The Parable Of The Atlantic Laundrette...

The fact that when I first walked into the laundrette I was in the full throes of flu did not bode well on what would be a very traumatic experience.

Most days I would have skipped this torture, but I had no washing machine, and my pants had gotten to the stage that even I could not tolerate. To go up to my mums with a bag of dirty keks on my only day off is too much of a hassle.

I tried not to panic - they did service washes - not a problem, I'll just give a complete stranger my dirty pants et al and he/she would make the dirty deeds less dirty.

But there were no attendants on duty on a Sunday and as I walked into the laundrette I stepped into a time warp. Untouched by modernisation. The nineties had passed it by (and the seventies and eighties for that matter).

The attendant was notable from his blue coated absence. A sign excluding the management for any responsibility for seemingly anything was a large piece of flimsy wood held up with raggedy string.

Cast iron, chipped paint machines whirred away, reaching beyond an infinite number of odd socks washed in their lives.

Two other unlucky individuals were unsoiling their garments, wasting their day of rest to come to The Atlantic Laundrette, where clothes come to die.

One was nonchalantly reading a book whilst the other was transferring clothes from washer to drier.

But no attendant.

My ill feeling head coupled with a weeks worth of work tiredness made me scared. I asked woman with book if she'd seen the elusive attendant. (No).

I fled, I went home to recuperate my head in a dull state of panic and foreboding, Even I knew that I couldn't hide away forever and it was about an hour later when I sheepishly reappeared at the door. There were three new people. It was now or never.

I'd been to the local newsagents with my fiver to get some change. I'd guessed that 20p's would be most beneficial.

I bought a pack of fruit pastilles asking for my twenties.

"Sorry, we're low on change." She said as the till drawer opened revealing a black compartment bristling with the shiny seven sided demons. She gave me one of them, flicking me a nicotine stained smile accessorised with chunky gold earrings. Have a nice day.

As I walked back, I just hoped that the rest of the change in my pocket would suffice. They sold washing powder in small wash size boxes at 70p each. I chose between Ariel and Bold. I chose the former merely because Bold has stuck with the same awful ad campaign for nearly 300 years now.

All of the machines were severely lacking in instructions as I emptied my dark clothes into one washer and poured the detergent down the central tube of this top-loading beast. I set the dial to 'colours' and shut the lid.

Nearly there.

I managed to decipher the old faded sign stuck to the machine: £1.40 = £1 coin + 20p + 20p. Simple enough, I emptied my change; four-pound coins, a 50p, a 10p and some coppers.

I went up to a man obviously sent by his wife; he had a concise list of instructions and several of the markets leading brands to assist him in his washing tasks. I asked him if he had a couple of twenty pence pieces he could spare. It seemed that his wife had sent him prepared, as his pocket was full of them. I took two and gave him my 50p without requesting change.

My three coins went in amongst the four slots (four?) and I pushed, only the gizmo gadget coin taker thing refused to yield.

Feeling (and looking) like an utter t**t I asked the advice of the woman one machine away from me. She managed to take the coins out and put them in a different order.

"You need one more though, love."

No I don't - silly woman.

I pushed and this time the coins disappeared. I had completed this phase of the mission. I sat down and started to read my battered copy of Fever Pitch.

After a page or so I looked up and to my dismay saw that the red 'in use' light wasn't on. Everybody else's was. I got up and cautiously opened the lid. Just as I'd left it - not a trace of water. Oh dear.

As I panicked I saw someone else start a machine up, the drawer came out as it was released, mine was well and truly stuck inside.

I tried to work out what to do next. I was drawing blank. As I stared round in desperation I saw a hand-written poster I had not seen before. "Machines now take £1.60 = £1 coin + 20p + 20p + 20p") Oh dear indeed.

There was no budging the drawer. I'd broken it. My first time in the laundrette and I'd broken a very expensive machine. A sign proclaiming numbers to ring in an emergency laughed at me. This wasn't an emergency - This was a stupid t**t.

Only one course of action was left. To start again. I went to another newsagent in the area and bought a Toffee Crisp and this time got a load of twenties.

I went back and casually took my clothes out of the now defunct washer and loaded them into the next available machine (which, thank God, was next-door).

This left a pile of washing powder left at the bottom. I shut the lid and prayed that nobody would venture in, at least whilst I was there - Oh the embarrassment.

I now had my £1.60 (£1 coin + 20p + 20p + 20p) ready with some 20p's to spare. Except that I had to buy anther pack of washing powder. The vending machine needed 50p + 20p. I had 20p +20p + 20p + 10p: I'd given my 50p to get the two twenties currently stuck in machine number seven.

I asked wife-man again. I gave him back what he'd given me (20p + 20p + 10p - I've even started to think in laundrette wordage).

Only £2.10 down plus an unwanted Toffee Crisp and a packet of Fruit Pastilles to boot and I ready to begin (again), quite a successful outing.

£1 coin + 20p + 20p + 20p. It goes in and kerching out. The red light goes on, all is fine. I can go back to my book.

Time passes, I smoke, I read, I watch people out of the huge window daring to enjoy themselves with dogs and Frisbees in tow. And still the second red "Spin Cycle" light doesn't come on, although my red panic light surely does.

Brainwave. A woman came in and put her washing on just before mine, if hers is on spin then mine surely should be joining it very soon. Hers wasn't spinning, I stole a quick glance at her, she didn't seem too worried, so neither was I.

A bank of dryers dominated the right-hand side of the room, the slot begged for a (wait for it) 20p to allow it to dry ones clothes.

Ping! My machine was on spin.

I had to check how many 20p's were left on my person. None? - I gave wifeman 20p + 20p. to get 50p. Back to the shop for me.

I bought a pack of crisps to add to my unwanted picnic that was forming in my pocket. I returned to find that woman's machine had stopped and she was carrying out clothing transferral to a drier. This gave me a maximum of five minutes before my washing was clean (but wet) I read some more.

About five minutes had passed before I looked up again to find the little red light still on. I read a bit more.

Again, looking up at my small red illuminated nemesis I decided to fight. I got up and cautiously opened the lid, half expecting a shot of water to drench my face and last clean T-shirt not to mention the other 'dretters. Thankfully not. But it was full of water and no movement, whatsoever. Did I have a crap machine? Was washer number five jinxed, or was it just me?

I did the only thing I could think of - I shut the lid and prayed.

At this time I noticed that on this second machine of mine I'd left the dial on 'whites'. I hoped it didn't matter yet knowing that it did. The damage had been done.

To my amazement and sheer delight No. 5 was alive and it started frantically whirring away. Thank Christ.

I stopped to look around, watching an old man taking his stuff out of the drier, then putting it back in and adding another 20p. I 'd never have thought of that, but I decided to do it even if the clothes were dry enough. It gives the air of a pro.

The drying went superbly smoothly. I got a bit carried away and sent 80p on it.

I packed up my washing and went home to where I placed it on various radiators to finish the drying. Then I sat down and feasted on Ready Salted Walkers, Fruit Pastilles and a Toffee Crisp feeling thankful that I'd finally made the journey to become a man.