More Relaxed Than I Thought

I know, I know. After months of silence, I've written two blog entries in a week.

There's pizza at stake. Yes, this is serious.

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The water always brings me home.

I sigh as I ease myself into the hot bath water.

This is a reward, and frankly I could do with a few more of those.

As the heat washes over me, it occurs to me that my hectic life offers little by way of solitude. What with the constant companionship of manic badgers, a necktie-stealing lion and my indefinable best friend Max Tunguska, a soak in the tub may be the closest I get to being alone in an average week*. Or relaxed, even.

[ * Well, let's call it ten days. Hey, I shower too. ]

And it is relaxing in here. The bathroom is very plain, fully tiled in white with a polished wood floor, and is brightly lit with diffuse overhead panels. I've often thought it has a surgical, almost sterile quality to it**. I did think once about killing the lights, and dragging some candles and a boombox in here for some "salle de bain" ambiance, but on the whole it's just my vertebrae and muscles that need the attention.  

** Stanley Kubrick filmed here once, I'm told. ]

The old-fashioned claw-footed ceramic bath - sat squarely in the centre of the room - isn't quite as long as I'd like (one of the few disadvantages of my height), but the water is hot and deep and I can feel warm relaxation oozing through my body.

Time passes.

A bubble breaks the surface of the bath somewhere between my raised knees.

And then another.

This is not unusual when I bathe, tho clearly I'm more relaxed than I thought.

But then a stream of bubbles starts to rise from the water. I sit up slowly, experiencing an odd mixture of alarm and curiosity, as the flow becomes more determined. Wow, it's getting pretty strong. In fact, I'm being lifted from the bottom of the bath by the updraft! Instinct hurls me splashily over the side in an indecorous pink streak.

Then things move quickly.

Two black furred hands appear on the edge of the tub, and a black-and-white figure in a brightly coloured wetsuit hauls himself up to stand where his hands had been a moment before. It's Hoth, short and heroic in a Douglas Fairbanks kind-of-way. The boy badger reaches in to start hauling something upwards.

At the same time, a second - and very similar - figure vaults over the side of the bath and lands with a splash. Sollust turns immediately to assist with the unloading of what Hoth is lugging upwards. Good grief, it's an old pirate chest! As the pair start to manoeuvre it towards the floor, a suckered tentacle breaks the surface and surges upwards in a spray of seawater. The limb is long, thick and muscular; the body it's connected to must be vast! It glistens and flexes as it explores keenly around the tub, reaching and searching for something.

Without warning, a third figure rides heroically into view on a second tentacle, a shorter badger in the same bright garb, and wielding what seems to be a very heavy baseball bat. It's Dantoo. She leaps clear of the creature and begins to set about its thrashing limbs with obvious vigour, beating them away from her brothers as one of its tentacles finds my arm and snakes round it.

I scream in shock and terror.

All three badgers freeze, and turn to look at me; they hadn't realised I was here. Even the tentacles pause, confused. After an achingly-long second, the three of them nod me a trio of salutes, and return enthusiastically to their treasure-hunting tasks.

Hoth hops down from the bath to join his brother, and the pair of them drag the chest out through the now-open door, trailing seawater behind them. At the same time, Dantoo's bashing of the tentacles goes up a gear, and after a monumental blow that would have sent any ball clear out of the park - that kid is strong, I tell you - both limbs whip back into the water.

The girl badger hands me a large fluffy towel and races out the door, slamming it behind her.

Time passes.

I peer into the tub cautiously, but see nothing but bathwater. I can't help but stand back to examine under it for a moment. Yes, the clawed feet hold the base of the tub some six inches above the floor.

I sigh wearily. This makes no sense but - once again - I'm experiencing it.

I bet Max has got something to do with it.

My heart is still pounding, but there's a sense that the moment of peril has passed. Casting the towel aside, I slip back into the hot water. It's exactly as I remember it.

And in a minute, I'm dozing off.

The water brings me home, and I guess I'm not the only one.

I close my eyes and enjoy the solitude.

Indigo

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