At The Laundrette 

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So e comes in wet through an I ask where e’s been, e says nowhere, I said wha’choo mean nowhere, there’s no such thing as nowhere, who goes out for walks in the bloody rain anyway, thas what I said an e says whas your problem, so I just left it, right, I mean I really can’t deal wif im when e’s stressed an e is stressed at the moment what wif is leg ealin so slowly, no work to keep is mind off’a things, e knows I know that. Still though, next day before I went off to work I told the carpenter I said call me if e leaves the ouse, ain’t nuffin wrong knowin where your usband is is there, I mean e knows where I am dun’t e. But yeah, had to get someone in to fix the bed, bloody thing broke last week, can you believe it, e said e was standin on it to access the loft, I dunno what e wanted in the loft, there’s nuffin in the bloody loft, just some flattened old boxes or summin. Anyway, so the carpenter never said nuffin in the end, just said forty-five quid, I said forty-five quid, you must be jokin, she just says oh, after taxes, cheeky cow, as if that made it easier to pay, god help us, but what could I do, ad to pay er din’t I, thievin cow. Smelt funny she did, vinegar or summin, is it what them people use for cleanin, I’ve eard it’s good for windows or porcelain or summin, not sure really, maybe she soaks er tools in it. Anyway, so she went off an e comes in alf our later, starts moanin sayin why d’you pay er that, we can’t afford that, forty-five quid for some brackets an a bit of sandin blah blah, goes on a bit, so I said well you shouldn’t a’been out while I was payin should’ya, besides, them types don’t ‘aggle do they, so e says a’course they ‘aggle, I said wha’choo mean a’course an e just storms upstairs. I dunno what got into im, made no sense. Called Mum up, she said she don’t understand im, it’s not like it’s is money, she says I’m the one what made it, if e wants is own e can bloody well jog on down the job centre she said, but what can I say, thas just Mum innit, she don’t get the sharin bit when e’s not givin nuffin. So yeah anyway, got to bed that night an e said e was sorry an I said sorry too, din’t need to say sorry but e liked it anyway, so we kissed an made up an e starts touchin my face, you know, an thas when I smelt it, ’cause I was finkin how e never ever goes in the kitchen except for tea, I said Babe I said, why d’your fingers smell of vinegar?

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Novels, plays, TV scripts, short stories and creative non-fiction—Simon Pressinger is trying to get better at doing all of these things, working in between studying for his English Literature degree. Simon is Treasurer of his university’s Creative Writing Society, and has recently had a short story published in the society’s second annual ‘Illustrated Anthology’.

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