Every parent knows that an inescapable feature of having a child is the unsolicited advice. Everyone from a cabbie to a countess is just itching to tell you what to expect. The absolute worst types are those that gleefully enumerate all the terrible parts of being a parent; deriving a vicarious shuddering thrill from watching your foreboding and anxiety bloom like damp in a Brighton B&B.
I am not here to give advice unsolicited or otherwise I am here to tell you something wonderful - bath time is the best time. Why is that wonderful? Because you don't need a book to tell you how to do it; you don't need an expert to come into your home at £100 per hour; you don't need to go anywhere for it; you don't even need any special equipment, you just need a bath. And if you don't have a bath, well then you have my pity because no bath no laugh.
When we bought our flat we got rid of absolutely everything except one thing: the bath. Familial propriety prevents me from making public an image of family bath time but I have no such compunction where my best man Christoffer van Tulleken is concerned, not least of all because this fabulous photo has been filched from his Instagram account. And who can blame the man, anyone who has luxuriated in a tub of such titanic proportions wouldn't want just to tell the world but to show it as well.
Priests say that the family that prays together stays together. Well I can tell you that the family that soaks together jokes together. However maddening you have found the day or each other or the day because of each other all cares are washed away in a gurgle of delight.
So taken have I been with my bath's life enhancing properties that I have been offering it around to local friends; although it must be acknowledged that the suggestion that they come round and have a bath has been prone to misinterpretation. Still I am unrepentant in expounding its virtues at least, that is, until the water bill arrives.
