Dirty laundry - public

Since receiving this smashing gift I have been thinking about and reading about street photography and having a lovely conversation about it with Goatee.

For much longer, I have been wondering about launderettes and keeping an eye on the ones I pass on a regular basis and in stuck on a bus in traffic quieter moments thinking that I should attempt to record them before they disappear.

Having lived in studio flats for many years when I first moved to London, I am familiar with the launderette, bag wash, coin op, call it what you may. The sinking feeling when you reach for the last clean t-shirt, remembering to save 20pences during the week for the drier. Lugging the bag on a wet Sunday afternoon (launderettes in my experience are never within walking distance of where people actually live), praying that there won't be the tense wait or "I was here first" difficult conversation.
And then you're there in the damp warmth; and the smashing, salt of the earth type who calls the driers 'ovens' gives you a smile and offers you a cuppa and a digestive and all is right with the world for the next hour and a half.

Series perhaps?