the bath
10.33: "I'm on the train to Lyon! Arriving in an hour!" came the wake up call from my five-day flu infested hub. I was still in the fug of nightmares about being fired from Scarlatti's hareem. I zapped on the ring for the coffee, showered and was on the bus.
J descended the stairs at Lyon station, scarved, red-ring-eyed and muffled, and...ooh what a thrill it was to meet and hug him rather than to be met and hugged.
Ill Julian lasted about ten minutes in the Lyonais freeze and another 12 hours watching rugby on satellite tv and drinking sage tea (whilst I did the dress rehearsal) in my sweaty résidence before we took the train back home together.
You could say it was a wasted visit but there was a critical element: THE BATH. We both agree it was worth the €60 round-trip for Julian to have had a rose scented bath.
What a glorious day awaited us back in the Vaucluse. Much restored by his tub shaped ablutions, a little tlc and a centrally heated hotel sleep, we were able to walk the walk with our darling blue-cat-on-green-moss. On it we met three people walking one donkey and vowed that, at whatever cost, this would be our last winter without a bath.
posted by ruth at 7:51 PM
4 Comments:
Quite right too. We've got a bath, but it's small (not much longer than my legs) and we're about to upgrade to a great big luxurious one with taps and plughole in the middle that I can lie right down in. I can't wait! Showers are all very well for getting clean in, but a long luxurious bath is something else altogether.
My dream is to someday have a Japanese bath, even if just a sitting in, as long as the hot water comes up to my shoulders. Submersion as a healing ritual.
I just love your blog, Ruth. It is so very beautifully written. I save it for a treat, reading it when I can steal a few minutes of uninterrupted time...and lose myself in the lovely prose and photos and life you lead.
Oh what is it about baths...showers just don't do it. Trouble here is that with so little rain most of the year I feel guilty about my long scented soak. Don't let it happen too often... except when very low. But oh the joy of it. THE JOY. Sybaritic has to be the word invented solely to describe such pleasure.
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