I need to go and have a bath and a soak now, neither Clint Eastwood nor Meryl Streep will be in the bath with me, remember yesterday's piece? SO I'll soak alone. So while you read this I'll be having my own fantasy, no arthritis, the rest I'll leave to your imagination.
Michael's Bathroom ©
by
Michael Casey
Six months previously Michael had decorated his living room, he
had to, the white walls had turned to a nicotine stained yellow in places
such was the downside of having a South facing living room. Now it was
the turn of the bathroom again. The bathroom was very small, not even
enough room to swing a cat, it was about 7 foot by six foot, which was
just big enough for the bath, the sink and the bog. Why did people want
big bathrooms anyway? You weren't going to hold dinner parties in there,
or go jogging, yes Michael was used to and by now satisfied with his
small bathroom. However it always seemed to need decorating, he just
needed to open the window more often and let the steam out. Michael just
loved to wallow in the bath like a Hippopotamus, he had a radio on the
windowsill so he could listen to Heart FM while he shaved and bathed and
watched the spiders. There were spiders galore in his bathroom, his
mother always said spiders brought money with them, perhaps snared in
their webs, Michael even looked under the bath behind the panel just in
case the spiders had indeed brought gold with them, sadly all he found
was yet more spiders and their webs.
Years ago at work the offices were tarted up, so new carpet was
laid in the reception, so Michael had begged for the off cuts, and
persuaded Paul Robinson to give him a lift home with it. Once home though
it was late Michael got out some very sharp scissors and laid the carpet in
the bathroom, he'd have a posh bathroom now, no more cold lino for him.
Actually he did make a good job of the carpet fitting, there was some
left over too. Now the bad thing about ordinary carpet in the bathroom is
that it gets manky, firstly because Michael splashed a lot in the bath,
his mother had always told him off for splashing in the bath since he was
a child, she was afraid the water would leak though the ceiling into the
living room below. He did not have that problem now in his own house,
why, because he had a concrete floor. So the carpet got wet, due to the
splashing in the bath. Michael was also a bad shot, so he'd occasionally
piss on the floor, when he came rushing home dying for a piss after
having too many shandies. Also if you spill domestos or other bleach on
carpet it changes colour.
As for the ceiling and walls, they needed cleaning and painting
every now and then because of all the steam and Michael not opening the
window often enough. So Michael would go up the road to Fads and buy
five litres of white emulsion for a fiver, then scattering newspapers all
over the bathroom he'd attack the walls and ceiling. He soon got high and
had a headache with all the paint fumes, even though the window was
wide open, the radio was blaring too, he always had music on
constantly, whether he was painting, eating, washing shaving or just
picking his nose. Michael's painting had more attack than finesse to it,
splash it here, splash it there, quantity more than quality, his father
had always told him to use a small amount on the brush, a tiny amount,
but Michael always overloaded his brush, paint was cheap after all, a
tin of paint only cost the price of a couple of pints and a bag of chips
after all.
Once finished Michael was splattered in paint, his grey hair now
turned white, his painting clothes, now more paint than clothes, his
watch had a white thumb print on it, his underpants had paint on too,
for no matter what he did he was always hitching his jeans and
consequently he had paint everywhere. Michael stepped back to admire his
handiwork, but being as the bathroom was so small he bumped into the bog
and ending up sitting on it.”It'll do” was his usual comment, and it
would have too, he couldn't afford a real decorator. A fiver to do his
bathroom, but a decorator would charge 100 times that and take days, it
took Michael an hour and a half tops, he'd finish in time for Star Trek
and that was important, he had his priorities right. So looking at his
splattered watch, Michael gathered up the paint splattered newspaper
which was protecting his fancy carpet. The only trouble though was the
fact that his shoes were stuck to the newspapers, so Michael had to sit
on the bog and pull the newspaper off his shoes, invariably a spot or two
of paint stayed on the carpet. So Michael had rub hard to clean the
carpet, and take his shoes off so that he wouldn't leave footprints
everywhere. ”Ah it'll do,” repeated Michael as he looked back at the
bathroom from the safety of the kitchen, he'd then strip off and put all
his painting clothes into the washing machine, invariably the light was
fading now, so Michael had the kitchen light on, so his neighbours would
be treated to the dubious privilege of seeing Michael naked and paint
spattered standing in his kitchen.
Star Trek was great as usual, Michael only recognised the
metaphors after the show, but he really enjoyed the show, he'd been
watching it for 30 years now, the original and then the follow on shows.
After his dinner Michael ventured back into the bathroom, ”Who needs
decorators, the thieving bastards". Michael was satisfied with his
handiwork, it'd do till the next time. The next time came, when the
carpet was manky, so Michael threw out the carpet and searched under the
bed in the spare room, that’s where he kept the rest of the carpet. As
luck would have it there was just enough to cover the bathroom floor
again. So once more he got out the dangerous scissors and cut the carpet to
shape, and yes he did do a good job of it, carpet fitting he could do,
it was painting he was useless at. Jackson Pollark, the artist who threw
paint at the canvas would have been impressed by Michael's bathroom,
anybody else would have said, ”was there an explosion?"
So time passed and the carpet was manky, so Michael threw it out,
so what would he do next? He hit upon the brilliant idea of painting the
concrete floor. It only took half an hour and then ”hey presto" he had a
redecorated bathroom, only he hadn't thought of one thing. What happens
when you paint a floor white? It shows all the dirt, and it shows up all
the spiders that are not spiders, if you know what I mean. So Michael
improvised, he was good at improvising, 20 years as a computer operator
and he'd leant to improvise, if nothing else. So he painted the floor
blue, that colour wouldn't show up spiders that weren't spiders. And he
was right. He had another problem now, because he'd used ordinary
emulsion, when it got wet, it came off, so soon the soles of Michael's
slippers went blue, and soon the blue was spattered with white, as
toothpaste and soap suds stained the blue floor. Michael persevered, he
painted the floor blue every couple of weeks or so, blue paint was more
expensive than white, but the one tin enabled him paint it ten times or
so. Eventually the walls needed painting again, so Michael thought he'd
try blue on the walls, only it was too dark, he didn't like it, and
more to the point he ran out of paint halfway through. So he went up to
Fads again for white, though he was nearly tempted into buying a soft
coloured paint as it was half price, but after a bit of soul searching he
stuck with white, five litres for a fiver.
Another problem reared its head, if you try painting over a
strong colour, the colour underneath shows through. So on Boxing Day 98
Michael spent the day painting, or smearing as his mother used to call it
, he spent the day smearing two coats of white over the blue. And yes it
did look dreadful. New Years Eve came and Michael's bathroom was covered
in copies of the Telegraph, it was a good read with great coverage, why
just one copy was enough to cover all Michael's floor, he'd have to write
to the editor to thank him. So Michael got drunk on New Year's Eve and
ended up dancing with his friend Dave, Dave being a Helmult Khol look
alike. Once home with a hangover, Michael realised that in the morning
he'd have to give another coat or two to the bathroom. Michael could see
the light at the end of the tunnel, or rather the bottom of the five
litre tin of paint, once he finished the tin, the job would be finished
whether it was finished or not, the job would be finished. He'd had
enough, and he had a massive headache due to the paint fumes.
“Finished, at last, thank God,” yelled Michael, yes he
had come to the bottom of the tin, so finished or not, it was finished.
So Michael went and watched Star Trek on the satellite. The bathroom took
forever to dry as it was Winter and the atmosphere was cold and wet. So
it was a couple of days before Michael could finish the bathroom
transformation. He found some old curtains he had in his pantry, he had
originally bought them for the kitchen, but once he got them home and
tried hanging them he was annoyed to discover they were too short, so
they had ended up in his pantry on a shelf next to his iron. To his
delight the new curtains were just the right length for his bathroom, and
they were nice and bright too. So what to dod next? Michael pulled the
panel out from in front of the bath, as luck would have it he had a spare
plastic shower curtain ; so he wrapped the panel in a new shower curtain,
a flowery pattern on it, and it would match the shower curtain he had
already up. Finally as he had to lay the lino, the lino he swopped a new
pair of shoes for. His brother had some spare lino, and Michael as usual
had a spare pair of shoes in his shoe mountain at the bottom of his
wardrobe. So he got the lino, and his brother got the shoes as a Xmas
present, they had both laughed as they struck the deal during their
regular weekly telephone conversation. Their dead mother would have
approved too, ”look after each other" was her motto. There was one snag
though, Michael couldn't find his scissors, so how could he cut the lino?
So he improvised with the bread knife, a flash of the knife here, a
flash of the knife there, it was hard work, he was soon covered in sweat
but after 45 minutes he was finished. So he just had to slip the freshly
covered bath panel back in position. So kicking it back in position,
Michael had finally transformed his bathroom. Michael stepped back to
admire his handiwork, accidently knocking the bread knife down the toilet
but he didn't hear the splash, as the radio was blaring out a Nat King
Cole song ”Let there be Love". Michael looked at his freshly painted
bathroom, walls and ceiling had been painted, new bright curtains were
hanging down, and the lino was new and bright too, he had even put a
layer of plastic and newspapers underneath to act as insulation, and he
had a little mat too that he could step on when he got out the bath. Yes
it was an utter transformation, the best it had looked in the 12 years
he'd lived there. All this activity had made him really hungry, he'd
bought a loaf from the bakery, an old fashioned big tasty loaf, all he
had to do was cut it into big slices, now where had he left the bread
knife?
End
now its 20+ years on and I share my bathroomand house with 3 girls and a female cat Totoro. So have pity on me and buy some books, then we can move and I'll have my own bathroom, can you hear the dripping? That's not the bathroom tap, its my tears.
https://www.amazon.com/Michael-Casey/e/B00571G0YC
