Washing Machines & Umbrellas

He came to look at the washing machine. He did it all while I stayed out of the way in the studio. He is good like that, better with strangers than I. He does the Welsh thing – Where you from? Where’d you go to school? Do you know so and so and so on. I heard them above me. And the machine whirring and spinning. All is well. It was a ‘load issue’ apparently. I feel responsible. Will I be told off? But I’m glad it isn’t broken. I try to take care of things, even machines that frighten me.

My umbrella is broken. I’d like to mend it if I could but I think it is beyond me. The wind did it blowing it about and inside out over and over again. I swore.

The rain lashes still. He is staying in.

No sign of daylight yet.

By Ellen Bell

Artist and writer currently living in Aberystwyth.