Recipe for a Bath

One Tub
Hot Water
Two enthusiastic squeezes of some wholly unnecessary and scented foaming soap
One gentler semi-squeeze of jojoba or similar luxurious skin and hair oil
One casually tossed fizzing bath bomb
One well-thumbed paperback of questionable taste
Minimum one glass wine and/or similar intoxicant which can be rationalized as healthful      indulgence
Minimum one hour of time better spent elsewhere, but not.



There is no point in presuming that, in this age of showers, a bath can be made any way efficient or sensible. It can't, and it oughtn't be. It is one hundred percent pure luxury, and has no pretensions otherwise. I advocate a full all or nothing approach. Bubbles, oils, scents, music, candles, whatever your preferred items of a pampering nature are, bring them out and assemble them whimsically, close to hand. I recommend a robe of some sort- terry for the cozies, and silk or similar for pure decadence.

Whilst in robe, prepare bath, intoxicant, and enjoy the pleasantness of your own reflection in the bathroom mirror as you bring your hair up in a Helen-esque twist held back with a fetching band. You will be softly lit and lovely, anticipating warmth.

When the bath is prepared, assemble any necessities for the bathing process. Loofah or cloth, pumice stone, razors, et al ought to be ready to use and assembled in order of preferred progression. Any ghastly black-lagoon face cream may be applied now, so that any intrigued lovers who contrive to catch you unawares will see a mysterious, painted creature; flushed to the bosom but made decent by a fig-leaf like blanket of wafting bubbles. Luxurious bathing is now a thing of mystique and quaint history, and this a wonderful thing. Don't make it commonplace.

Do what needs be done in the bath- that is to say, bathe, and while doing so reflect upon your person and place in life. For much of human history, baths have been deeply connected with ritual, and the act of cleansing. This is a spiritual act made tangible. Your very soul is warmed and scented, and your rational self should likewise be up to snuff in an attitude of ponderous thought and self-improvement.

When you have finished the necessaries, use your remaining time before lukewarmness sets in to skip to the dog-earred passages of your well-thumbed paperback, finish any remaining intoxicant, and, once finished, to float your hair under the water, feeling it stream around, mermaid like. This last bit isn't necessary, but it is delightful, and I highly endorse it as a means to inexplicable self satisfaction.

A minute long quick rinse should follow, followed by a thorough patting down with a soft towel. The robe may now be reapplied, and the moisturizing of the face may follow at your leisure.

With the ability to do so many things at once all the time, activities that are are time consuming and independent have fallen largely out of public favour. Taking time purely for oneself is indulgent, unnecessary, and splendid. Not only the physical pleasure of the act, but the time and space for uninterrupted thought and feeling, to soothe what is constantly overstimulated by continuous mental intake.

Take one hour, and enjoy it.

Any of the main ingredients can be substituted. Yes, even the bath. It might be a chair, with tea, a journal, and slippers. It might be a mirror, with clothes and music and lights and a closed door. It may be a garage, with a car leaking suspicious fluid, waiting to be stripped down and made up again, possibly with no change in the suspicious fluid.

 Just one hour, to be alone, and not watching anything, or talking to anyone, or focusing on a thousand different processes. Just for your body, mind, and soul.