Gentle cycle.

My washing machine sounds like a radial arm saw. Each time the spin cycle comes on the granite foundations of the flat and I shudder in unison. My delicates may never forgive me for this three months. Gone is the original shape of all my t-shirts.

I called former UK resident, Julie, hoping for a smidge of insight on the matter.
“Jules, I can’t find the gentle cycle on the laundry machine.”
“That’s ‘cause there is no such thing as a gentle cycle in Britain.”
[stunned silence]
“Don’t put anything you like in the washer. It’ll get shredded to bits.”

Crap.

It seems the British compensate for their clothing-abuse by sparing it the cruelty of a dryer. They put up with stiff towels, clothespin creases and having whole rooms of their houses commandeered by drying racks for days on end. It takes a full week to do the previous week’s washing.

Perhaps I’m spoiled?

The ins and outs of Scottish life are starting to feel commonplace, but I may never get used to pulling on socks that feel like cardboard.

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I'm still plagued by this stupid cold, but I sucked it up once again to have dinner with six new friends last night (thanks to fellow newly-weds Iain and Suzi for their hospitality and amazing M&S cookery). It's amazing that even across an ocean we've already managed to find a great assortment of unique personalities that we connect with.

As we strolled home at 1am, parting ways with our neighbours Claire and Stephen, Dean and I reflected on how blessed we feel since arriving here... So much so that we're tossing around the idea of lengthening our next stay. We'll see which gorgeous rainy city holds our hearts the strongest in the end.