I was, I admit, surprised when I actually managed to find the swimming costume, and even more surprised it still fits after all these years. So, with instructions from my son, whose epistle began with ‘Dear hobbit…’, to make use of the hot tub, I duly stuffed it in my handbag and wended my way towards his home.

Several hours of housework later I looked at the hot tub and thought about it. The prospect of relaxing and doing nothing for half an hour or so should have been appealing, but somehow it wasn’t. Too much to do. The next day it was the same… twiddle my thumbs while the clock ticks? Nah… the swimming costume looked at me invitingly, but I resisted all too easily.

I have again spent the past few hours at my son’s home, up to the proverbials in bed linen, laundry and ironing. It was going to be half an hour before the next load was ready to be hung out to dry. And a phrase a friend had sent me kept hovering around the edges of my mind… ‘The ego does… true self…is…’ He was right, of course.

Now it goes without saying that we cannot all sit under a tree and just Be. Stuff has to be done regardless and that stuff can be done in a state of Being is also perfectly true. On the other hand, the small voice was saying, there is no reason not to take some time out of the hustle and bustle of daily life, shelve the worries for half an hour, forget the clock and simply Be. I can manage to do so for meditation every morning, so what was stopping me now?

Habit, I suppose. The habit of duty, clock-watching and the very tension of which the School advocates awareness. So, of course, I felt duty bound to do something about that.

Now this hot tub is a masterpiece of therapeutic engineering. It was installed, not as a social gathering place, but in order to combat some of the side effects of my son’s injuries. And it has been a godsend for that. It is sited in a quiet corner of the garden, where there are roses and honeysuckle in bloom, and not overlooked by anything except the birds. Putting the little camera.. not the good one!.. on the shelf beside it in case the squirrel turned up, I removed a snail in imminent danger and stepped in.

There is, apparently, a knack to using the thing. Especially if  you are not as tall as a supermodel. Which house-hobbits are not. Nor do I carry enough ballast to be able to sit and not float away on the current. Relax and the force of the jets literally blows you away. Lean into the jets, however, and suddenly you are being treated to a deep and extremely effective massage.

Working my way around the stations to the lounger all the aching bits were pummelled and pounded, my feet blasted by the underwater jets and bits of me pointedly showing just how much tension a body’s musculature can hold. The rain came down and I didn’t care, it was rather nice to just lie back and relax. I forgot the clock and the laundry and, for once, just indulged in a little minor decadence.

I hadn’t realised quite how much I ached until I got out and didn’t. The swollen hand had returned to normal, muscles felt loose and best of all the damnable foot, upon which I have barely been able to stand the last few days, was pain free and the right colour.

Yet had you asked me, I would have said I was already quite relaxed and laid back…so I can add that to the list of illusions I am losing, one way or another. Needless to say, I am, as always, there again tomorrow….

Thank you, my son!