My embarrassing hobby

A while ago, I shared, via Instagram, a text I had just sent my husband: ‘Would you mind putting on a load of washing? You are authorised to do: the bathroom towels ONLY or the bed sheets ONLY.’ I shared it as a jokey look at the ‘romance’ of married life. I wasn’t prepared for the avalanche of comments it inspired from my followers, nor the 2,000+ ‘likes’ they gave my boring, bossy text.

This was not a matter of gender divide, either. Among the many men who responded to my post was Radio 1 DJ Greg James, who said that he also regularly gives his wife Bella strict guidance for doing the laundry.

It proved a point I had long suspected – that the world is divided into those who hate doing laundry, and those who care about it with a passion. My husband would probably correctly argue that I care about it too much. I will admit, I’m quite the unhinged control freak about it. Am I the only person in the world who reads a laundry instruction label? I definitely am in my house. Some time ago I begged everyone who tries to ‘help’ me with washing clothes to please, for the love of God, just… stop. There’s a limit to how much expensive cashmere a person can see murdered (and dripping wet and slung over a hot radiator is no way for a Prada cardigan to go) before she says ‘enough’.

What puzzles me even more is that so many people – husband, children, childminders, parents – who seem compelled to help me with it, all hate doing it. So just leave me and my boring little hobby in peace. I really love it. Right now, I have a huge load waiting for me at home to fold and put away and I’m looking forward to it. Some people have mindfulness or maybe hot yoga. This is where I get my sensorial, meditative jollies; by letting my mind wander where it pleases as I fluff and fold the crisp, clean cottons and breathe in the lemon freshness. I spend time sampling the smells in the supermarket laundry aisle the way other women might at the perfume counter in Harrods. It gives me a sense of order in an otherwise chaotic world (OK, chaotic house: I’m not quite as maniacal about other chores).

Our feature on page 46 by Patric Richardson about all things laundry has given me the courage to, as the Duchess of Sussex might say, speak my ‘truth’ on the matter. I’ve often felt embarrassed about how much I care about laundry. Maybe it’s a hangover from being a little girl in the 70s, when the likes of Germaine Greer meant it was just plain bad feminism to admit liking any aspect of housework. But unlike Patric, I didn’t ask for a washing machine to play with as a toddler. And, well, I have some regrets about that. For he is now a renowned ‘laundry guru’. Who knew that was a thing? Reader, that guru could have been me. In this issue I am magnanimously putting aside my jealousy to bring you all the knowledge about washing your clothes you never thought you needed. For my fellow weirdos, it’s a joy to read. For everyone else, it will help you cut down the time you have to spend doing it!

I would love to hear if you feel the same way regarding laundry, or any other so-called menial task that we’re not supposed to enjoy. For now, I’m only glad I’ve run out of space before I can share with you my sermon on the only and correct way to stack a dishwasher…