WHEN I was young, I hated wash day, which in our house seemed to be every day.

My mother’s machine had a wringer – for those who grew up in the automatic age, that’s two long rubber barrels, one of top of the other, which you fixed to the top. It was really heavy and cumbersome, like a spare part from a traction engine.

My mum would feed sheets through it to squeeze out water. These would have to be pulled out at the other side, taking care to stop the material getting caught up in the sides.

With a pile of sheets waiting to be washed, another to be wringed, and one waiting to be put on the line, every inch of our kitchen seemed to be spilling over with laundry. I hated it. You couldn’t move for bedding and clothes. And the soap smell was horrible, too. Nowadays it is undetectable, but back then it was slightly sickly.

It was 1976 when my mum got an automatic. It must have been quite an event, because I recorded it in the one diary I still have from back then.

Mum’s machine now sits in the garage, so laundry no longer dominates, which is a good thing as my mum seems to wash more than ever. She’s minus three children, but rarely is the machine off. I blame it on my dad and his cricket.

We’re not quite as bad, despite my daughters’ tendency to stuff totally clean, barely worn garments into the laundry basket.

I probably wash twice a week and only on one setting. My rudimentary machine only has about three settings in all: hot, medium and economy, unlike my friend’s, which has a control panel like the flight deck of the Starship Enterprise. I’d be terrified of a machine like that. I think I’d rather use a washboard in the local beck.

Come to think of it, I’d welcome a return to the washing habits of old. Bring back wash day, when everyone crowded into communal washhouses and had a good natter. Better than being miserable at home while wrestling with 60 different fabrics and a million and one cycles.

As I near the end of these wash-day ramblings, I realise that I haven’t referred to the event that sparked them. This year Persil celebrates its 100th birthday – in the days of tablets, capsules and all manner of weird-looking things that people stick in their machines to get their whites whiter than white, it is still going strong as a top brand.

I use it myself, and hope my children will do the same. Or maybe when they’re my age they won’t need to, and clothes will clean themselves.