Domestic Bliss

My friend, Pete, and I use the term loosely, has expressed his doubt in my ability to not sound “like a complete wanker” (as I feared in the post below) and actually write altogether.

Perhaps the very nature of having a blog, a web site and a short-run of sansharma.com t-shirts, is, in itself, rather wankerish, but before I move on from that awful word, its variations (wankerisms, if you will), and the subject altogether, I’d like to assure you that my delay in writing is due to nothing more sinister than the my recent indulgence in domestic bliss.

What’s this? Has our lanky hero finally settled down and made an honest man of…himself? Not quite. I mean ‘domestic’ as in appliances. Though my reckless spending is usually reserved for the type of gizmo and gadgetry of a teenage boy’s dry dreams, I recently made the snowy trek from the black to the white goods section at the local electrical superstore and came home with an object of desire that is ultimately a treat for the nose, rather than the eyes or the ears.

Before you think that I’m this excited about a plug-in air freshener (though some are indeed very exciting) let me say that I bought a new washer and dryer and am smelling so fresh and so clean.

Is it weird to be this excited about laundry? Maybe it is. But bear in mind that, since November, I have fortnightly carried my soiled clothing through the streets of Shrewsbury to a colleague’s washing machine and back, damp and steaming, through a similarly hot and sweaty crowd of pubbers and clubbers.

Now, as I write, the machine spins just behind me, its 1200rpm vibrating my chair in a way that is not entirely unpleasant. Things are, in fact, getting quite hot and steamy. This is the worst kind of domestic bliss.