Our boiler stopped working this week, with no immediate prospect of being fixed, thanks to severe weather bringing the country to a standstill. For the first 24 hours a Dunkirk spirit kicked in, now it is becoming less fun, and here’s why:
- I now know why my son howls when I dump a jugful of water over his head to wash his hair. Having inflicted this on myself today when shivering in a shallow, lukewarm both, I can say it’s rather unpleasant. I’m not convinced it will engender any sympathy during his future bath times though. Bad mummy.
- I’ve discovered that I get quite grumpy when I can’t have a nice warm shower and wash my hair. I’ve conditioned myself to feel entitled to it. I suddenly have a new respect for people, who for whatever reason aren’t able to access hot-water showers.
- I’ve convinced myself that in order to summon the energy to carry four boiling hot pans and three kettles up and down the stairs to fill the bath I need to eat some of my son’s freshly iced Easter biscuits to fuel the trips. Desperate time, plus we burn more calories when cold, don’t we?
- You think if you fill a bath with several large pans of boiling-hot water that it will take a fair bit of cold to cool down enough to get into. It won’t. The application of cold water will render futile all your up and down stairs trips with boiling-hot water.
- The term ‘fill the bath’ is used loosely here, as after countless kitchen pans have been filled with hot water their contents have barely covered the bottom.
- No-one in this house takes baths and so when the bath gets cleaned I clean the bits I can see from when I’m in the shower. I was hitherto unaware of this, and when you’re sitting in a tepid puddle in the bath being faced with the underside of bath taps that have been a stranger to cleaning products is a bit, well, yucky.
- I will, in future, be more grateful for my shower and I will not hedonistically adapt to its reappearance. Promise!