Having studied “use of English” in order to be admitted into university in Great Britain in the 60’s from Africa, I read early on about brainwashing. Brave New World revisited Aldous Huxley showed me a frightening view of how I could have my opinions shaped if I was not wary.
As a result of that book, & living with a film maker of early advertisements in London – I use the mute button & more or less pay no attention to ads. That is unless I am trapped in a queue at a doctors surgery where we are forced to listen to ‘radio’ (commercial) please note the receptionists have headsets so are not so vulnerable.
Today I went to the local burger joint in a country city. To my horror I was subjected to an unending stream of incentive to buy buy spend etc… until I managed escape through the exit. Yikes they finally caught me!
Doing my laundry in what my gypsy friend calls the best laundromat in Australia. She should know as she has been down to Tazzi from Queensland & everywhere in between – then accross to Western Australia & back. As far as I know she hasn’t been to the N W Corner – but I know she wandered as far outback as the Alice.
She buys clothes from the op shops in $5 bags which means she can chuck em when they no longer fulfill their purpose. However I assume she does do some laundry otherwise she would not know so much about laundromats.
As for me, I am attached to my old clothes. They become soft & carry memories – fond memories. I chuck out or recycle those that carry any heavy vibes from the past.
I enjoy the rediscovery of my warm winter woolies & long pants as the weather deteriorates into rain & or chill. the summer stuff is essential in Queensland when the heat becomes unbearable. That’s when I am prepared to pay big bucks for cotton (particularly white cotton) rather than synthetics. Also for the occasional real wool item for the extremes of winter.
While traveling overseas I frequently rinsed most clothing on a daily basis – especially as large old baths can be found in the big colonial buildings where I found hospitality.
Part of my soul journey was to become a travel agent & help peeps fulfill their dreams. This came about because I had had such odd experiences on my long journeys in different lands.
Even being picked up from London Gatwick in the 60’s turned into a mix-up. One party arrived at the airport & I was so grateful for the ride to stay with my friend who lived near Chelsea….At the same time however my mother had unwittingly arranged for my brother (with another friend in tow) to meet the Gatwick train at Victoria Station. I had presumably made the 1st arrangement.
These things happen to everyone!