Slow bathing

After slow food and slow living, I am now a convert of slow bathing. Allthough I absolutely hated the idea of filling up one's bathtub with slow boiled water from various pots and kettles, it actually proofed to be oddly relaxing.

Therapeutical almost. My quest for a better quality procedure of getting myself clean only started last Thursday, when someone put up a notice on the door of my appartment building stating there was not going to be any hot water from Monday 8.00 till Wednesday 17.00. Our communal heater apparantly needed something done to it. And since we have not had any snow for at least ten days, this was as a good a time as any to turn it off. The Swiss, being send to forest nursery's from a very young age, probably do not mind jumping under a cold shower in the morning, before tucking into their bircher muesli.
I guess I just have not been living here long enough to toughen up. So after coming home from a bike ride all grubby and sweaty, I really did not know what to do. And being expected for a very sophisticated lunch later in the day, I really felt that I could not get away with soaking myself in perfume.
Instead I set about boiling water. In every pot and kettle that I can find. In the meantime I make myself comfortable on the sofa, put the telly on and have a lovely time watching 'Homes under the Hammer'. While I was sitting there in my bathrobe the most miraculous thing happened: I did not feel guilty at all. While I would normally never allow myself to watch daytime telly, unless may be when I am ironing - something that try to avoid at all cost -  I now very contentedly sat there. Boiling enormous quantities of water takes a lovely long time.
Only after boiling and pouring and some more boiling and pouring was I finally able to sit myself down in about a foot of tepid water. Luckily I am still quite flexible, otherwise I do not think that I would have managed to wash my hair. Within minutes or sitting down, I was towelling myself dry again, feeling very satisfied, like I really accomplished something.
My son, never keen to maintain even the lowest level of personal hygiene, announces after school that he wants to see for himself what the slow bathing thing is all about. He even offers to fill the kettle. Of course he and I can watch an Idian premier league cricket match, after he is finished. After all the traipsing up and down with hot water, we really deserve a rest.
Needless to say I can not do much else today. I really need to safe my strenght for when my daughter comes home. Then I need to go to the proces of boiling water all over again. With all the available  pots and kettles used to full capacity, I think it probably is a good idea to have a pizza delivered tonight. Preferably one that is made by hand by some lovely old Italian guy, who grows his own tomatoes, and mills his own flour, before spending hours fiddling with my pizza he then delivers personally to my doorstep. Because by now I even want my fast food to slow down.