The Emporers Dirty Laundry

Apocalypse has struck at the Townhouse.
You know that moment on all naval disaster films when the background hum of the engine stops. The one where you are suddenly conscious of the sound by focus on its absence. Well a similar moment happened sometime between Christmas and New Year in The Old Walled Town. The washing machine, faithful old retainer of socks, ground to a halt. And a very nasty grinding sound it was.
A mere thirty seconds after disaster struck a large amount of laundry was discovered. After accusations had been exchanged, this was bagged, bundled off up to my lofty perch, and loaded in to the Halletts Mountain washing machine.
Now don’t get me wrong, I am not that much of a slob, but a T-shirt will normally last me for a couple of days if you know what I mean. And a pair of jeans….well sometimes more than a day or two. I even have to be reminded sometimes. Well there you go. But hardly the end of a spectrum.
What struck me when sorting through the stuff to put on the washing line, was that we have one among us who changes his clothes with a frequency bordering on OCD. From one of the teenage bedrooms of the Townhouse has emerged enough clothing to relieve a community struck by Tsunami.
Even as we speak I hear the distnat rumble of a half track delivering the next load....