We’re not good at showers, here in the UK. Visit a lot of our bed and breakfast places and you’ll find yourself having to soap up and rinse off under a pathetic trickle of water that emerges from a very small shower-head with an array of tiny pinhead-sized holes. Usually quite a few of these are blocked up with limescale and it’s often more like standing in heavy mist than it is like being showered.
You’ll have gathered from this that I like a good powerful shower, and usually I get one, but last week the tube that runs inside the metal shower hose split, and most of the water wasn’t making it more than an inch or so upwards. But it’s an easy thing to fix so we got a new hose from Wilkinson and Geoff put it on. Two days later the tube in that one split, even worse this time, and for the last few days we’ve been trying to shower under the equivalent of a small leak in the plumbing.
This morning involved a trip to somewhere that sells shower hoses of a quality that lasts longer than a couple of days (never buy one of these from Wilkinsons!), and you’ve no idea how wonderful it was to get a decent shower at last. I stood there, water cascading steamily over me, and thought how the hot shower is one of life’s great, under-appreciated pleasures.