The washing line broke today and everything ended up on the floor.
Luckily, everything was dry and the lawn cuttings from earlier had been collected and put in the composting bin.
Surprisingly I was not angry or upset, as I realised the line had been on borrowed time really having noticed a couple of ‘thinning areas’ ready to twang, which they obviously did.
Hubby went up the road and came back with a new one, and that’s when the fun began.
He climbed on top of the Man Closet to secure one end in the bolt ring embedded in the wall, then gave me the rest of the hank to unravel and walk down to the post.
I dropped it.
And in picking it up, it did its own thing and came undone, but not in a sensible and tidy way. There was orange spaghetti everywhere and I couldn’t sort it out! Hubby was laughing his socks off, saying only I could do it. I have an A level in cock ups.
Anyway, we got the necessary length and he cut it to size for the line, making sure I could reach it.
I’ve shrunk one and half inches in the past two years, so I was glad he was considerate to check and duly secured the line to the post.
He put the scissors on it and the line naturally dropped.
If I put any washing on it, it would be dragging on the floor, so he had to make adjustments and asked if I like a pull cord in the centre. I told him no, I would manage by throwing something over the line to drop it to my height so that I could peg out everything else. I refuse to get a box to stand on!
Photo: The first line in situ October 2017