By Cecil Poole

The first thing I do when I book into an hotel is check the bathroom.  Provided there is no mould on the walls, floors, crevasses, the the drain is not blocked with exfoliate or hair, (reasons to cancel the booking), I choose to sit and think.  In a memorable Las Vegas hotel where the bathroom appeared larger than my whole home, and there was no sign of either exfoliate or mould, I noticed a remote control beside me.  I push the power button and from within the mirror, which took up a whole wall, there appeared digital images, an imbedded TV screen no less, a fact which has nothing at all to do with this story.

I recently arrived in Honolulu, repaired to my hotel in Waikiki and undertook my customary bathroom check.  Finding all to my satisfaction I sat and thought.  Finding thinking not to my liking I looked around again and there on the vanity was a sight not seen before, at least not by this correspondent.

Soap?

An elegant white box sat on the righthand side, and the label read “Massaging Bar for Bath”.  I was taken aback.  I did not think it that sort of hotel; in fact I had my daughter, and grandchildren with me.  Come to think of it, my son-in-law made the booking; I must question him about it.

I know the Americans are strange people but this intrigued me.  I picked up the box and looked for instructions, there were none.  Making sure the door was closed and locked I opened the package to find, once I had removed the wrapper (as in cover, not musician) I had in my hand what plainly looked like a cake of soap, a bar of soap if you prefer.  I feel sure it was soap, and having now used it in the shower, for the purposes for which my mother taught me to use soap, I feel certain it was soap.  And far better I contend than those dreadful ‘Body Wash’ or ‘Shower Gel’ that many of the less reputable hotels (and even more reputable ones) fill their bathrooms with.

What the heck was wrong with a cake of Lux, Palmolive, or even Velvet.  I remember how useful the velvet was, a long length from which you could break off a fresh cake as needed, that you could and would have some in that wire handled basket in the kitchen and that you could swish about in the sink to produce wonderful suds.  And Solvol. Who, as a child, doesn’t remember the abrasive effect of this sand encrusted bar rubbed by your mother over the days dirt ingrained in your hands and knees?  And then we had that great footballer Alec Epis (HBF for Bombers in their ’65 Premiership team) advertising Cedel Hair soap on Sunday’s World Of Sport.   At last an answer another teenage embarrassment – Dandruff!  Yes, in those days soap reigned supreme.

Now in a world where hand sanitizers and liquid soaps seem to dominate, I must say it was a relief to get soap at my Waikiki hotel, even if they called it a ‘Massaging Bar’.  To be able to rub something solid over my body, around my neck, under my chin, arms and crutch, down my legs and over my feet creates a feeling those gels can never match.

And finally, the answer to the question of ‘where’s the soap’, the age old answer, at least of schoolboys I’ve known is “yes, doesn’t it.”