Air and Disgraces


When I lived in a smart garden maisonette just off Bath’s Royal Crescent,  and later in another Georgian town house with only a front garden,  hanging washing to dry in the garden was an unwritten “no-no”. How the neighbours would have scowled and tutted.

Now, at the cottage, it seems to me that laundry blustering about in the wind over the beds is as natural and fitting as clouds in the sky.

Laundry day Blues

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