Laundry Adv
Everything in my house was chosen. The laundry basket just turned up. This is a letter about the one I finally chose.
Six things this quilted basket gets right that twenty-six years of plastic never did, from a woman who had not thought about her laundry basket once until she saw somebody else's.
Helen Davies · Customer · Chester · 5 min readI am 58, I keep a tidy house in Chester with my husband David, and I want to start with an admission. Everything in that house was chosen. The curtains were deliberated over for a fortnight. The cushions were auditioned. Even the doormat had a shortlist. And the laundry basket, which I look at every single day of my life, is a cracked plastic thing that came off a garage forecourt in about 1998 and simply never left. I never chose it. It turned up, and it stayed, and I am not sure anybody in Britain has ever actually chosen their laundry basket. So this is not a review. It is a woman who finally chose one, saying why.
The basket I am writing about is from Lyra London, a boutique that has been quietly making ordinary things a bit lovelier for a while now. I first saw it on the landing at my friend Vera's house, full of towels and standing there as smartly as a piece of furniture, and when the boutique later asked if they could put my letter up for others to read, I said yes, on the condition I could be completely honest in it.
Mine, on my own landing now. I assumed Vera's was decorative. It was full of towels.
Here is what twenty-six years with the plastic one taught me. A laundry basket lives in two states. Shoved out of sight when anyone knocks, because it is frankly an embarrassment. Or on display by accident, cracked handle and all, because you were halfway through the towels when the doorbell went. Somewhere along the way I accepted that the ugliest object in the house would be one I handled daily, and that was that.
I chose the curtains, the cushions and the doormat. The thing I actually touch every day just turned up in 1998.
This basket is the first one I have ever owned on purpose, and having filled it, carried it, wiped it and folded it away for a month, I can tell you it comes down to six things.
1It stands up on its own, even empty
The quilted sides hold their shape whether it is full of towels or holding nothing at all. No slumping, no sagging into a heap in the corner. Empty, it stands there looking deliberate, which is a word I have never before applied to a laundry basket.
“Empty or full it stands there like a piece of furniture. The plastic one went to the tip the same week.”
2The artwork wraps all the way round
The detailed embroidery and countryside scenes go right round the basket, so there is no wrong side to turn to the wall. Wherever you put it down, whichever way it lands, it is facing the right way. The plastic one had two states as well: ugly, and uglier.
The whole fleet on display. From sheep to highland cows, every print is a piece of art.
“There is no bad side to hide against the wall. The artwork faces the door and every visitor comments.”
3The handles are stitched on properly
Two padded fabric handles, securely stitched, that a full load of wet washing has not troubled. They do not bite into your fingers on the stairs the way a cracked plastic rim does, which anyone who has carried a week's towels down two flights will appreciate.
“Carried a full wash down two flights and the handles did not so much as creak.”
4Quilted and soft, but it wipes clean
The premium quilted material is soft to the touch but it shrugs off the everyday splashes a basket gets by the sink and under the line, wipes clean with a damp cloth, and can be washed properly when it needs it. Pretty things are usually precious. This one is not.
“Splashed by the sink twice a week for a month. Wipes off with a cloth and looks new.”
5It folds flat when you want it gone
Lightweight, and it folds down flat to slide under the bed or into the airing cupboard, then pops back up standing. When the family descends and every corner is needed, the basket obliges. The plastic one never obliged anybody.
“Folded flat and under the bed when family visits. Pops back up like nothing happened.”
6Three sizes, and thirty designs
A small for the bathroom, a medium for the bedroom, a large for the family wash. And there is a whole fleet of designs in the collection, from fluffy sheep to highland cows and wise owls—which is how collecting starts, apparently.
“Medium for the bedroom and the small for the bathroom. The prettiest useful things I own.”
This basket, against the one that just turned up
Nobody buys a laundry basket on purpose. That is the problem. One arrives, somehow, and stays for decades. Here is the difference, laid out plainly.
About the price
The small basket is £34.95 at the moment, from £70.00. The medium is £37.95 from £76.00, and the large, the family-wash one, is £41.95 from £80.00.
I am careful with money and I will not pretend otherwise, so I will pass on what the boutique told me, which is that they are a small shop selling directly and there is a sale on to make room for the autumn stock. Their words, not mine. What I can tell you from my side is that at that price the deliberation did not last long, and that Vera has since bought the large.
And I do not trust perfect scores, so I read the reviews before ordering. Just over three hundred of them, sitting at 4.2 stars, which sounded like real people, so I read on. The same six things I have just walked you through come up in them, over and over, in other women's words.
On duty by the machine. The forecourt one went to the tip, twenty-six years of service, no tears shed.
If your own laundry basket also just turned up one day and stayed, this is the one I would put in your hands myself, while the design you want is still there.
Helen
