December 23rd 2015 10:15 pm

Quite a thing happened in my subconscious the other day and I thought I’d share it with you. I had decided to have a shave. I know, comments about lack of professionalism and all that, besides I hate stubbly legs. I ventured into the bathroom and opened the cupboard to search for my twenty blade, macho safety shaver. At the back of the dark cupboard was a treasure to behold. A bar of Imperial Leather soap.
In recent years I’ve had to bathe with aromatic bars of soap sold to me by the wonderfully tattooed ladies in Lush oozing sex n youth. Orange & Patchouli soap smelling like a hippy rock star’s flatulence, that’s Karma for you. I can see him through the steam of the bath water; a vision singing in ripped and stripped bell bottom jeans. With stained jeans flapping he tottered around a stage in a pair of platform shoes. Wonderful shoes with hand painted silver stars; one of the shoes had a broken zip. That stage in Bethel certainly had a lot to answer to; with a little help from his friends.
Now I’ve always had this thing of washing that sharp logo out of a new bar of soap. So I decided to have a bath instead. Slowly I eased into a hot bath and after fine tuning the temperature with my toes began to wash the logo out of the soap.
Now with Imperial Leather it has a rather clever label. It resembles a Russian flag of some sort from a bygone era. No matter how hard you wash it stays firmly affixed to the soap. Not even Albert Einstein could figure out how it stays on. Eventually it takes on a rather odd shape, a kyphotic hunchback with a sticker. Through the steam I spotted something in the water. A Russian flag came floating towards me. My heart sank as I lifted the flesh coloured bar out of the water only to see a naked block of soap. Lifting the label out of the water I affixed it to a white bathroom tile. I stared at the lifeless flag until the surrounding light turned to black and realised that things are certainly not what they used to be.