Life

Hedonism and wholesomeness are rare bedfellows, especially in the boudoir. However, there is an exception. What is more satisfying than, come summer and good drying days, to throw all bed linen into the washing machine and then toss it out to dance on the line? Crisp sheets, imbibed with heady outdoors freshness, can be scrambled back on the bed the same day. The result is manna for a weary soul: cotton is softer for freedom in the wind, the fragrance is potent and invigorating, and the gentle airy fold of sheets around limbs is alluring. The sight of a freshly made up bed is an irrefutable bedtime invitation.

Even forgetting the sensual pleasure of the just-off-the-line sheets, there is serious domestic pride to be had. How often do you find something so cheap (a length of rope and a packet of clothes pegs) green (wind and solar power) and easy (provided you have a balcony or garden)? Whether a domestic deity or not, a fluttering line of sheets to your helm certainly makes you look like one.

Few appreciate my enthusiasm. It is a great pity; seldom do sheets escape the stranglehold of the tumble drier. It seems that it is far commoner to rely on Spring Awakening washing powder and Summer Air fabric conditioner to fake what is free out the window. Rescue dashes outside in rain don't put me off- nor the occasional rewashings required when gales pummel my thirty thread count percale off the line and into the mud. Neither does the embarrassment factor faze me- while only the brave may bare their underwear on an urban washing line, there is no vicious gossip to be had about plain sheets.

No matter how accomplished the washing line may make you look, of course, the real reason for the effort is in how the results make you feel. Certainly, the mild tiredness from all the effort justifies an early night. Sliding into a swoon of gleaming sheets, aromatic of sweetness and light, conscience clear, is Sybaritism that your mother would be proud of. And that’s a short list.