In the bleak midwinter…
This is grim; it seems no end in sight
Though perhaps the darkest point is here,
The plumber will come, and this freezing night
Will die, and glow of morning reappear.
Until then we are reduced to a tribal dance
Negotiating the ice-cold shower,
Scott of the Antarctic would have no chance
But cometh the man when cometh the hour.
But what a test for my elderly heart,
Though to ease the pain the plan we make
Is to introduce each body part
On its own, wash, out again in a shake.
Cold-shower, hokey-cokey makes me shout,
‘In out, in out, that’s what it’s all about’.