Camden Turkish Baths

The Camden Turkish Baths has a simple exterior, but the elegant Victorian wood and brick facade welcomes visitors into a lavish setting. The dark wood, plush carpet, and velvet drapes promise a lush and soothing experience. Upon entering, through the foyer, we come into a room with marble floors and pillars adorned with bronze statues. I haven't seen this kind of opulence in a long time.
Having removed my gear and mask, stowing them in one bag before crossing the threshold, I put my eye patch back on; we didn't want to draw attention in a place such as this. I had checked Warren out and besides being green around the gills, he didn't have anything out to cause questions to be raised at admittance.  
I explained, as best I could with a voice like grating gravel, that we had a long train trip and the steamer had undesirable accommodations; hence, losing my voice and my associate feeling poorly, and la-de-da.
I completely understand sir, travel these days can border on the diabolical. We, here at the baths, want to revive you and make your visit a memorable one. With a smile and a wave of his hand, we followed him through the sitting rooms to a space that I, or even Warren, hadn't expected. Great carved beams of wood, reaching up and creating trusses, holding up a glass sky that seemed to go on forever. Below was a pool of azure liquid, steam curling and swirling just above the wet surface, the length of two rugby fields (200 meters.) To the sides were small Meshlakh (cooling rooms) with white drapes flowing and giving privacy, if one wanted a massage. Potted palms dotted the expansive room, giving it a slight tropical atmosphere. The air was hot, dry, and I could feel the tension begin to ebb.
The attendant snapped his fingers and another man appeared, bowed, and asked us to follow him. I glanced back at Warren and he was looking rather dazed by the surroundings. Realizing my gaze was upon him, he came to stand next to me. In a hushed voice, he said, I don't know quite what to make of this Jack, but I really want a hot bath after that bloody sewer walk. Smiling, I nodded, and we caught up with the patiently waiting attendant.
Showing us to a small room, which had some chairs, a lounger, and low side tables, he pointed out the closets and towels. In your own time gentlemen, he said in a slight french accent, and when you require anything, just wave in the great room, or press this bell; he pointed to a wall device which protruded out from the wall with a small black dot in the center. Controlling my urge to push it, I kindly said, Thank you, we will.
A frivolous mood was beginning to fill my dried out soul. Turning, I found exhausted former Detective Warren slumped in a chair of plush cushions. I put our bags in the closet and grabed a couple of towels. Squatting down, next to Warren's fluffy supporter of tired bones, I place a towel on his lap. In a jovial, yet gravel sounding voice, 'come on old chum, you wanted a bath...I guarantee you'll feel 'revived', ha-ha.' Oh, yes...very funny Jack; your brains don't feel like scrambled eggs cooked with firecrackers.
Having stripped off all my my clothes and towel wrapped around my too skinny waist, I walk out the door, calling back...'last one is a rotten egg!'