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A hot water bottle

January 29, 2013 12 comments
Hot water bottle inside a furry cover

Hot water bottle inside a furry cover

Clive’s lymphatic fever has thankfully gone, but he’s still feeling cold at night so I’ve been getting him a hot water bottle.

Every time I do so, I find myself flooded with sensory recollections.

When we used to arrive at our holiday home in the winter as children, my mother used to prepare us each a ‘hottie’ as we called them. Other times as well, but it’s from those nights that I remember them best.

First there was the drill-like noise of water pouring from the kettle into the bottle, and the comforting smell of hot rubber.

Then a tiny clucking, gurgling sound as she squeezed the bottle to exclude the air.

I nursed my hottie all the way up the stairs.

It went into the bed before I did, creating a welcome warm patch.

I clutched it as a lifesaver before finally pushing it into the freezing depths of my bed with my feet, to lead the way.

In the morning it was useless; quite cold. But I woke up feeling as if I’d arrived in heaven.

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