B&W Tuesday: Hot Tub Blues

This time last week I was drinking Coors at the home of the Don of Frome, the man whom you go to for your recreational pharmaceutical needs and his lovely insane wife, she spent the entire day cooking a Chicken Friccasse, and was a Bottle and a half of White in when we rolled in from a couple of pints at the pub. The town of Frome is a couple of seasons apart from here up in the wind zone at the edge of the world which is brushed by the British Tornado alley (I know; mad right?) Apparently there was a tornado beginning to develop a few weeks ago when me and the youngest went to play golf after work, on two accounts could this be regarded as foolish; Firstly the sky was bruised and angry wanting to take it out , whatever it was, on someone maybe with thunder and lightening, and two solitary blokes waving metal sticks around on a golf course was probably a target, if only it could get its clouds together and rain on us. Not very Cumulo Nimble if you ask me.

 We bought a inflatable hot tub for a fraction of the price of a fixed permanent one about a month ago, from the Range shop (It’s a huge shop selling a load of shit really, slush puppy makers, garden tools, implements of destruction and Hot tubs, not toi mention mirrors, picture frames and those awful superficial family pictures which tell us “Welcome to the Madhouse” when we walk in the front door and wipe our feet on the lettered matReally the only reason I go to the Range is to get Crisps where the selection is better than many supermarkets since Brexit, don’t ask me why it just is, Brexit, in case you haven’t realised has royally fucked this country ready for the next generation. Crisps and Hot Tubs and the accessories and chemicals essential to the smooth running of the tub.

The instructions tell us that we may not have to change the water for 2 or 3 months in this glorified 1200l paddling pool, but they probably don’t bank on the purchaser not reading all the instructions and finding the water like some sort of soup after about 2 weeks, and they probably also don’t think the purchaser would sit in the soup. And yet if they accept the purchaser will do what he just said he did, then they would probably also realise that a rash may well develop especially if he doesn’t shower down afterwards. I’m loving the tub, but not so much the rash, which doesn’t seem to itch or sting, far less than a nettle sting would bother, and so I just need to sit it out for a bit and read the instructions, and actually take it in, not looking at it like some  antiquated tome from the 13th century written in Ye Olde Esperanto. 

Important lesson for the kids, read the damn instructions and don’t sit in a hot tub which has been souped up by teenagers and chlorinated to fuck by an over zealous 50 something year old.

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