ONE imagines that in 50 years time, when the future editor of the Craven Herald dips back into the archives for 2053's version of our "Craven Through The Years" column, he (or, just as likely, she) will have a quiet chuckle about our story about washing lines.

Perhaps this future editor will be a little unsure about the story: Washing line? What's that? How does one operate?

By 2053 clothes may well be disposable affairs, or some magical new cloth we can only dream about will have been invented which cleans itself and omits a permanent, pleasant odour. Who knows?

We doubt though that people will still be hanging out their washing across the back streets.

Not so long ago the alleys of Skipton, indeed towns across the North, would be full of washing pegged out (although in those days what were coyly described as "smalls" were discreetly kept indoors). Looking back it was a reassuring, homely sight, a memory of less complicated, more innocent days. Bikes and buses ruled the roads and cars were a luxury not an essential.

We have some sympathy with Mr Painter's transport difficulties but our hearts are with the good housewives of Broughton Road. Having a chat over the washing line is somehow an image of Skipton we'd like to keep.