It’s a beautiful spa-like space, but not really.

My bathroom is not one of my favourite rooms in the house. Since we move into this house some years ago, the bathroom is the one room we haven’t made improvements to. Don’t get me wrong, it’s clean and functional. It’s just not to my taste and until we decide to start saving, the room isn’t going to change.

I do take great care in making the bathroom look nice and stylish with an array of beautiful and well-chosen products based on their appearance; coordinated towels, soaps, bottles, a plant and a deliciously scented reed diffuser.

Everything in the bathroom has a place.

Not according to my beloved though.

Practical is his preferred method.

This morning after I get back from the gym, I head for the bathroom to jump in the shower.

Opening the bathroom door, I am immediately hit by warm damp air. I wave my hands around in front of me in a feeble attempt to make a clearing.

As I step into the bathroom, my feet meet cold water. The floor looks like a Sasquatch has been jumping in puddles. (My husband isn’t a Sasquatch, by the way).

Glancing around to see where I can safely drape my bathrobe, I see that the loo roll inners are stacked on the windowsill despite the bin being so close by and that there isn’t even a loo roll hanging on the holder. No, the loo rolls are stacked in a triangle on the other side of the bathroom far from where you can reach them.

Clothes are dumped on the floor in a pile next to the washing basket. I kick the pile of clothes out of the way then resolve to just get over myself, and I put the pile of clothes into the washing basket.

I hit the shower on and lean across to the sink to grab my face wash because, having peered into the sink, damp facial hair is stuck in the basin spelling out the word “Hello”.

Once in the shower, I reach for my shampoo. Surprisingly the bottle is not where I leave it.

The beautifully styled bottles arranged carefully in the corner unit of the shower cubicle are tilted and upended and one bottle is dripping shampoo onto the shower floor because the lid isn’t closed properly.

Washing the gym away and feeling fresh, I grab for my bathrobe and get out of the cubicle to dry off. At that moment, I step on something hard. I bend to feel for the offending item.

It turns out to be a dog chew that one of my furry overlords has dropped, presumably because they think it’s a safe place to hide their treasure.

Bathrooms are over-rated. Bathrooms serve a purpose. Should I really be that bothered that my idea of a calm, spa-like room doesn’t exist in my house? Probably not, and with that thought I pad to the kitchen to make myself a brew then head back upstairs, sit on the bed and get ready to watch a reel on social media of a woman making her bed.