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A front seat ticket for the laundrette, please

November 9, 2014

Okay, I’ve got nothing to hide in my laundry: no bloodied sheets, mankinis, balaclavas, or cheap lingerie (no lingerie, full stop).

So why the hell did that young Portuguese couple in the laundrette sit so intently and watch me transfer my clothes individually to the washing machine?

I looked up and stared into the eyes of the bloke. Surely enough of a challenge to get him and his missus to avert their eyes.

He nodded and smiled. And kept watching. They both did.

It’s almost as if they felt they had a right to do so. I wonder if the two Pakistani owners are selling tickets.

Filed in: Personal

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