The Bath

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Vic’s new flat was all he needed. It was big enough for one and a half men to have space but not to get lost in and, when the half was with his mother, it didn’t feel too big for a forty-something man to rattle around in alone. For something so close to town it was unbelievably quiet, there was no noise from outside and only occasionally did the neighbours bleed through the wall. It was perfect except there was no bath. Now Vic was usually a shower man, he was with Kramer on this one, sittingin a tepid pool of his own filth didn’t appeal. So this absence of a tub was no problem. But every now and again he loved nothing more than to soak his tired body for an hour or so until his fingers were pruned.

Now, this minute, was one such occasion. Vic wasn’t just tired he was exhausted. Elis had been poorly all week so Vic had spent the week functioning on about a hour’s sleep a night. Then he’d done six shows in three nights and now he was running on empty.  A bath would soothe the pains in his arms, legs, hips, elbows, feet and fingers. Why were there no washhouses anymore? He made a decision; he’d book into a hotel and have himself a nice long bath.

Now Vic was no fool, he knew that the budget hotels didn’t do baths these days, wetrooms were the money saving fashion. But he knew of a little boutique hotel on the outskirts of town that had massive tubs. He got online, booked a room and got into his car looking forward to pampering himself.

There’s something a bit odd about checking into a hotel in your own town. It feels kind of naughty, a little surreal. You are home and away at the same time. He felt a bit daft filling in the card and putting an address that was in the same postal district, but Vic knew he wouldn’t care once his body hit the water. He climbed the stairs wearily and put the key card in the lock. He dropped his overnight bag and took off his sweater as he walked towards the bathroom door.

“No! No! No!” he said, and turned around. He immediately headed back down stairs.

“Excuse me,” the receptionist looked up from his paperwork.

“Yes, how can I help?”

“The website said all the rooms came with baths.” Vic said.

“Well they do sir,” the receptionist smiled a smile Vic wanted to wipe off his smug face.

“You can’t call that a bath, in room seven. It’s tiny.” he said. “It’s barely big enough for a child, Tom Cruise would struggle to relax in that. It’s no more a bath than a glorified bidet. I want to change rooms?”

“I’m sorry sir we’re fully booked sir,” the receptionist looked far too amused for Vic’s liking.

“So I want my money back then.” Vic said trying to remain calm.

“I’m sorry sir, we can’t do that; you have the no refund rate.”

“I want to see the manager.” Vic said, but he sensed he was fighting a losing battle.

“He’ll be along in the morning sir.”

Vic sighed and stormed back to his room, went into the bathroom and turned the taps on. He got in the bath and tried to get comfortable eventually finding a way to fit his metre seventy-eight into the metre long tub.  He’d come to have a bath so he would have one even if it meant lying in it with his legs up the wall.