I fear I’m becoming a naturalised Pom because of my kitchen sink. I have always sniggered at the curious English practice of washing up in a plastic bucket placed in the sink. I always thought this a pointless and parsimonious little habit – a bizarre hangover from post-war bleakness perhaps. (Was Fairy Liquid rationed?)
You’d thank that it would be drought-dry Australia with this thrifty tradition of sparse water washing. It’s only recently however that grey water collecting and whiplash showers have become so widespread there. Surely if there’s one country that should be up to its elbows in luxurious suds, it’s England. With so much water falling down everywhere outside, showers should be lavish monsoon-like affairs, rather than these anaemic dribbles which are so useless at removing shampoo.
So when quizzed about the bucket-in-sink phenomenon, most English people murmur something about being able to empty leftover wine into the sink without tainting the washing-up water. Now it won’t surprise you to learn that I’ve never had a problem with leftover wine, but I have succumbed to the English method simply because my sink has a leak. So until it’s fixed, I’ll have to go native as I snap on my Marigolds and bend over my frugal bowl of bubbles.
Fortunately, before I become irreversibly anglicised (dare I say minogued?) I’m off to France and Italy for a few weeks of continental therapy. I’ll blog more on my return, I promise.
You’d thank that it would be drought-dry Australia with this thrifty tradition of sparse water washing. It’s only recently however that grey water collecting and whiplash showers have become so widespread there. Surely if there’s one country that should be up to its elbows in luxurious suds, it’s England. With so much water falling down everywhere outside, showers should be lavish monsoon-like affairs, rather than these anaemic dribbles which are so useless at removing shampoo.
So when quizzed about the bucket-in-sink phenomenon, most English people murmur something about being able to empty leftover wine into the sink without tainting the washing-up water. Now it won’t surprise you to learn that I’ve never had a problem with leftover wine, but I have succumbed to the English method simply because my sink has a leak. So until it’s fixed, I’ll have to go native as I snap on my Marigolds and bend over my frugal bowl of bubbles.
Fortunately, before I become irreversibly anglicised (dare I say minogued?) I’m off to France and Italy for a few weeks of continental therapy. I’ll blog more on my return, I promise.
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3 comments:
Two possible explanations:
(a) plastic washing-up bowls arrived before fully-fitted kitchens with stainless-steel sinks (instead sinks were either earthenware or enamelled metal, both of them liable to chip and stain and a b. to clean after every wash), and inertia has simply kept us carrying on with them
(b) they're useful for all sorts of other things around the house, but our houses, being smaller, tend to lack any other storage space than the sink (can you imagine how much rent you could charge in London for the space a washing-up bowl would occupy?)
Thanks for the (very plausible) theories autolycus! I actually think we may have looked at a couple of washing-up bowl storage cupboards masquerading as flats when searching for our new London home.
Oooh, it's like camping in your own kitchen!
Speaking of snapping on the marigolds, we took your rubber gloves to the Rocky Horror Picture Show last night! I'm not in the habit of using kitchen gloves (as my dishpan hands can well attest...)
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