It’s Sunday and I am pottering around the garden doing bits and pieces here and there. The birds are out and there’s lovely atmosphere in the air. I love this time of year, it’s a chance for me to get out in the garden and more importantly, hang the washing on the line.
There’s something special about air drying your clothes outside, it’s ritualistic but at the same time the smell of your clothes afterwards is fantastic. I’m not a fan of drying clothes indoors and I can remember seeking advice from my Mum about it years ago, mainly, how will I know if there’s a good dry out. I can remember her answer, she said that if the doorstep is dry, it’s a dry out. Now I don’t have her doorstep close by and I don’t really want to ring her up each time but I guess her answer was “you’ll just know”.
It’s lush getting the knack and becoming in tune with nature. It has been the most rewarding thing ever. I remember as a kid not wanting to go outside much because I wanted to watch TV or whatever and my Dad trying to get us to go outside. I get it completely now. It’s funny because I’m now the age he was when he was trying to coax us all out. Funny ow things happen. It’s always funny when I notice something else that I do that my Dad does. I like to tell him too because I have essentially become a mini-me to him (even though I’m taller than him).
