Our washing machine is broken. Another example of the domestication and adult-ification of my life. Not that there’s anything particularly mental about having a washing machine. It’s just, having a repair man in the flat reminds me that I’m no longer a kid. I mean, I know this, but it’s easy to fool yourself sometimes. But I work, pay taxes, buy pictures in frames instead of posters, watch Sopranos DVD box sets: all adult things. Sometimes things come along and remind you that life is going on, you’re not getting younger; like boink! vet bill, blamm! 25th anniversary editions of an album I bought on vinyl. I’m not wallowing, just noticing.
And it’s a reminder that I kinda miss going to the launderette. I don’t miss the schlep down there with heavy bags on a rainy winter’s evening, but I do miss doing something boring. Boring chores often give me time to think. Many a Flip Flop Flyin’ story began as a crumb of an idea as I sat and watched my socks spin ’round.
One thing that’s still the same, though, is this late night working stuff. I’m sat in front of my computer some nights til three or four in the morning; just as ten years ago, I’d have been sat at a desk with pens, pencils, Dymo and Scotch tape, beavering away on another notebook of pre-FFF crap. Maybe one day, I’ll scan some of that stuff and show you.