Here is my washing machine.

I’m at DEFCON-3 with the washing machine actually. It’s been misbehaving the last few days, and I hope it’s not about to give up the ghost. Rather than the healthy whir and zoom of the spin cycle, it splutters and whirs without zooming. At least sometimes. Consequently it doesn’t dry a lot of the water out of the clothes. Not sure if it’s the same thing as last time (a kiddie sock stuck in the works) but I’ll do some fiddling over the extra long weekend (yup, taking Monday off).

Then I’ll give up and call the Hoover repair people.

Post a picture of your washing machine or local laundrette… Link in the Trackbacks or comments.

• Past photos in this series
• Notes on creating the image map/hot spots with text

I’m not the most fashionable person on the planet, but I’m not the least either. Somewhere in the middle. I know I’m in the need for something of a wardrobe upgrade, and I’ll take any (good) advice I can get, especially in the casual clothes department. I think I’m okay at the business clobber, but not so good on the rest.

So some talk of clothes, what might suit me, and a quick flick through the wardrobe last weekend was the subject of much attention from me, I can tell you. A few shirts were highlighted that in my heart of hearts I already knew were past their wear-by date. They’ll be going in the charity bin any day now. Someone even less chic than me can have them. I’m sure there’s more that should go out, too.

And maybe a shopping trip can be scheduled sometime soon to look for potential replacements. Close your eyes Daniel, get out your credit card, and be brave, this won’t hurt a bit…

[Geek distraction: WordPress blogs under spam attack]

Pouring rain, strong winds… yesterday was a good day to test the capabilities of your umbrella.

I myself have a number of brollies. The new micro umbrella I keep in my briefcase is small enough to carry anywhere in a pocket, but not big enough to provide the best of protection from the elements. So I got out my slightly bigger umbrella for me, and two other little ones for the kids for the school run.

Obviously we weren’t going to get the umbrellas out to do the run from the front door to the car, so we performed that like a drill: On the count of three… Go! Unlock car, around to boot, open that, bags in the back, close boot, everyone in the car, buckle up and off we go. Only slightly soggy.

We parked near school and did it again, but with the umbrellas. The wind was howling, blowing them all inside-out and back again. I got back to the car and in my haste to fold my umbrella as I got in, it bit me, drawing blood.

Ever wondered what happens in wet weather to people wearing those huge bell bottoms that drag along the ground? The water soaks up, utterly drenching the bottom six inches, that’s what. The girl on the train was grinning and bearing it, but it can’t have been comfortable. (Though not as bad as falling on your bum on a wet station platform, which I hear a certain person I know did…)

By the time I got into the city, the “Slippery When Wet” signs were out in the Degraves Street subway. Outside people were ducking and weaving along the street, and especially having to dodge the odd person with a massive golf umbrella. I don’t know why some people have decided it’s a good idea to golf umbrellas into the crowded city streets. Even on a day like this, they’re just too damn big. I reckon leave ‘em on the golf course unless you’re trying to shield a group of people.

A colleague said as he walked up Collins Street, virtually every rubbish bin had a discarded umbrella in it, those which hadn’t made the grade.

My umbrella passed. Not with flying colours, but it passed. C+. One of the little ones had done an okay job, but was found to have snapped a spoke. D- and off to that great umbrella stand in the sky.

(Oh joy, more heavy rain this morning… let’s hope plenty of it is falling in the water catchments.)

An American flight attendant who kept a semi-anonymous blog has been suspended without pay by her airline after posting pictures of herself in uniform.

Not the first person to get into trouble from blogging, and probably won’t be the last. Be careful out there, folks.

• Contrast: Geekrant.org on the rise of corporate-sponsored employee blogs

(Note: exaggerated whinging)

A gaggle of teenage girls on the train yesterday morning, joyfully debating the benefits of getting off at Malvern or Flinders Street. (huh? They’re miles apart). It eventually became clear that they were heading to St Kilda. (Why not any of the myriad of other stations then?)

But then they started on the activity that most train goers would dread the most: yes, that’s right… comparing mobile phone ringtones.

One held aloft a friend’s phone. “I’m just trying to find the one I use,” followed by a myriad of beeps. Why for heaven’s sake?

Another gleefully lunged for her own phone from her bag, pressed a couple of buttons and yet another travesty of a mystery tune (at least to me) emanated from it.

“Oh MY God!” was the reaction from her peers, obviously seeing some positive attribute in the monotonic tune that I couldn’t quite detect. “You have GOT to send that to me.”

“I can’t,” came the reply. Ah the joys of copy protected ringtones. Small mercies. The populace should be forever grateful that there’s no easy way of spreading the pain around.

Among the antique shops (or approximations — the third was noted to have a Simpsons promotional book on sale… not quite fitting my definition of antique) we visited on Sunday was the Masonic temple in Newport. It’s too big to be merely a shop, and they sell all kinds of stuff, not just antiques, so I reckon it’s not so much an antique shop as a secondhand warehouse.

Justine (who is known to preside over a few old things herself in a professional capacity) dubbed it “The Temple of Crap.” It seemed a most suitable name, and I think if I ran the place, I’d get just such a sign made for it. It’s full of the kind of stuff that most people have sitting around their house, unused, and just wish they could get rid of it somewhere other than just chucking it in the bin. Old clothes, cutlery, crockery, furniture, records, you name it, if it was made before about 1960, they had it.

Okay, so undoubtedly this kind of stuff appeals to some people. I could see my mother hauling stuff away by the cartload — if she had the space for it. If you were looking for a specific thing, you might well find it in some place like this. Even, most appropriately, a Masonic apron.

But mostly it was exactly the kind of extraneous stuff I’m trying to get out of my house. Hmm, I wonder if they’d buy my superfluous crap?

After a busy but thoroughly enjoyable weekend (which included three dinners, one lunch, two breakfasts at breakfast time, one of which included three samplings of chocolate honey on crumpets, one breakfast at lunchtime, three dog walks, many cups of tea, one relative welcomed back from overseas, three antique shops, one DVD, two iced chocolates, much quality time, two crappy magazines, one three-way comparison of big toes, one quote of the week: “What exactly is an iPod?” and many laughs) I finally got to Safeway for my Sunday grocery shop well past 10:30pm.

I’m more used to shopping in daylight. The aisles were almost devoid of customers. Supermarket staff in casual clothes rolled up and down with trolleys, dumping boxes everywhere for loading onto shelves late into the night. One guy reversed at speed, unused to encountering customers at that late hour, and almost caused a late night trolley collision in aisle 2. The bread shelves were empty of all but a single final wholemeal loaf (I’ll take that thank you).

Against all the signs and tradition I wheeled my trolley through the express lanes, with the approval of the checkout bloke, the only one working. He cheerfully packed everything, I took my shopping home along deserted streets, put it away, then my head hit the pillow and I slept like a log.

…if you want a sausage roll.

(Let there be No Stopping on the Laneway To Hell.)