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As a true Brit abroad I have tried to maintain some of my English heritage and culture. I enjoy a cup of Earl Grey daily, I inhale all the BBC drama I can get my hands on and I bloody LOVE a bath.
Even during a Sydney heatwave I don’t like to end my day without a good old soak in the bath. Actually, if I am honest one of the things I missed the most about my life pre marriage break-up was the enormous copper freestanding bath in our bedroom…. (Cut to dream scene with the bath and I skipping through cornfields, feeding each other grapes and spooning in front of an open fire).
Sorry I digress….
My bath time ritual would always include a candle, Epsom salts or bath oil and music. I would usually enjoy a bath with George (Michael) or Ray (La Montage) and sometimes I’d share my bubbles with Beth (Orton) or even a whole orchestra if I had ABC Classic FM on.
Musicians aside I’m a big believer in a bath being a solo affair. I am happy to share my hot water on the odd occasion. Obviously if there was a romantic getaway with a ludicrously over-sized bath and a bottle of champagne I could be persuaded. Or of course if Tom Hardy wanted a bath I would happily sit against the taps with the plug going up my bottom…. but my general-rule of thumb was one bath, one human.
Hopefully you are getting the picture that I love a bath: especially during times of stress, worry, pregnancy and heartbreak. A bath at the end of the day is my sanctuary. So imagine my sadness when I found the perfect apartment for me and the 'small one' to rent but in their wisdom the owners had ripped the bath out during a renovation. Yes as Nat Imbruglia sang I was ‘Torn’.
In the end I weighed it up and as everything else (including the postcode to get the 'small one' into the local school) was perfect, I took the rental.
Now the bath isn’t just a nightly ritual, it’s also a good way to sit down and clean your ‘bits’. There is nothing better than the feeling of being able to give ‘it’ a good wash after a busy day before you get into your pyjamas. However, as a shower was now my only option, I practically had to get into ‘downward dog’ to achieve the same thorough clean.
The new night time ritual still involved music playing and burning a candle but instead of Epsom salts and bubble bath I had to branch out into the world of body washes. Cue the organic 100% Mint, Minty, Minty, Mint, nothing but the Mint body wash. Basically all the mint in the world mixed up into a handy sized plastic container.
I only used this brand of body wash once. Trust me once was enough.
I gave the armpits a good wash first and immediately felt an artic low hit… to say it left me feeling ‘fresh’ was an understatement! Goodness knows why after leaving my armpits in the depths of an arctic freeze I continued washing with this green dynamite… but I did.
I hit the front bottom area... The best way to describe the feeling is to reference the Listerine mouthwash advert where the guy’s mouth full of mouthwash explodes. I am not joking I was too scared to look down in case I’d inadvertently blown the safe doors off!
Now don’t get me wrong I am not pro-animal testing (and I’ve even eaten kale once or twice) but shit this organic stuff was military grade. You could take a country down with this green dynamite... so goodness knows what it did to my down bellows!
Thankfully there is no photographic evidence from that night but my lovely friend and illustrator Edwina White has been able to capture what went down..... no pun intended.
I went to bed that night and dreamt of the copper bath and made a pact with myself it was Dove soap only moving forward.