ode to the washing machine

We have a new washing machine in our house. It does not belong to me but to my housemate Justine. It is brand new. I have never owned a new white good in my life. My (reconditioned) washing machine was loaned to someone else when I started sharing with Justine and washed away innumerable stains etc in Brunswick until it could wash no more and was unceremoniously placed on the nature strip for collection on a convenient hard rubbish day. Vale.
The new machine is Swedish. It is a front loader. It makes narry a sound throughout the entire cycle (even when it spins). It stays in one place. It heats its own water should you so choose. It has a huge repertoire of cycles. It is capacious (and commodious). There is NO LINT! It counts down the minutes until the end of the cycle on its natty little digital display. It can be programmed for a delayed start.
It is altogether more amenable than me when it comes to actually doing the washing, it may well be sleeker and more stylish, I have a sneaking suspicion it might also be smarter than me. The pecking order in the house hierarchy may be up for rearrangement!