Leeds

Doing laundry is annoying. Actually, the way Europeans do laundry is annoying. In Coventry we asked where we could do some wash, and they enthusiastically said they had a washer at the club. They even took the laundry from us and told us they’d wash it for us. All we had to do was pick it up in the morning. Easy enough. And so when we arrive, we get two bags of clean clothes from the club. BUT THEY’RE STILL WET. And so we have no choice but to get on the road to Leeds with two bags of sopping underwear. Luckily, the club we end up at also has a washer, and I make sure to clarify that we need a dryer as well. They smile and say “of course we have a dryer too.” So at the end of the night, I head back to the dryer with the bartender and our stuff is still wet. So now we’re on day three of trekking around laundry that’s moist. We take matters back into our own hands, but we can’t find a Laundromat anywhere. Adding insult to injury, everyone we ask where to find one just gives us a queer look. Finally, we learn that the English call them laundrettes –PEOPLE GIVE ME A BREAK. From the common first two-thirds of both words, and the two bags of clothes in our hands, you couldn’t figure out what we were asking for? No wonder all our ancestors left this place for brighter lands.

So now we have damp clothes strewn about both our hotel rooms. This is a new development in the “No matter how large or how small our living quarters are each night, we must make sure to cover every available inch with our crap” method of touring.

I forget all about our troubles when I see how cute James and Charlie are in the morning:

My chopsticks alert me to the fact that they are proud of where they’re from, and looking at my wet laundry, I realize I’m also proud of where I’m from.

Oh yeah, the show is fun too.

Leeds seems to be a pretty nice city despite what I’ve heard people say about it.