HOLLY MIRANDA SMALE

Writer, photographer, "rapper" and general technophobe takes on the internet in what could be a very, very messy fight. But it's alright: she's harder than she looks, and she's wearing every single ring she could get her hands on.







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Tuesday, 25 May 2010

War

The ceasefire is over. Baba invaded my territory today - just like that, just because she felt like it - and she has crossed a line.

Last night I did my laundry. Actually, this should read: last night I did my laundry again, as I did it two nights ago and then forgot about it and left it there to stink and ferment in the washing machine so I had to repeat the exercise yesterday. This morning, late for work again because I was too busy writing witty comments on my Facebook page that nobody ever, ever reads, I piled my washing into a basket, took it outside, hung one pair of knickers, looked at my watch, swore profusely and jumped into my car so that I wouldn't get sacked from a job I actually quite like this time.

It'll be fine, I thought. I'll just have to wash it for a third time when I get home this evening.

I have just returned from work, driven into the car space in front of my house, parked very, very badly and then found myself thinking - for a few, confused seconds - that I must have accidentally trained my washing to jump from a basket onto a clothes line, pin itself there very neatly and then completely forgotten about it. And then: no, I thought. Everything has been hung inside out and straightened and pegged perfectly at the seams, and there's no way anything belonging to me would do that of its own accord.

I was just walking around and talking to the washing, hanging there in well behaved submission, when Baba pops her head out of the house next door.

"Horri," she shouts, and then she points to my washing and her watch, to show she understands why I ran off this morning with one shoe still untied.
"You did this?" I said in English.
"Of course," she said in Japanese.
And then we stared at each other with a glint in our eyes; a glint that - and I could be wrong - looked remarkably like the reflection of a gauntlet being thrown down.

Japanese grandmas are unbelievable; they just don't know when to stop. I knew Baba was going to cross a line someday soon. I was prepared for it.

I just didn't know it was going to have my washing attached to it.