The simple pleasures that make a life less ordinary

Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for efficiency and saving money. I wouldn’t be without the phone app that makes my banking tasks almost effortless; surely only fools continue to pay brokers’ fees when price comparison websites do the job for free.

But when the nation starts pouring cold water on the uncomplicated pleasure to be had from a long soak in a hot bath, I start to wonder whether this obsession with efficacy robs us of our ability to appreciate the riches offered by the mundane.

A new survey claims that we have become so time poor that only a tiny percentage of Brits bother with a bath; a perfunctory blast under a shower is now the preferred option.

The idea of lying back in a tub of hot water as a relaxing way to spend half an hour on a Sunday afternoon has become anathema to those who say that each minute should be consumed with thoughts of what else they could be getting on with. It’s a new trend: in 1970, just 5 per cent of households owned a shower. Now it’s more than four-fifths.

Had the researchers spoken to my family of five bath obsessives, we’d surely have skewed their data. I reject every overture from our water supplier suggesting a meter could save us money, because I know our tub gets filled so often we’d go bankrupt if we paid by the litre.

It’s a rare evening that doesn’t see each of us take a turn behind a locked door enjoying a glorious soak, either on returning home from work or before going to bed. The 19-year-old says that she can’t face the day without one before breakfast, too. And if I’m suffering the agonies of writer’s block, an afternoon dip seems to help get those creative juices flowing.

The world can even thank the bath for the original “eureka” moment: Archimedes reportedly realised how the volume of an odd-shaped item could be measured while wallowing in his.

In our house, if someone’s upset, the first thing offered is a tub of lavender-scented hot water. A bath is a balm for countless emotional ills.

However, it is also just one of many simple routes to happiness that can be found in the banal experiences of day-to-day life. My sister goes into raptures every time she gets a sniff of freshly laundered bed-sheets; my own heart beats a little faster at the sight of gleaming whites fluttering on the line on a breezy day.

Washing soil away from the vegetables that I bring home from my allotment makes a mess and eats up time, but it has become a ritual that I find strangely meditative.

My family think I’m barmy, but each weekend I leave them snoozing so I can enjoy an early morning grocery shop in solitude instead of opting for the convenience of buying online and getting it delivered. I surely can’t be the only mother serenely navigating supermarket aisles at 8am on a Saturday, wishing life was always so peaceful. For my husband, mowing the lawn is his contemplative trigger.

As we miserably packed our bags at the end of our recent summer holiday, the 11-year-old offered some interesting solace. She said not to worry, as we’d soon be enjoying the fleeting pleasure of smelling our home the way visitors do, before familiarity again made us immune to its unique scent.

“It might sound mad,” she said quietly, “but that makes me really happy.” I must say, she sounded perfectly sane to me.