I use elasticated poetic licence here as rub a dub is yet another ancient cockney rhyming slang, often for a pub, but as the chapter titles are nothing more than inspirations to send me somewhere else I hereby claim rub a dub to, instead, be slang for bathtub, not true, a porky pie indeed, but who really cares, we’re not packing parachutes. We’ll go down the pub later, as is so often the case.
We must go back to my early days when our bath time took place every Sunday evening whether we needed one or not as we prepared for school the next day.
The idea of an exotic bath time hadn’t materialised when I bathed by the fire in a tin tub, sharing the same water with my brother, sister and cat Monty. No rose petals or scented candles back then, just a blazing fire to keep the water lukewarm whilst listening to the radio. Being the youngest I was always last in and the water was about as mirky as the River Thames at Southend though I don’t recall smacking my backside on a supermarket trolley. Yes, people had less money back then and toilets hadn’t expanded to also being bathrooms. Nobody bathed every day, we were children not ducks.
To continue reading this chapter click on this absolutely stunning picture I painted not unlike Bruegel The Elder.