There is an unwritten law that water cuts only occur at the worst moments. In Jordan it would happen without fail every time I returned from the desert, covered in a pale orange dust. Sometimes it would just not be on when I returned and other times it would let me get in the shower, half lather up and then just stop.

In Egypt it is usually on the hottest days. Now, that doesn’t just mean the stickiest days of Summer, but the warmest days for that season. And always, always, always, it is when you need it least to happen.

Like yesterday.

And today.

In fairness they haven’t been total stoppages for the most part, but there has not been more than a dribble from the showers.

This morning, I heard a definite gush of water as Mr S turned on the shower with pressure to rival any power shower (we don’t have one) and relaxed happy to know I could get a decent clean today, not just a spit and a lick.

I took my time, ready to enjoy the feeling of getting clean that incrementally increases the dirtier you are. I prepared my clothes, got my favourite creams and brushed, brushed, brushed away, at my hair turning the curls bushier-looking than ever before and stepped into the shower.

Tsssssssssss.

A mere dribble from the shower and definitely not enough to penetrate the hedge on my head.

And so it is that today, my modest crop of hair has turned into a beehive to beat Amy’s any day (or night) of the week.