The Wash Tub Levenshulme – Manchester

When is a washtub not a washtub – self evidently when it doesn’t wash.

This is the land of the decommissioned washer – cash box removed, unrepurposed, demure and decorative yet sadly redundant.

This is a dry only facility its surfaces inert, frozen in time, its sign declaiming pointless imperatives to nobody in particular.

Worn lino, prosaic mosaic, strip lighting, wood-grained Formica, black wooden benches backed up against the warmth of the warm drier – time becomes elastic, limitless.

Enter at your own peril, Persil in hand prepare to be disappointed.

Launderette – Levenshulme

14 Matthews Lane Manchester M19 3DS

It’s been quite a while – following a spate there has been an abatement.

Time was I couldn’t pass a coin-op operation without snapping.

It all began in a Wigan Washeteria one thing lead to another then another.

I was all washed up, rinsed and spun out – I had to call it a day.

Yesterday things changed – I turned a corner in life when I turned the corner into Matthews Road, the familiar aroma, signs and things signified came flooding right back – time stood still beneath a strip light lit suspended ceiling.

Laundrette – Emlyn West Wales

You could be in the middle of nowhere.

You are in the middle of nowhere.

Though never six feet from a rat, or a mile from a main road.

Moments away from a laundrette.

Imagine my amazement, on arrival in a town straddling the border of the counties of Ceredigion and Carmarthenshire in west Wales and lying on the River Teffi.

A launderette.

The heady of mix of interior austerity.

Functionally muted green, grey sky blue, nothing added.

An all too distinctive aroma of who knows what – warm water, soap and humanity?

Wash your dirty linen in public.

P1050712 copy

P1050688 copy

P1050689 copy

P1050690 copy

P1050691 copy

P1050692 copy

P1050693 copy

P1050694 copy

P1050696 copy

P1050697 copy

P1050698 copy

P1050699 copy

P1050700 copy

P1050701 copy

P1050702 copy

P1050703 copy

P1050704 copy

P1050705 copy

P1050706 copy

P1050707 copy

P1050708 copy

P1050709 copy

P1050710 copy

P1050711 copy

Laundrette – Rhayader

There is a sign.

An Illuminated sign.

There are signs.

Handwritten signs – notices, instructions, scribbled hurriedly, underlined, highlighted, boxed for emphasis.

Taped up.

There are machines, top loaders, best left half empty.

Terrazzo floor, leatherette banquette.

Out of disorder comes out of order.

P1070160 copy

P1070139 copy

P1070143 copy

P1070144 copy

P1070151 copy

P1070147 copy

P1070153 copy

P1070142 copy

P1070159 copy

P1070140 copy

P1070156 copy

P1070154 copy

P1070145 copy

P1070163 copy

P1070141 copy

P1070162 copy

P1070165 copy

P1070148 copy

P1070150 copy

P1070161 copy

P1070149 copy

P1070155 copy

P1070146 copy

P1070152 copy

P1070157 copy

P1070164 copy

Close the door when you leave

Ashton under Lyne – Laundrette

Cycling along Curzon Road one sunny Sunday afternoon, I found to my surprise, facing me across the Whiteacre Road junction.

– An empty yet extant launderette.

One lone drier tumbling, lonely – an absence of presence, save myself.

The usual spartan interior almost unkempt, enlivened by four legged, almost alien, ovalish plastic laundry baskets. A sunlit shimmer of brushed steel surfaces, low lit and deeply shadowed linoleum tiles.

Under the illuminating hum of bare fluorescent tubes.

I snapped and exited, unwashed.

Great!

P1060635 copy

P1060627 copy

P1060634 copy

P1060640 copy

P1060633 copy

P1060637 copy

P1060639 copy

P1060626 copy

P1060641 copy

P1060628 copy

P1060638 copy

P1060630 copy

P1060632 copy

P1060636 copy