By Darren Simpson
I do love a good soak. Nothing like it. ‘Charleston,’ I say. ‘Do be a good fellow and run the bath.’
‘Of course, sir,’ he says in rich, reliable monotone. Some Cognac, and then I head to the bedroom to be prepared by the maid.
Charleston opens the bathroom door for me, releasing a cloud of fragrant mist into the hall. It settles on antique surfaces in plump, silky beads.
I study my reflection in the faucet’s golden mouth and test the water with my toes. Carefully, I fold my gown and place it on the chair. I put my right foot in first, then the left, and slowly lower myself into the soft, lilac water. With only my face above the water, surrounded by lavender buds and creamy pearls, I close my eyes. My muscles untie themselves and spread like a warm eiderdown.
And this, my friends, is a beautiful bliss.
So you can imagine my dismay as the bath shakes free its brass legs and jumps through the French windows with a terrible crash. I hold on for dearest life as it gallops through the garden. [Read more…] about The Running Bath