Mindy Hammond

Our columnist contemplates lessons in laundry but figures it will all come out in the wash

Whether they did well or are beating themselves up over poor results, it’s all over and done with now and for many families this week heralds the start of a new chapter… the university years. With freshers’ week about to launch, parents have a new goal – to teach their teens the basics of self-sufficiency. Not that students will be growing their own food, of course, the majority will be in halls of residence where catering is provided. But no doubt they will, occasionally, realise they have worn the last serviceable T-shirt, hoodie or pair of socks and a visit to a washing machine can’t be put off any longer.

Some universities have their own launderettes, but often it will be up to the students to take a bag of dirty clothes to the nearest public washing emporium and learn by experience. Naturally, they are likely to delay their inaugural visit for as long as possible and, worryingly, girls are apparently far more ingenious and, well, gross, when it comes to rewearing their dirty clothes.

It’s shuddersome to imagine your once-angelic, spotless little cherub wandering around a far-off street wearing a grubby T-shirt, smelly jeans and goodness knows what underneath. It’s no surprise mums embrace the occasional laundry visit from their student children (even though they may be mildly horrified). At least their son or daughter will smell of “spring meadows” or “linen fresh” fabric conditioner on their return.

Fortunately (or unfortunately), although Izzy did fabulously well in her A-levels, she had already decided on a gap year, so at least I have another 12 months to teach her the basics.

You would imagine this was plenty of preparation time, but like any teen, she isn’t terribly interested in getting to grips with white goods. Why should she be? I do the washing. Heaps of clothes can be squeezed into the washing basket on a daily basis and they reappear, washed, ironed and put away a few days later.

While I’m thrilled to have my elder daughter around for another year, and delighted she visits the gym on a daily basis, the amount of washing this generates is becoming quite tiresome. When daddy dearest is around, too, the weekend washload hits overdrive.

Willow inevitably rides her pony, Izzy goes to the gym, as does Richard, and all three shower and change afterwards. Then there may be an evening event or – in the case of the girls – they just decide a change of clothing is in order halfway through the day.

Yes, I muck out and get covered in all kinds of filth, but at least everything I wear is noniron because, like anyone who is at the sharp end of the process, I’m keen to make as little work for myself as possible. Winter is looming and the situation can only get worse. The washing line will be dripping with rain and if anybody suggests bringing back that awful fashion idea called layering, I think I might blow a gasket (if the washing machine doesn’t first).

“Teach your child to operate the machine and give them lessons in ironing.” Yes, yes, I’ve heard it all before. And tried. And abandoned the idea. But now the writing is on the wall. If they shrink their favourite jumpers in the machine, they will learn, and if they scorch their T-shirts they’ll pay attention to the heat setting on the iron next time (I hope).

But I worry. Izzy regularly burns herself with her curling tongs. Lord knows the damage she might inflict with an iron. Willow had to phone me for instructions on how to turn the Hoover on (and proceeded to accidentally empty the dirt bin all over the carpet). Is it worth all the stress, the Savlon and the sneezing?

I suppose I will have to arm myself with gallons of washing detergent (they will use far too much), unplug the tumble drier (to save as many clothes from shrinkage as possible) and stock up on colourcatching additives. If

I get some heatproof gloves for Izzy, and perhaps a chain-mail tabard, I may start her on ironing hankies. Willow can begin with a dustpan and brush and graduate to a carpet sweeper.

You never know, in 12 months’ time, perhaps Izzy will be ready to fly… or have a wardrobe full of new noniron clothes ready for uni. And a few tins of air freshener.