Cleaner habits

Oh dear, I think I’ve made a bit of a hash of things. I needed to do a bit of washing because I am off to the States tomorrow and the idea of carting dirty socks half way around the world seems a bit strange.

All seemed well as there is a washing machine in a room next to the kitchen here. The nuns are very nice and I was sure they would let me use it, but I couldn’t find anyone. I had a look at the thing and discovered to my dismay that it was not plumbed in. It looked the part, but was not connected either to power or water. (There’s a metaphor for life, and indeed faith, if we were looking for one.)

Anyway I was on a mission now, and I am not averse to a bit of handwashing. So I ran a sink of water and did my washing. Then I took it all to the shower and rinsed it all off and rung it out as best I could.

And then I realised I had to get it dry. That is easier said than done in a chilly monastery with radiators the size of postage stamps and no laundry room available to strange English clergy who are spotted leaving the shower with wet underwear.

So I am sat in my room surrounded by damp clothing praying that it all gets dry before I have to pack it up for the flight tomorrow.

It is odd, the things that drive us to prayer, isn’t it? Would that more did, more quickly (and I could do with a bit of wind and fire (or at least warmth) too, please).