The Romans had the right idea. Baths. One of the most relaxing places in the world. Having said that,last weekend I learned a lot about crime around the baths in Bath – apparently one had to hire a slave to mind one’s clothes, in order to avoid significant embarrassment.
Our bathroom has been out of action for a few months – a longstanding crack in the toilet decided to become a split, and the bath (which was already losing its enamel, to extra exfolient effect) parted company with one of its taps. Enough was enough, and the whole lot was condemned to be replaced. Out with the lemon yellow suite and swirly tiles, in with plain white everything. And the lovely lovely Diocese and plumber agreed to change it slightly. I’ve spent three and a half years (not the whole time you understand, I’ve done other things in between) lying in a bath (with eyes shut to avoid the sight of the tiles), with my head right next to the toilet. And when I say right next to…. it was difficult to clean the bath panel because the toilet got in the way. But no more. The new bath is turned to be against the end wall, and suddenly the bathroom looks spacious and inviting.
For me, a bath is my guaranteed peaceful time. My family are well trained. No one disturbs me for 15 blessed minutes. I’ve missed that time so much since the summer…but at last, my bathroom is reinstated, and I have slaked away three months of cares in a slightly longer than usual soak (even my wrinkles have wrinkles). I am mellow, and there is a fighting chance I may after all survive the stresses of the next few months. Me, God and a bath. Bliss.