There are few finer solitary pleasures (that can be discussed in polite company) than a nice hot bath.

This, I find, is an experience that, regrettably, I too rarely have the time or inclination for; so when I do, I try to make the most of it.

A good hot bath is a joy that comes in multiple stages. Firstly, there's preparation; I like to procure clean clothes; a favourite t-shirt, a crisp pair of fresh jeans, and comfy undies. No point getting all clean just to get all dirty again straight away.

Draw the bath. No, CRC, put down your sketchbook. Water hot, as Bilbo once sang.

This is a time for anticipation and the thought of a wearisome day about to be soaked away. Round about now, I like to listen to some relaxing music (this part is helped by the fact that the hot tap in my bath is somewhat slow, so I get to hear all of Little Fluffy Clouds and Earth:Gaia from The Orb's Adventures Beyond The Ultraworld).

A good hot bath is, of course, too hot at first, so there's a bit of ow-dare I?-blimey-bloody-hell as one lowers one's precious things into it. A fleeting moment where one reaches just about the limit of one's tolerance melts away as the heat penetrates one's aching bones and there's the moment of *sigh*, where it's just you, a supply of hot water, and the view of the shower (fie, oh instrument of the splash'n'dash culture!). Tru]y, this is peace.

Now it's time to close the eyes and slip beneath the surface; back to the womb. A few moments of this and we are ready to get clean. Hair first; one simply cannot tolerate unwashed hair for long. Being blessed with a full head of hair (I work on the principle that I don't care if it's greying as long as I've got it) there is a satisfying transition from greasy mop to squeaky-clean coiffure.

One's body is lathered thoroughly; I've got some of the most remarkable stuff for this. It's claimed to be composed of tea tree and mint, and it has a remarkable cooling sensation; this hot/cold dichotomy lends the whole thing a yin/yang balance quality. Once more we descend beneath the waves.

Now that the business is attended to, we can turn our attention to pleasure. Of course, this involves a substantial amount of doing nothing at all, which is an activity that modern lifestyles regrettably preclude to an alarming degree.

A gentleman can take this opportunity to fit a new blade to his razor and have a shave; when one's whiskers have been soaked for a good 20 minutes, a fresh blade yields a deliciously close shave with only a little shaving soap or gel. Ladies may choose to do their legs at this juncture, with similar results. Except on their lower appendages, rather than their faces, of course.

When sufficient nothing has been accomplished, it's time to get out. A large white towel, dry as a bone and slightly rough, is the best thing ever at this point. Revived, a chap cleans his teeth (extra diligently, in my case; I have no desire to repeat the recent course of dental treatment) and gets dressed. The remainder of the evening is assuredly to be spent in a considerably more relaxed state than would have otherwise been the case. A good night's sleep is guaranteed.

Writing up the whole experience on the internet is optional.