The End.

This rather strange looking milk cow is an unlikely ad for a burger place.

I am safely tucked into the Brisbane airport waiting for boarding, some 40 minutes away.

My bag is full of wet clothes. A sealed in ziplock bags. Why? You might ask. Because, I don’t learn from past mistakes.

50 odd years ago, I put everything stitch of clothing I had into a strange washing machine. I was clad in a bikini and a raincoat. In good time the wash finished and I transferred everything to the dryer. I retired to a nearby saloon. When I returned, my clothes were dry and Barbie doll sized. This was in the polyester days. Some of the clothes were actually melted. Most were just hopelessly shrunken. To Barbie doll size. I had to go and buy all new clothes from panties out. I was 20 something.

Well. This afternoon, a couple of hours before it’s time to leave for the airport, I decided to wash ALL of my clothes. Except for my wool hoody and stripped wool socks. The wash cycle ends. And nothing happened. No drying started. The f-ing door would not open. And I am clad in a bath towel. Got the door open. Got the wet clothes out. Dried undies, a shirt and a skirt good enough using the microwave and a hair dryer. Rolled the rest of the clothes into ziplock bags. And I am now 70 something. And I seem to have learned nothing about using strange washing machines when far from home.

Next stop Honolulu and on to Kona. Hopefully before the clothes mold and a week from today back to the Asylum.