Today is laundry day in my well-organised wardrobe cycle. If I do it properly, I can breakfast in my slob tracksuit and carry on to the laundromat, so that I get back with everything clean (except the slob suit, of course, which is how it gets its name).
It's still freezing cold, so the rest of the day is devoted to quiet reading, and a bit of TV. I can't even clock off early for a while, because of the anti-catholic policies of this town. If a man can't have a few beers after sunday morning laundry, I don't know what the world is coming to.
When I do eventually venture out, later that night, it's in several layers of my clean clothes. A brisk walk is called for, to blow away the cobwebs of the day. There's about 20 degrees of frost, and it seems the natives are just a bit shocked.
The barmaid wants to know if I'm going to eat. I tell her that American food is just too fattening. "don't I know it", she says. She turns round and slaps her bottom: "Where do you think I got this butt from?" she says. The bar goes a bit quiet. There is a certain longing on the faces of most of the patrons. "No, no", I said, "I think god gave you that." Everyone laughed: I think they may have been thinking the same thing.
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