We had a bath in one of the downstairs bathrooms at our new Irish domicile. Somewhere previous tenants used to wash their dogs and also two year olds bearing permanent markers as well by the look of things.
The dog thing was easy. Drains were unclogged by removing the circular grid from the plughole and depositing the foetid mass recovered from the U-bend down the toilet. Scuff marks were removed with ordinary bathroom cleaner and lots of elbow grease. The other part proved more difficult. Bleach didn’t even touch the permanent marker artistry, nor did three kinds of disinfectant type cleaner.
Which left only one obvious choice; acetone, like that found in nail polish remover. But I was loathe to use it because acetone does horrible things to resin and many plastics. Fortunately Mrs S suggested her cheap acetone free nail varnish remover in conjunction with make up remover pads, although I’m sure that cotton wool or even paper towels of any kind would have sufficed.
So I applied the acetone-free nail varnish remover with a series of cotton face pads. Fifteen minutes and a lot of squeaking (With the occasional muted sound of amazement) later, the bath was blemish free and ready for use.
Now I don’t know if it was the ethyl acetate or nethyl ethyl keytone ingredient that cut the mustard, but the end result was a bath fit for human use; gleaming and clean. So afterwards I allowed myself the luxury of a good old soak in a solution of scented Epsom salts with a big mug of tea at hand.
End result; now a pale cloud of oil of Eucalyptus and white willow follows my every motion and I am relaxed and clear headed. A once barely useable bathroom is scented with something other than Domestos and more in keeping with our nasal preferences. Domestic equilibrium is restored.
Sometimes I think we could all do with a good old soak in scented water every so often. It’s so very relaxing. So much more so than just a shower. Perhaps that’s why the world seems to be so up it’s own arse all the time. The protagonists don’t spend enough time soaking all their cares away.
By way of an afterthought, candles and wine are permissible, and for Mrs S essential. She has been promised some of the same to help forget about all the self-important drama queens who abrade our sensitivities on a daily basis. I’m just about up to my back teeth with all the hand waving over climate, some virus that has passed it’s worst and who gets to be king of the castle over the water. The markets may dip, but they will recover. It’ll all be the same in a decade or so.
Pass the bath oil.