall have to dig out another excuse for my slap-dash attitude to attire. Oh, that’s right; I don’t need one. Phew!

Jeepers Creepers divx Right, back to the thing-o-meter. I have decided to be more positive in general and it seems to be working. It’s really just a state of mind thing. To help this, I have taken the template of the cool-o-meter, but instead of things being hot or not, my categories are stick or twist, based on things that might usually make me grumpy. So, for example, I’m cross because I’ve waited ages at the bus stop then it comes and it’s too full to get a seat. Shall I stick with this state of mind? No! Instead I’ll twist and make up silly stories about the other people in the queue and do some core muscle exercises whilst standing on the bus. Now I’m righteous and I have the giggles. Now, that’s more like it! cipro

Another tactic to happiness longevity (according to me) is to focus on things you like. Obviously to reach that conclusion you have to be extremely clever, so lucky for you I’m here to give you this advice gratis.

Things that never fail for me:

1. Daffodils’ trumpety little faces

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2. A wheat-free option

3. People hugging

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5. The smell of mushrooms

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When trying to eat healthily, there’s nothing that makes me feel more pleased than a fresh full fruit bowl. Shiny, like a school-art project, no mold in sight.. I swear the vibes those full fruit bowls give off are healthy in themselves.

But I should definitely re-think. An empty fruit bowl would in my case be a better sign of health than a full one.

It would mean that I had eaten it all. Although, I guess it could also mean that I never bought any in the first place.

Most likely interpretation for a full but not so fresh fruit bowl: I ferried a banana to work every day, forgot about it, found it again, when I got home, all battered and bruised, and then placed it back into the fruit bowl thinking it might be more appealing another day (I’m lying to myself when I have these thoughts, regardless of memories of my mum lamenting brown bananas, they never taste the same). And if I was feeling really unlucky I probably mushed it in between a hardback book and a Metro. Nice.

Blind Date hd Anyway, all is fine in the world of untapping brown bananas potential as I have a super dupa banana cake recipe. And what’s better is that it tastes even better when you make it with browning bananas and lashings of vanilla. Not so healthy, but mmm so tasty.

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What I’m struggling with is the oranges. They’re so messy and so tangy that they’re a bit too much around breakfast time, so they often langour all lonely in the fruitbowl. And what would a fruit bowl be without oranges?

I am calling out to you knowledgable Laundry lot. What can I do with my oranges? I know they don’t ryhme with anything. But perhaps they go togther like ramamlamamlama kadiggigdy dingigdong with something and I just don’t know it yet.

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40z (old schoooool) flour (or can swap 1 0z for 1 0z dessicated coconut)

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4 0z golden caster sugar

3 ripe bananas

2 caps vanilla essence

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Preheat oven to 180 degrees

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1) Mash up the bananas

2) Cream together marg and sugar and mashed bananas

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4) Add the vanilla essence and and syrupy option and mix it all together thoroughly.

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5) Put mixture into greased tin and then place in the oven for about 30 mins (or until golden brown on top).