Ooh it’s lovely. I have just spent the last hour with my feet in a lovely bowl of soapy water. (I’m easily pleased). There I sat watching X factor (what ARE those people thinking) with my feet in the washing bowl. I had to sit on the draining board, but life’s like that. It’s all compromise. Twenty years ago it wouldn’t have been my ideal Saturday Evening, but drinking cider out by the skips at the back of the disco can pall after a while, and the police got fed of moving me on to be honest.

So there I was sat, soaking happily away and I realised that I didn’t like the smell of the luxurious foot balm I had added to the water. Well ok, it was washing up liquid, we’re not posh here. It wasn’t my usual brand and it got me to thinking where on earth did it come from - then I remembered.

Back in May, Hubby and I decided to treat ourselves to an exotic holiday. So we booked a caravan in Wales. Do I look like Rockafeller (don’t be fooled by moustache). It wasn’t our first choice to be perfectly honest , we originally booked an extreme self catering holiday on the Isle of Kevin. Sadly though Hubby couldn’t get a visa. Something in the small print about contagious diseases. I TOLD them it was a verucca, but it didn’t wash! So we were declined. Actually it turned out to be a rice crispy in the end, and yes it DID wash off at his yearly bath, but it was too late by then. So Wales it was.

We picked the week that everyone’s tent blew away. Fortunately our caravan only rocked, and upset Dawg so much that he stood at the end of our bed and watched over Hubby all night (never mind about the rest of the pack). How do I know this? Cause my sister in law got in the night for a wee (too much lager) and was so freaked out by Dawgs behaviour that she seduced him into the living area with biscuits and cuddled him all night (soft mare!).

Anyway, I’ve digressed for two paragraphs, I must get a grip (isn’t that a small item of hand luggage - Oh have a word!).

Meanwhile back on planet Zappy, No. 1 son and girlfriend moved in for a week to keep the home fires burning , threaten the bailiffs and feed the cats. I might ask them to move in, the place has never been this clean. “I found the remote under the sofa said girlfriend” Really? Said I, I didn’t know you could move it, thought it was nailed down like our bed (but that is for entirely different reasons).

Anyway, they don’t have much money (for that read none at all unless we give them some) so after they had broken the dishwasher (don’t ask) they decided that they needed to buy washing up liquid - and that, if you haven’t dropped off by now with your head in your soup , is where we come in.

I don’t know where they bought the offending soapy substance, but it has all the fragrance and aroma of old mans mac. I know this fragrance well, I had an elderly father with the same ambience. He was lovely, but the smell got too much and we had to tie him to lamppost at a service station eventually. Oh behave yourselves. He finally expired at the ripe of age of 83 peacefully in his sleep. I can’t say the same for the passengers on his bus, but that is entirely a different story. (it was a scream).

So the point is (Oh get on with it) if you are going to soak your feet then soak them in something pleasant. Like Cider, not only will it bring back memories of your youth (or mine). It also makes an excellent beverage to serve to your children when they turn up for a free feed on Sunday. (AGAIN).