FLANNEL

Forgetting to pack a face flannel is hardly the worst mishap that can befall the holiday planner. After all, what is a face flannel for? To assist in washing one's face, obviously. And in practice it is used on other parts of the body in the daily ablutionary process. Since one uses it with one's hand, and it's a small square implement, it can't reach places that the hand cannot reach, so at a pinch the hand will perform the same function without the flannel. Not as well, of course. And one gets used to a flannel - let's drop the 'face' - especially one's own flannel. A flannel and oneself have a very personal relationship, let's face it. No one else uses my flannel. They'd better not. I don't know about you but I remember exactly where and when I bought my latest model. It was a number of years ago (I'm ashamed to name the year - any car or computer dealer would be onto me in a flash if they knew I'd had the same model as long as I've had that flannel) when I was in Edinburgh, and due to stay there for several months - and as now, a decade later (there - I've told you), the previous model was languishing in London. I went into this chemist's and bought a fine Scottish exemplar, pristine dark blue with a splendid Blue Peter sailing ship adorning the centre.

But it was the sailing ship's turn to languish in London, while this time I was not in Edinburgh but 800 miles away across the North and Baltic Seas, down the Gulf of Finland in Tallinn, the capital of Estonia. My host was as hospitable as could be wished, but there was no face flannel in his bathroom, and I did not care to voice criticism or curiosity, let alone explain my sybaritic predicament. It was no more than a trivial nuisance that I would put right with no help from anyone - and the remainder of the holiday would be smooth as smooth, all clean confident smiles. Having a spare day I set out on my own to locate and purchase a face flannel, armed only with some local currency, and some German and Russian to supplement my English. Tallinn was the capital city, was it not? And did not Estonia have the reputation of having had the highest standard of living of any of the states of the former Soviet Union? The implication that I was making the flannel the benchmark of civilisation did not strike me at the time. The shops were indeed plentiful, and I had been assured that absolutely anything that could be purchased in London or Berlin could be bought in Tallinn, provided the purchaser's purse was deep enough. That could not be an obstacle, with me, a relatively wealthy Westerner, at the start of a four week holiday.

While searching for the first shop I wondered what the German or Russian was for face flannel. I didn't know. Well, once the object was in view that problem would not arise. All I had to do was find the right type of shop. The centre of Tallinn was smaller than I had expected, so this was good news - the search would be that much shorter. Ah, cosmetics in this shop window, in we go. Inside, plenty of ladies' perfume, more and more expensive as shelf gave way to shelf, but, dismay, not even a cake of soap. There did not seem to be any point in miming wiping my face, so I slunk out to try the next promising window display. This time there was toothpaste on show, so - this had to be the place. The sales girl even knew a little English. But not the word 'flannel'. I carefully explained 'wash' and 'face', to small effect. There and in other shops, in Tallinn, and across the Gulf in Finland a few days later, the mime was repeated, with no better result anywhere. I was offered pumice stone, a minuscule sponge, a scarf, a handkerchief, a loofah, some tailor's flannel for making a suit, a scrubbing brush of sorts, and other manifestations of inventive switch selling. But no face flannel. Indeed, though many smiles were practised on me, and not a few shrugs and puzzled expressions, nowhere was I understood. I felt stupid, puzzled, angry, and vaguely guilty.

 It was the same story in St Petersburg, and in Tbilisi, the Georgian Republic's capital, the final stop on my month away from my suburban bathroom in Colindale. To tell the truth, by that time I had given up the search and was with phlegmatic English stoicism managing without.

 In Tbilisi there is this antiquated but wonderful public bath house, renowned for its hot sulphur baths. It cost a lot for the locals, but I was rich with my foreign currency, so why should I worry. It was the experience of a bourgeois Londoner's lifetime - two hours of soaking and showering. Then there was the massage. This was an optional extra, but therapeutically and psychologically obligatory. It was more than worth the expense, and in any case I needed it all. Disappointingly, the masseur did not stamp all over my back. But he did lay on the soap-suds and with the vigorous application of a curious large rough gloved mop refreshed the whole body. The implement was far removed from a flannel, but served the same purpose, in spades. Of course, I quite forgot to ask what it was called and if it could be bought.

 The journey from Tbilisi to London was in principle easy - the ticket for my Georgian Airways return flight on the 'Orbi' plane to St Petersburg was in my wallet, and thence by Finnair on to Helsinki next day, with another Finnair connection to Heathrow, would be a doddle. All flights were economy fares. There was a tiny snag, a cloudlet on the horizon. I was on 'standby' for the last leg, from Helsinki. No real problem, though, since I was No.1 on the waiting list.

 Sure enough, at Helsinki, when departure time arrived, and when all the uncommoded passengers had boarded, with no 'no shows', my name was called, and I boarded too. Where was my seat? Great, they put me in business class, where only half the seats were taken and the leg room was luxurious. From that moment on I was treated as if I had paid the maximum. For the first time in my life I got the full undemocratic treatment, a grand meal, free wine, free drinks, as much tomato juice and coffee as I wanted, and all served with the greatest courtesy and charm. So, my advice if you want the best service at the cheapest fare on a plane, buy an economy ticket with Finnair, make the one allowed change to your flight details, and be sure you're at the head of the stand-by queue.

 When the meal was over and cleared away they handed each perspiring business class passenger a refreshing damp hot towel, which was collected five minutes later. Only it wasn't a towel, but a 'towelette', a square, white face flannel. The stewardess gave me a funny look when I asked if I might keep mine.