Hot water on tap is one of the lesser contemplated luxuries in life – until you are without it. Before my week without hot water, I never considered how frightfully lucky I was to be able to wash myself on a whim.
The result of supposedly essential maintenance works in my block, I steeled myself for the difficulty of being without warm water. The first day wasn’t too bad. I had prepared with an evening shower and sniggered cruelly at my sister as she attempted to submerge herself in the pitiful bath (equal parts icy tap and kettle-heated water). I laughed too soon, for on day two I was to suffer the ignominy of the shower at my gym.
You may go to nice gyms with fancy showers. Alas, I do not. The showers at my gym remind me of school showers – mildew and limescale and floors which just make my mind scream ‘verruca!’. I had all but forgotten how difficult it is to moisturise whilst holding up a towel (not for me the behaviour of the bush-baring wild cats who stalk the locker rooms in the buff). I left feeling rather more dirty upon my exit than on entry and was determined to find another shower.
Now, I am not friendless. I do, in fact, have several chums within a 2 mile radius who offered me their facilities, but was unable to take them up on their kindness. The main issue with borrowing a shower is the odd nature of dashing into someone’s house while they are mid dinner-party and emerging fresh and clean and then, well, buggering off. I am particular about my routine and could not bear the idea of lounging around the sitting rooms of others semi-nude and half-groomed. No, no.
I was in a pickle. To become one of the great unwashed or get creative? I chose the latter.
This is how I came to be booked into Spa NK one Thursday afternoon: I was desperate for a shower and keen enough to pay the handsome fare of £45 for the privilege.
Given my desperate state, it may make sense that the shower was my favourite part of the treatment. The glorious, glorious wash I had before I disrobed for the therapist really was the highlight of the treatment which, although pleasant, really wasn’t worth £45.
It started with the application of the scrub from shoulders to toes. It felt good, but not more extraordinary than any of the various scrubs I give myself in the bathroom. Post-scrub, you are sent back downstairs into the shower room to rinse it off. Necessary, yes, but it broke the treatment and my relaxation in half and, in a 30 minute treatment window, that really leaves you very little time for any mellowing.
Once back on the towels, I was rubbed with a Natura Bisse moisturiser, but felt the same about this part as I had about the scrub – it felt good, but not any better than anything I could do at home. It was no massage, just a rub-in.
I left feeling clean and soft but, had I taken my £45 and bought a good scrub and moisturiser, I could have achieved the same thing at home more than once. If I hadn’t been in such dire straits that is what I would have done. Having said that, were I ever showerless again, I would probably go down the same route and plump for the most expensive shower known to womankind.