I'm prevaricating... yet another person is coming to look round my house, a potential buyer who will yet again tell the Estate Agent that they love the house but cannot move as nobody is buying houses at the moment.
So I'm supposed to be washing the kitchen floor (yes, fans of my music, I am a veritable Cinderella, changing into a frock at gig-time, leaving the Marigolds in the dressing room, Fairy-foam still fizzing).
I'm not, though, am I? I'm writing this.
I started thinking about rich people's towels. How come they are so fluffy? They seem to have a sort of sub-pile that makes them more luxuriant, warmer, softer, more welcoming. The are fat and absorbent, unlike poor people's towels that are off-white, thin, scratchy and repel water like a macintosh (the coat, not the computer). My towels are so stiff with being washed in hard water that they won't fold over the towel rail. Either that or they are so limp you can see daylight through them.
The decorative woven border has shrunk at a ratio of 90:1, thus rendering the towel a twisted wreck,impossible to efficiently wrap around a body, let alone fold into a tidy pile. They bear signs of having been used in the hair-dyeing, or hair-bleaching process. In the washing machine, the pale ones pick up colours from the dark ones, which consequently fade, resulting in a pile of mud-coloured shadows of their former selves.
This alone is a reason for entering the lottery, although I always forget to buy a ticket. Anyway, who to the rich people get those towels from? The Queen?
2 comments:
Why don't you buy a caravan/mobile home. you will then be able to live anywhere?
I nicked a towel once from a posh flat in Battersea.
The towel was made by Ralph Lauren For-god's-sake. My other towels are inverted snobs and won't talk to it. I often find it hanging up alone while the others are scrunched up in a heap on the floor bitching about it.
Nicking a towel. That's bitter isn't it.
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