The Lingerie Show in Newcastle Upon Tyne : A Neighbour’s Washing Line Diary

I live in Wideopen. Beautiful name, peaceful village… or it should be. But Wideopen is also the perfect description of my neighbour’s washing line. Every single day, her garden becomes an open-air lingerie museum. Grey pants, sagging bras, clothes that look rescued from the bin — all hung up proudly, flapping in the wind. If this is fashion, then we are living in the apocalypse.

And the hypocrisy? Oh, it deserves a medal. This woman complained about my camouflage net. Yes — my net, my property, my art installation. She says it “ruins her view”. Excuse me? My art, which blends into nature, offends her eyes… But the daily parade of XXL knickers is apparently a national treasure. She even built a fence to hide my net but still moans because a few centimetres peep over the top. Imagine having a brain so small you fight against art but celebrate polyester pants as if they were the Mona Lisa.

Let’s be honest: her laundry is more than ugly; it’s dangerous. Newcastle Airport is only minutes away, and one strong gust of wind could send her giant underwear straight into a plane engine. Pilots must be terrified. Picture the announcement:

“Ladies and gentlemen, our flight is delayed due to unidentified flying objects… believed to be knickers over Wideopen.”

Her bras could be mistaken for parachutes. Her pants for distress signals. This isn’t a washing line — it’s air traffic control gone mad.

And the best part? She acts like the victim. She says I ruin her view. My camouflage net is discreet, creative, and part of something meaningful. Her washing line is a daily punishment for the human eye. If anyone is ruining the view, it’s the Geordie Medusa next door, turning beauty into stone with her fluttering underwear display.

She doesn’t understand art. She doesn’t want to. Her mind is narrow, like a tunnel with no light at the end. She cannot see past her own fence. To her, creativity is dangerous, but polyester pants are culture. She is not just a neighbour — she is a dictator of laundry, a viper with pegs, the self-appointed Queen of Grey Pants.

So yes, I live in Wideopen. Wide open skies, wide open spaces… and wide open underwear lines, threatening both beauty and aviation safety. One day, when a plane makes an emergency landing covered in her bras, maybe she will finally realise who really ruins the view.

Until then, the only art installation in her garden is called “Tragedy in Polyester.”

Thanks for reading