Washing machine

Since I moved to Krakow a month and a half ago I have been without a washing machine. As you are probably reluctant to imagine, things are starting to become fragrant. Finally, on Friday afternoon, a brand-new machine arrived, and when I came home from work it was nestled somewhat incongruously amongst the side cupboards of our Highland log-cabin-style galley kitchen. The son of our landlords (who went to school with my flatmates) came round to eat cheesy pizza and celebrate the occasion. We held our collective breath (and not just our noses) as the first sounds of water rushing through pipes reached our ears, like the sweet babbling of freedom in summer meadows (belied by a smell resembling damp PE kit now permeating the appartment). We were transfixed by this vision of otherworldly technology.

ps, Good news! I spoke Polglais in the bank and managed to communicate for a full three exchanges before the cashier decided to call over her English-speaking colleague. If languages were lawn tennis, that would be 40-love to me!