Sometimes I act like I'm blind. I walked past the launderette at 450 Hornsey Road dozens of times before I could see how good a melancholy film set it would make.
The story would be about people falling behind with the rent and in or out of love, the cast would dress in 1950s pastels to match the washing machines or wear dark red saris like the lady who runs the place or go about in converse, hoodies, and a hungover haze.
It might have a happy ending (I'd like it to, I think) but it couldn't be a hero-wins-the-lottery-and-gets-the-girl type of happy ending. There'd have to be a sense that the happiness was a fragile thing, its feathers in danger from loose nails or an overloaded machine.