Lavarie

Our tumble-dryer packed up a wee while ago so the washing line is the only alternative when it comes to our big flannel sheets which are the only bed-linen we can bear to sleep in at the moment. But trying to womanhandle a frozen-solid, super-kingsize plank has felt so unappealing a task I've been putting it off.

Today I came up with a brilliant plan - the laundromat in Pezenas. And what a thrill it was. None of that seedy, powder-encrusted, graffitti-plastered, CCTV-strewn nastiness that is every London laundromat I've ever visited. This one was clean, white-walled, airy and empty. All the washing machines were modern and worked and the driers were magnificent. And not once did I have to decide after two long hours whether moving the sopping pile of washing in the only working drier would earn me a broken nose.

It was laundry heaven. Chapeau!