'The DSM' Editorial - Issue 94 The Simple Things

Anna wants a new dishwasher. I’d rather wash-up by hand, I like washing by hand, it’s simple. A dishwasher is something else to break down, then there’s the loading and the unloading, the food that always sticks; the washing tablet that fails to come out of its little door. Part of the reason we moved to France was for a simpler, more laid back life. A sort of Catherine Cookson existence, working in the field during the day, eating a chunk of cheese and bread from a piece of gingham cloth. In the evening we’d sit around the fire, I’d be quaffing wine from a pewter tankard and Anna would be doing some needle point, or singing. On Sundays we’d go for a picnic in our hay wain or help our French neighbours erect a barn. After a day of tilling the earth did Jean de Florette start unloading the dishwasher? No! After being caught in the rain, when it eventually arrived, did he tumble-dry his jerkin? No! When he wanted to know the weather, did he reach for his iPad or boot up his computer? No,...