The art of washing

Look at this. Isn't it beautiful? that's the art of hanging out the washing, that is. The art of placing damp clothing, expertly flicked and shaken to remove creases to dispense with tedious ironing, onto hangers. The art of placing clothes pegs where their little bite-marks won't show. The art of re-shaping bras for a smooth breast line in the sun, a bit sexual. The art of placing much loved clothes straight into the wardrobe once dry and warm and slightly crisp is satisfyingly stress-free. Chore-like effort is reduced by choosing to take pleasure and by giving a little thought. Clothing thus treated glows when worn. One of the many things my mother taught me is how to do the washing and I am most grateful every time I step out of the house in my lovely clothes. I do so love clothes. And I DO hate ironing.....!

Triple duvet delight tempered by utter launderette absence.

In my miniscule shoebox with sink and bed I now have 3 duvets. Stars on the ceiling. A functioning shower. A feeling that all the Spare Stuff is about to be taken away (thankyou Freecycle). The only problem is: no washing machine. The "nearest" launderette is nowhere near. It is about 3 miles by bus, and in no way convenient. All three of the ones which my landlady remembered have closed/become dry cleaners.
And "Independence" to me, does NOT mean taking my sodding laundry to a selection of friends, or, my parents to do. And handwashing is just not on. I'm left with four options:

1. Trek to launderette (think positive: there might be Good Shops too)
2. Use launderette near work (Is there one?)
3. Continue to use friends and family's machines at risk of total embarrassment for nuisance/freeloading (no pun intended)
4. Buy new clothes each week from Primark and give them to charity/sell on ebay ("worn once only")