Spa Life
Luxury is not something that I do a lot of or something which comes at all naturally to me. An exception occurred at the end of last week when I indulged in a Spa Day. To be truthful it was a “Mini Spa” which I believe is the economy version for people who like to think that they are in with the Hoi Polloi but in reality can’t afford it. The TK Maxx of Spa Life if you like.
Ladies and gents who no doubt lunch lazed around the pool and jacuzzi as we entered, complementary towels and robes strewn casually over poolside deckchairs. I spent most of the time in the jacuzzi alongside a chap reading Bill Bryson’s The Life and Times of the Thunderbolt Kid (Very good choice sir). Let’s be honest I spent ALL my time there because the pool was too cold and the sauna and steam room were too hot.
Our next port of call was the massage room. As I was later to learn, all the rooms have a theme, and the theme of this one was “The Moroccan Room.” Sadly there was no luxury Marrakesh riad or flying carpets but there were a couple of nice ethnic style cushions delicately arranged beside the CD player.
Soft music emanated from the un-ethnic CD player. The sort of music which would probably have a name such as “Moments of Calm” or if we were lucky “Moroccan Moods”. At one point the masseuse left the room and, as if on cue, some cheery banjo music started up from the CD, only to fade out as she re entered. I got the feeling that cheery banjo music wouldn’t have been her thing and the CD player must have known.
I was a little worried about the massage as I have been told that my shoulders are less than relaxed and was afraid of a Dr Gillian McKeith type lecture from a straight laced “school marm” type in a uniform. Fortunately my masseuse said nothing as we started the massage and in fact said next to nothing from then on in. I had thought that she might have told me with some pride what she was doing and with what speciality products she was doing it with, but no explanation came. Presumably clarification does not come with the “Economy” version of the spa experience.
As the time came for the foot scrub to start, a small worry entered my head. I have incredibly tickly feet and was worried that when the foot scrub started it would reduce me to a giggly fit. I had to fight very hard to stop this happening I can tell you. In fact, she must have previously seen the rather ugly state of my feet and when the time came, she dimmed the lights considerably so that she would not have to witness their full horror.
All too soon time was up and our health conscious spa day was over. Fifteen years ago I would have been swimming in the mud at Glastonbury. What a difference a decade and a half makes. Too much health can only be a bad thing however and we did what can be the only natural conclusion – we headed off to McDonalds for a Big Mac.
Here’s to healthy living.
Ladies and gents who no doubt lunch lazed around the pool and jacuzzi as we entered, complementary towels and robes strewn casually over poolside deckchairs. I spent most of the time in the jacuzzi alongside a chap reading Bill Bryson’s The Life and Times of the Thunderbolt Kid (Very good choice sir). Let’s be honest I spent ALL my time there because the pool was too cold and the sauna and steam room were too hot.
Our next port of call was the massage room. As I was later to learn, all the rooms have a theme, and the theme of this one was “The Moroccan Room.” Sadly there was no luxury Marrakesh riad or flying carpets but there were a couple of nice ethnic style cushions delicately arranged beside the CD player.
Soft music emanated from the un-ethnic CD player. The sort of music which would probably have a name such as “Moments of Calm” or if we were lucky “Moroccan Moods”. At one point the masseuse left the room and, as if on cue, some cheery banjo music started up from the CD, only to fade out as she re entered. I got the feeling that cheery banjo music wouldn’t have been her thing and the CD player must have known.
I was a little worried about the massage as I have been told that my shoulders are less than relaxed and was afraid of a Dr Gillian McKeith type lecture from a straight laced “school marm” type in a uniform. Fortunately my masseuse said nothing as we started the massage and in fact said next to nothing from then on in. I had thought that she might have told me with some pride what she was doing and with what speciality products she was doing it with, but no explanation came. Presumably clarification does not come with the “Economy” version of the spa experience.
As the time came for the foot scrub to start, a small worry entered my head. I have incredibly tickly feet and was worried that when the foot scrub started it would reduce me to a giggly fit. I had to fight very hard to stop this happening I can tell you. In fact, she must have previously seen the rather ugly state of my feet and when the time came, she dimmed the lights considerably so that she would not have to witness their full horror.
All too soon time was up and our health conscious spa day was over. Fifteen years ago I would have been swimming in the mud at Glastonbury. What a difference a decade and a half makes. Too much health can only be a bad thing however and we did what can be the only natural conclusion – we headed off to McDonalds for a Big Mac.
Here’s to healthy living.
16 comments:
Having just been out in the rain with the Wonder Hound, I'd happily take any kind of spa break- even the TK Maxx kind!
Even a hot bath would be luxury after a walk in the rain.
Cor, I wouldn't have minded being your masseuse.
Ah but how would you have dealt with Banjo Music and Tickly Feet?
I'm having a massage tomorrow! Soft lighting, low music. The masseur is female but it's thoroughly enjoyable.
I love the light-dimming to avoid your feet. Knees are the other problem area. I used to like mine. Then they went pear-shaped (if you see what I mean).
I had my feet 'read' once and was advised that I was stressed - knew that already - and pregnant (which made me much more stressed given my then circumstances which I'll not share here!)
Enjoy the massage Crystal. It sounds lovely.
I'm afraid I have inherited my dads nobbly knees Omega Mum so I can relate to that.
That's quite scary that they can tell these things from your feet Debio. I think though that they like to tell you that you are stressed so that you will use their services.
I could really go for a massage right now. Sadly, I can't afford the professional kind and Adrian isn't too willing.
A nice hot bath might do the trick Katie.
After my pampering session I headed for the nearest chip shop....I think it's something that just needs to be done!
I agree Nunhead Mum and I am very impressed. I hope you enjoyed your spa.
Gwen, I want to know what they use to scrub your feet with when you're on the 'Economy Version'. A Brillo Pad on a stick? Working up to a live hedgehog for the 'Deluxe Version'??
Now you come to mention it, it did feel very much like a brillo pad. Perhaps that was the real reason that the lights were dimmed!
As for hedgehogs, that explains what the pig-like snorting noise coming from the cupboard was.
My husband had a massage while we were in Singapore a few years ago and I think that experience put both of us for life!! He could barely walk afterwards and had to cover himself in Deep Heat before our flight home the next day!!
Thank you for your support on my blog. I don't think being at home all day helps much with a diet either as I know exactly what goodies are lurking in the cupboards which makes it even harder to resist!! But I will try!!
Your poor husband Funky Munky. That sounds like a massage gone wrong to me. I hope he recovered quickly.
Best of luck with the diet. Don't worry. I know it's not easy. I had some delicious flapjacks last night. Gorgeous but I'd hate to think what they did to my waistline.
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