“Aargh! Go, go go…!”

That was the reception accorded to the dripping figure in the doorway. I closed the door on the screams and loud music. A few moments later… fairly desperate… I opened it again…

“NOOOO! GO AWAY!”

Disconsolate I squelched my way into the bedroom, rummaging for something… anything… with which to replace my sodden clothes. As my son is a foot taller than it, the results were less than attractive, but at least they were dry. “If you can’t win, don’t play,” There was a certain irony in the slogan across the T shirt… I wondered how my shoes would fare in the tumble dryer….

Look at it… tempting isn’t it? Can’t you just imagine aching muscles being soothed in warm, fragrant bubbles? Tucked away in a secluded corner, a place to unwind… a moment of sheer decadence amid the clematis and birdsong?

But appearances can be deceptive. This thing eats hobbits for breakfast.

It was that time again… the time for the Cleaning of the Hot Tub… a piece of therapeutic luxury that has been worth its weight in gold to my son’s recovery but with which I personally have a love-hate relationship. And it knows it. When he was away one week, he let me use it… on condition it was drained, cleaned and refilled ready for his return. Heaven…bliss… it was worth it… and I would have had to do it anyway.

No such luck this time. Just a chance to do some major housework in the three hours it takes the thing to refill. That, of course, is the easy bit. First it has to be drained.

Now, there is a drain tap… but being inaccessible for my son it has to wait until I get there. Switch the thing off at the mains… then wait a couple of hours for it to empty. Then clean, change filters and refill. All very well, you might think, but it was a beautiful day… a warm spring morning with the prospect of bluebells and woods with Ani in the afternoon if I could get everything done. Knowing there would be the three hour refill, a bucket seemed a good solution.

I wonder about my sanity sometimes, I really do.

2,000 litres of water takes a lot of bailing. And it gets messy. By the time I’d got maybe a quarter of it emptied, my neck was calling me an idiot and I had very wet feet. Still, I was getting there. The sun was hot on my back… maybe a jumper hadn’t been the best idea?

The wood of the deck was getting very slippery with wet shoes, of course. I would, I thought, have to be careful. Heave ho… I was soon halfway there. Much better than waiting for the paltry trickle from the tap! I reached over the edge to fill the bucket with gusto… the weight of water combined with short legs and slippery deck had predictable results. Head first and fully clothed….

It is amazing how much water a jumper can hold… but as I was there anyway I carried on bailing.

The worst had dripped off by the time I was done and squelched into the house in search of my son. His aggressive reception was not encouraging… However, he soon enlightened me, “That was the most Mum-unfriendly tune EVER…” They have an odd chivalry where I am concerned, my sons, and anything Mum-unfriendly is not allowed to encroach upon my consciousness. There is a deliberate blind spot about their own conception and I am not supposed to be aware of many things. You have to chuckle.

I explained. I’d only wanted to see if I could borrow some clothes… I’d thought he would like to see the results of his hot tub’s hobbit offensive…“Well, yes! Any other time I would! I just think it’s a bit mean you didn’t let me film it…”

I can be thankful for small mercies then….

I finally got finished and changed back into the newly dried clothes and headed home to collect Ani for a walk in the woods and fields in the blazing sunshine. I discarded the trousers and jumper in favour of a thin dress… much more suited to the weather… and we set off over the fields, wandering far from home…

It was at about this time the heavens opened. With almost no warning the sky darkened and the rain came down heavily, battering the ground at our feet and splattering the pair of us with mud. So much for the summer dress. There is the old saying… ne’er cast a clout until May’s out… Serves me right.

Dripping, mud spattered and bedraggled the pair of us headed home to a bath… her first. Then I get to clean the bathroom, the walls and any stray beds I forgot to close the door on…

I could really use half an hour in the hot tub….