Last night I attemped to have a shower in my own flat.
Okay, that genuinely shouldn't be something I have to report upon. In fact, were it an irregular occurrence, maybe that would be even more worrying. Showering isn't something I do every day - in fact, it shouldn't be, it increases the risk of thrush - but it's always been a relatively pleasurable experience for me. I like the feeling of cascading warm water all over my body; I like lathering myself up with something sweet (Lush Snow Fairy is my gel of choice, but I use others too) and watching it run off. I also like the feeling of being clean afterwards. It's refreshing.
Showering, for me, is an evening activity - something to be enjoyed before bed. I'm not the "quick shower in the morning" type, and never have been. It gives me time to think (this blog is the result of shower thoughts), and time to sing. It even gives me an opportunity to wank if I want to.
The problem is that I don't think the hot water in our flat works right now. At least, it most certainly didn't last night, and after about ten minutes of washing my feet in cold water waiting for it to heat up, I called it quits on the shower concept, resorting to scooping handfuls of tepid water into a flannel and splashing myself in random places. Hardly a particularly sexy sight.
And so I found myself having almost erotic thoughts about the shower in my parents' house.
The shower at SH is a magnificent beast. A powerful, relentless, and incredibly warm douche, it really is a thing of wonder. Something that you can stand underneath without having to detach from the wall and still guarantee that everything will be clean. In five minutes you can wash; in ten, you can have shampooed, conditioned and repeated the process on your hair (everywhere... the hair on my head isn't the only hair I take care of!). In fifteen, you can turn the water off and still feel like you're in a steam bath.
In fact, even the acoustics are good. I can shower while singing Mother of Pearl by Roxy Music and hear every note reverberated back to me with the most appropriate amount of delay.
Of course, none of this actually helps when that shower is over there, and here I have one that barely works, with a shower head that produces barely more than a sprinkle and hot water which is just cold water pretending. Yes, by the way, I am aware that these things are all probably fixable, but we've already had the boiler men out once, and they appear to have fixed everything.
I'm such a drama queen.
Except I've suddenly realised that my parents' house is empty (the cat notwithstanding), since my sister has moved out and my parents have gone to visit a friend in Yorkshire for the New Year.
It's time for a pilgrimage.