Sunday nights is bath night in our house.

We bring in the zinc bathtub from the outhouse, put it on the kitchen floor and boil pans of water for a while. Being the man I bath first. Then the water gets used by everyone else in strict order of age, favours given, debts owed, promises made, until everyone’s clean. Eeeeuuuuw.

But Sunday night is in fact the night I take a bath. Only on Sundays. The rest of the week I shower. Fast, frequently and often. Because I’m a man and we don’t generally do ‘lying in our own slime’ when a shower is so much more efficient and the acoustics are better for singing. So I shower morning and night, every day, mainly because I’m a bit obsessive, but also because I’m a sweaty, greasy git.

Sunday’s its the luxury. Bath just 3 degrees off boiling temperature, me, a kindle (best not drop that really, Mel did once ‘just to test it’; yep, definitely failed that test), brilliant. Simmer for 30 minutes or until red and wrinkly all over. Drain and place in a soft white towel…

But washing can be a problem.

Whatever happened to soap? Remember soap? Well we don’t got none.

In the shower I have shower gel and even, if I’m feeling decadent, shampoo. But by the bath we have Boots the fucking chemist. Shelves and shelves of part-specific cleansers, scrubs, exfoliators, scourers, rejuvenators and more herbs than we have in the kitchen.

How is a facial cleanser different from a facial scrub? Oh, that one’s got ground up concrete in it, that must be the scrub. Well, apricot stones, concrete, all feels the same when you try to wash your goolies with it. I found another, less brutal, less gritty wash, that seemed to work fine. Then found it was made by ‘Femfresh’, for those intimate parts. Well, just because I’m a man doesn’t preclude intimate parts, does it? Like I don’t have feelings either?? I certainly felt that apricot grit-wash on me bollocks, that’s for sure.

It would appear that I’ve found a gender difference even more profound than the ability to park a car, throw a ball (without looking girly) or growing a beard (that last one doesn’t apply in Southern Europe). The women in my house use a different cleaner for every single part of their anatomy. Arm wash, leg soap, facial cleanser, necky foam, chest, er, stuff, naughty bits ‘intimate Femfresh’, toe wipers, foot scrub, finger mousse, wrist shampoo…

And, of course, a moisturiser for every corresponding bit. Well, you wouldn’t want to use hand cream on your legs, would you??? Perish the thought.

Gimme a break. And a bar of bleedin’ soap, will ya? Or I’ll just jump in the river in my clothes, like a cowboy. Yee hah.

Happy Thursday

A xxx