My favourite kind of gardening day? Full on physical, big stuff, Earth moving. The kind of day that makes you ache a bit, but in a way that is satisfying, does that make sense?
That was today.
What better end than to sit in the summer house with a very large G&T and some nibbles, two small dogs eager for a snack and a slowly setting sun. With someone, that’s how it could be better. Lonely.
Hot bath, that’s what I need, aching a bit more than is comfortable, getting older is a shit. I must remind myself that I am not thirty and at the peak of my physical strength.
Not done a hot bath for myself for a very long time, a very long time.
Taps on, bubbles stuff in, extractor fan (noisy) off. Heating on, I like a warm towel. Music, iPad and some of our favourite chillout sounds courtesy of Mr Nils Frahm. Lovely.
Taps off, downstairs for a fresh G@T, large again, naturally.
I’m ready for this, a long soak, some relaxing sounds and a delicious drink. Bliss.
And then I open the bathroom door and walk in. Mellow and ready for a muscle easing dip.
What I wasn’t ready for was the sharp stab of reality. The bath was empty. Oh it was full of hot water and bubbly stuff. But it was empty. Why was it empty, why wasn’t my nursey in it? Sally loved her long hot soak in the bath. Too hot for me, she used to laugh at my facial expression if I got into it with her. Usually I would hop in after it was too “cold” for her. Perfect for me and still, in my opinion, hot enough to cook a lobster.
I climbed in, sat down and the tears just flowed. And flowed. I lasted a minute, if that. What a dreadful waste of hot water.
The memories. All, bar one, good. Always the end of a perfect day together. Always after a delicious meal. Always ending in a warm embrace. Always a perfect night.
The one? A few days before the end. I carried her in and bathed her. We knew it was close to our last goodbye.
All of these memories hit me. I don’t think I will be in a hurry to have another hot bath anytime soon.