IT WAS CURTAINS FOR ROMANCE
Random ramblings by our local lad, Dean Wales
During the shorter days and darker evenings, my significant other and I typically head off to warmer climes for a long weekend to cheer ourselves up. Thanks to the marvellous thing that is Air BnB – which felt like authorised squatting when we first tried it – we recently bagged ourselves a nice little studio apartment in the wild city of Naples. Although I must say if you ever go don’t expect to be able to order Neapolitan ice cream like they sell in the CoOp! Most disappointing.
After a long day on the Amalfi coast and feeling slightly grubby and a little sweaty I was glad to return to our apartment where a ‘doccia calder’ (for those who haven’t discovered Google translate, that’s ‘hot shower’ in Italian… I hope!) was waiting for me.
I slipped out of my M&S summer singlet (covered in a dash of pistachio gelato, which was bought in lieu of finding a cardboard clad block Neapolitan ice cream; I’m still gutted about that), cut-offs and Mr Men flip flops, grabbed a towel and sashayed to the bathroom. Tastefully adorned with terracotta tiles from the Island of Capri (or possibly Ikea) I turned and followed by a slight squeal I observed with horror… the plastic shower curtain.
Now I’m sorry if any readers own one of these miscreations but they must be globally outlawed… now!
Why this outcry?
Okay, well let’s face it, in a shower you’re in your birthday suit; you’re quite vulnerable. There you are nude and now at this juncture we have to consider physics. You are standing in a confined space which is about to be filled with hot water and steam. Outside the cubicle the air is cooler. Your person is wet, you have a bar of Imperial Leather (or Pears of if you like your soap transparent) in your hand ready to lather up and it attacks! Yes the aforementioned physics kicks in and the wet and now freezing cold plastic shower curtain (those two words should never be twinned) waits until you’re not looking, or even worse bending over and at a rate of knots it reaches in and envelopes your suds-smothered body.
And now the scary part; there’s no escape.
This monster of a design flaw has taken on a life of its own. However much you try and keep it off you, whether it’s with a foot while tackling an armpit, or your hand whilst de-fluffing your belly button this evil thing will have you in its hold. And how on earth does it get and stay so cold?
Plus my partner walked in the bathroom mid-shower only to spot me resembling a victim from the Body Snatchers; a sure way to kill the romance of Italy.