Originally published by The Clifton Courier, June 20, 2018

Winter can be a dark, depressing time.

Yes, devouring more bread-related foods is lovely. Crackling fires are divine. And it’s easy to pretend you’re a Norwegian Disney princess when there’s a thick layer sparkling frost on the grass. But no matter how cute you look in a beanie and extra-thick flanny combo, the cold, blistery season presents some serious low points.

It means you spend more time inside, because going outside requires far too much effort. And this means you spend more time alone, with because you’ve decided venturing outside to see your friends is more effort than it’s worth or, most likely, your friends have decided that venturing outside is more effort than you’re worth. And because of this aloneness and insideness, you tend to spend a lot of your down time curled up inside a blanket like a grumpy sausage roll, alone with your own thoughts and stale musk.

All this time on your own can lead you to some dark places. You learn things about yourself that you didn’t know and are confronted with parts of you that you’ve been pretending don’t exist.

It can be very dangerous indeed because, if you’re like me, it might lead to you to ruminate on the things you don’t have; that all important thing that’s missing from your life. When you’re cold and alone, it’s much harder to ignore the painful throbs of a heart aching for more. The longing becomes unbearable.

Yes, it puts into sharp focus how much I really, really need a clothesline.

When I left for Sydney, I didn’t think about. I was younger then. I arrived with the spring, when the sun’s rays lingered and filled apartments with warmth. A clothesline would be nice, I thought, but not having one wasn’t the end of the world. I was strong. Independent. Resourceful. I didn’t need a rotating frame.

But now winter has set in and I’m realising just how foolish I was.

Leaving aside the fact that having a rotating Hills Hoist means you’ll be able to liven up any dull barbecue/dinner party/wake with a round of Goon Of Fortune, there are some other practical delights of a clothesline I yearn for. Yes, yearn, like a one-dimensional female character in a 1950s romance epic yearns for an emotionally-distant solider with questionable views about the role of women in society to return from The War.

Having to dry an entire load of laundry on a clotheshorse is more deflating than you’d think. When the sun rises late, sets early and only hits your apartment for a short period of time, your clothes can take days to try. Days. After one particularly miserable weekend, my jumpers were still so damp after 48 hours of “drying”, I could have sucked enough water out of them to last me a day in the desert.

You drape your cheap, pretend-not-to-be-aware-of-how-unethically-they-were-produced clothes on the bars, knowing full well that the dank smell of confinement and your personal… aroma will never completely dry out of their fibres.

With a clothesline, you can hang clothes outside and get at least some progress from the icy breeze and winter sun. But not here.

Instead of a backyard, I have a balcony a little bigger than a ute tray with an extremely windy outlook. You can’t leave an unsecured clotheshorse out there unattended because there’s a high likelihood your washing will blow away.

As such, it’s a rarity to be able to position the clotheshorse outside to let the sun scorch the one’s clothes/linen/sinful past. I long for that smell sheets get after being hung to dry in the sun all day – it’s a smell that assures you all the germs have been fried. And knowing those germs have died horrible, horrible deaths helps me sleep at night.

I had my sheets on the balcony when I started writing this, so I could hop up and grab them if they blow away. I was literally watching laundry dry/living the glamorous big city life.

And because you can’t leave it outside, your laundry has to be hung in the lounge room. Suddenly, your collection of novelty pyjama pants and I-can-get-just-one-more-wear-out-of-these undies becomes an art installation for all to see.

Look, maybe it’s just the cold talking. Maybe once the sun comes out I’ll realise that I’m fine on my own.

But right now, as I sit in my damp apartment surrounded by knickers and musty gym gear, I want a clothesline and I don’t care how desperate that sounds.