i've decided that i really enjoy doing laundry here in paris. its therapeutic. you walk in with a tons of smelly clothes and walk out feeling renewed after lovingly folding the clothes from the still-hot dryer. so you get to warm the cold hands as well as be awash in the redeeming, flower-scented, clean clothes.

since it takes 45mins for the whirring machine to finish, i decided to make the neccessary visit to the post office. whilst walking there, i kinda walked almost smack in the middle of a student strike of sorts. right in between the junction i had to cross to get to the beloved post-office. the riot leaders were clanging metal and shouting revolutionary-sounding french words and they students were pumping their fists in unison. pity i didnt have the cam with me, it was quite scary/exciting. they had actually blocked up the roads for a while by splewing construction dividers everywhere... the car in front the zebra-crossing i was about to cross just banged its way to the other side... thank God i wasnt standing near the divider cos it kinda flung itself to the other side upon impact...saved again...

parisians are a violent lot... no doubt..

(OK..as i'm typing, there seems to be another strike going on...mad shouting again..wish i understood the language...aye...)

finally safe within the walls of the post office, another shouting match begins with the customer and the postlady... again i dont understand anything....(i'm so determined to ace French class which begins tom...cant hardly wait....dying to study...) i must comment that the infuriated customer was still very polite; as he finished with the postlady, he turned around to clamly say, 'excuse moi' to us the stunned queue...stomping off thereafter...

another langugage horror: as it came to my turn the postlady and i had much trouble...thankfully a nice bi-lingualled lady came to the rescue again...*phew*... this all adds to the energy i have now to learn French...fast!!!

meanwhile...

the trusty washing machines continues to whirr away, oblivious to whatever the world throws in it... butter-stained-cordon bleu aprons, 5-day old socks, tea-soaked aprons, bike-grease rags,
10 day old blood-crusted shirt....

while waiting for the last bits of laundry to finish, i sat down to finish reading stephen clarke's book 'merde actually' , about this brit guy's struggle in finding life and love in France.
now he is my kind of riot.
i think the old uncle waiting for his laundry might have thought i was mad rocking in my seat, stifling my gasps of laughter...


(swollen eye and grazed left-profile from crashing face down into hard snow, hence blood-speckled top)

rumble-tumble in the dryer...
all articles of clothings are re-newed for another week's battle with the dirt gracie and janice produce...

doing laundry is life-restoring isn't it? agree with me... besides good food of course..