UGWW (United Gardens of Wet Washing)

The first mention of washing was this morning. I was slumped in bed, half asleep, eyes tight against the dim (but still cruel) daylight (if you can call the light a cloudy British morning emits "day") Mum had let into my room by viciously yanking my blinds up further than I knew they were capable of.

"We're all going out today, so you can do some revision." (Shameless hint. I don't even think it deserves the name "hint")
"Riiight."
"The dog needs walking."
"Okay."
"And keep an eye on the weather, the washing's out."
"You got it."

Two hours later, I was still in bed, Dad and Andrew rattling around downstairs. The phone bleeped, (it not being like any other phone; ringing is nowhere near annoying enough to motivate us to pick it up). Bleep. Bleeeep. BLEEEEEP!!
Someone pick up the -very bad language- phone!! I begged mentally, squashing myself further into the pillows and duvet. It was only when Dad began to climb the stairs my eyes snapped open for the first time that morning.
Bugger. It was for me. And I'm not even going to give you three guesses as to who was on the other end.

"Are you up yet?"
"No, Mum."
"Up. NOW. Walk the dog, do some work and keep an eye on the-"
"Weather, I know. The washings out."

Hanging up, I thought it was probably advisable I did roll out of bed now, for if I followed the lazy thoughts back down to the pillow, the chances are I wouldn't get up till three in the afternoon.
Upon getting downstairs and dragging a brush that has given up crying for mercy through my bird's nest of hair, I met Dad.

"When are you going out?"
"Any minute," which in Dad-speak means sometime in the next two hours. "You need to do some revision."
"I know."
"And keep an eye-"
"I KNOW!!"

It seemed everyone in my family had written me off as a hopeless case, in the way of Washing Collecting, anyway. I junked out in front of the PC for ten minutes, working myself up for the day ahead of Biology, Chemistry and Physics (maybe some English coursework if I was lucky).
Paddy the dog was sitting watching me with his huge accusing stare. That dog is the definition of reproachful** when he's in a mood.

"Okay, okay. I'm eating, getting dressed, then we'll go out."
"..."
"Don't use that tone with me."

It was obvious he didn't believe me.
Sighing, I downed 2 crumpets and hurtled upstairs to get away from my basset's eyes. After pulling on a shirt I certainly wouldn't dream of wearing to church and a pair of black jeans, I began to gallomp (my blog, my word) down the stairs.
Half way down the stairs is a window, leading out to the back garden. Our amazingly odd pond, made out of railway sleepers and currently green from lack of cleaning (we have tadpoles) was moving.
I blinked. No...
Ripples.
Rain drops.

I can't remember if I screamed out loud, maybe it was just in my head. And I want some credit here. I did not dash down the stairs in slow motion yelling: "NNNNOOOOOOOOO!!"
Instead it went something rather more like this:

"FuckshitbollocksshitfuckinghellcrapshitbollocksBALLS!"

If I had stopped to look at Paddy's face, it was probably either astounded at my moving so quickly so early in the morning or totally impassive as he hears that kind of thing every day.

Hopping round on one foot and trying to pull on a Converse boot that has seen many better days but no worse ones, I crashed into the kitchen sink which brought on the cursing again. I did look at Paddy then, and his expression could be summed up something like... "0_0" with his amazingly expressive tan eyebrows high over his head.

Scrambling out of the back door, I didn't bother looking for the washing box I knew I'd never find. Instead I grabbed about five garments and pulled, cursing yet again as the rain somehow got into my eyes and pegs flew everywhere.

All around me I could hear the other residents of neighbouring houses acting the same way, though a couple stopped to laugh as I dashed across my back garden for about the eighth time and was only half done (my back garden's dominantly stones; my steps were much louder than everyone else’s). It wasn't until I was safely back inside (Paddy lying on the sopping grass, looking hilariously sober in the downpour) that I realised that was probably the closest our lot have ever been to a sense of community spirit.
How very incredibly British.



**1: an expression of rebuke or disapproval
2: the act or action of reproaching or disapproving
3 a: a cause or occasion of blame, discredit, or disgrace b: discredit, disgrace 4 obsolete : one subjected to censure or scorn