What's it like to be the filthiest, dirtiest, grimiest boy in the world? As a kid, I had to be more or less cattle-prodded into the bath (We didn't have a shower in the 70's - too posh). It's hard to grasp; I was so averse to a good wash on Sunday evening's before school on Monday.
#WorzelGummidge and #TheIncredibleHulk were over and "That's Life," with #EstherRantzen and #Doc was the final stay-up-late reward; the reward for getting clean and not being the greasy-haired council estate kid to embarrass your mother at school. Was bathing really so bad?
And as for sharing bath water with the family, it's hard to believe now. Never mind bathing in your own dirt, true #recycling in the 70's meant bathing in everyone's barely tepid bathwater, and as the youngest you'd get #lastdip.
Anyhoo, to cut a long story short, I wrote Timothy Grimothy as a tribute to those pre-central-heating, gas-bar-plastic-log times with a shot of #hyperbole and exaggeration for good measure!
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