Pre Flight Check

Oh Yes! I am finally on the last leg  before leaving tomorrow for a week in the sunshine of Ibiza. Wrinkly Raves .com will be leaving the UK via Newcastle for a week of reading, relaxing and exploring.

The packing is done – hand luggage only for this one – demonstrating a need for ruthless wardrobe selection choice. Something  which I now find totally liberating. I have made my way to the North East  having gone through all those rituals we seem to have to do before we can leave, hoovering, checking the heating, cleaning the bathroom, leaving copious notes for those left behind about putting the bin out,  not forgetting to feed the cat, remembering the recycling day. I thought it may just be me but on arrival here I noticed by the front door a post it with the details of the last things my flight companion must do as we exit tomorrow!

So tonight we will be cracking open the prosecco to ensure we are entering the chill zone of holiday contentment. In the meantime I am pushing the boundaries of friendship… I arrived with a bag stuffed with clothes  needing minor alterations. I was firmly ejected from the domestic science class  (as we called it then) at  the first possible opportunity, following a correct assessment of my total lack of ability with a needle and thread. Even threading the thing was a challenge requiring squinty eyes and excess of saliva. Many a time I would present a grubby piece of rag and struggle to convince anyone  of its resemblance to an apron or tablecloth. So thank heaven for friends.. as I type she is pinning 

Building up a head of steam on the sewing machine

all whilst keeping an eye on the Golf in Spain as we have reason to believe her husband is in the crowd prior to his flight to join us on the Party Island.

When I was young there was always a  keen sense of anticipation prior to a holiday – which generally only happened once a year and involved long car journeys to either the Norfolk coast, or as we grew more adventurous, overnight drives to the West Country.

We are more blasé about travel now and if we are lucky, visit places that as a child were only names on a map, but I for one and certainly today still have that mounting sense of excitement.

So any one seeing two ladies of a certain age with smiles as wide as the Mediterranean at Newcastle Airport tomorrow … yes its us, feel free to say hello - excitement is infectious!

 

Reasons to be cheerful….

… on a grey cold Bank Holiday Monday…

when  the duvet is calling… but there is always something to brighten the day if we look hard enough.

For instance if you are a Manchester City supporter  ( as is my brother) you may be biting your nails,  but have some belief it’s nearly there.  As a  United supporter I am taking heart from the fact that strange things can happen on the last day and come what may Manchester will reign supreme.. good enough reason for cheeriness.

This week has seen several reasons to feel good – we celebrated a great life of service to young people at a retirement party for the Chief Executive of  Nightsafe our local homeless charity.

flowers and cupcakes

what  better combination to ensure happiness… unless you go for ..

chocolate cake and  beer, which graced the Birthday Boy’s table at the Comedy Night this week. A true surprise brilliantly organised by Mrs Birthday Boy  inducing an actual jaw dropping moment we will all treasure for a long time.

As we will  the night of hilarity and tear inducing laughter that followed accompanied by tapas,  wine and great company… yes tapas in Blackburn – and excellent they were as well.

Several great combos giving reasons to be cheerful as the rain arrives… along with a couple of other goodies brightening  my day…

1.  Two weeks and I will be sitting in the Ibizan sunshine

2. Tickets confirmed for Bruce Springsteen in Prague with  brother – beyond excitement for this one – listening to Wrecking Ball as writing…

So I am going to take these memories and anticipations  with me to watch Blackburn Rovers at  Ewood Park this evening where there will, I suspect, be very few reasons to be cheerful… but we live in hope…

 

 

 

Becoming an Android

Ok its all over… I’ve jumped ship… my love affair with Apple is over… well it will be till I can afford an iPad but I’ve ditched my iPhone for a brand spanking new Samsung Galaxy II.

Now all you phone geeks don’t start telling me  I’ve bought the wrong one and  I should have the got the gobbeldy gooky geek special editionsuperphoneythingy  endorsed by FBI and CIA and MI5. I’m just glad I’ve got something that works, though if I didn’t have the tech support of my daughters BF  I could still be trying to find the On button.

I have loved  my iPhone and indeed it is still sitting on the coffee table – mainly because I haven’t worked out how to get my music off it  and onto the new  phone. However the tariff was becoming increasingly onerous in these austerity times and as the upgrade was due, why not have a change. Which is where the fun really started.

Now I may be of advancing years, but I do understand a little about modern technology and if nothing else I am an experienced purchaser of consumables – indeed my training for this years Run For Life will consist  of power walking the shopping malls and department stores of the UK.  So having done some  careful research… ie what looks good, stylish and can be purchased in diamante I ventured into the high st outlet of my provider. The world may well be  Orange, however, having clearly stated that I wished to become an android in order to reduce monthly outgoings and spent a delightful 20 mins going through my usage I  could not quite understand how what was finally presented to me was a monthly amount higher than that I already part with.

Puzzling on this failure of basic sales technique  I retreated to consider. Then a blinding stroke of luck fell through my door, my current internet  and phone provider had what looked like a belting deal cutting my monthly bill to mere pennies. Just pop into the local store it said..  brilliant, we have one of these stores in our shopping mall. This was going to be the deal of the century coming up. I set off already rehearsing how I would describe this triumph to my colleagues and friends, and instantly be promoted to local moneysavingexpert. Oh how pride comes before a fall… arriving at the retail outlet I could spot an assistant inside but the doors were firmly locked. However, instantly someone more on the ball and clearly having read the Virgin sales training manual – Rule number one -open the shop, materialised with a key.

Producing my flyer with the  mega deal but explaining I’d like to see what else was available, I stood back and waited for details of the bargain of the century.  Assistant Number 2  (the one who had read the manual but clearly only how to open the door) plucked a fruity phone from the display and said – Is this what you want? and started to head to the till. Assistant Number 1 continued to read his  newspaper.  I explained patiently that was not what I required that I wished to become an Android. Treating me to a sceptical look he  rummaged in a case, picked up a random handset and said – we’ve got this one… I think its good. Gritting my teeth I enquired what was the tariff and in particular  levels for internet browsing and usage . At this  point  he had to defer to No 1 who  lifting his eyes from the newspaper gabbled something  which clearly indicated he considered me an idiot incapable of telling a mega bite from a mosquito bite.

I left…

But as you can see I am now an Android,  I’m still searching for the perfect cover  (don’t get me started on the accessory sales people).  I have it courtesy of a well-known Warehouse who don’t just sell Phones for Cars. Charming sales people interested in what I wanted,  asked me pertinent questions, didn’t patronise my stupid questions,  saved me money, transferred all my contacts and most importantly, gave me a choice of colour.

I may just pop back to the other stores and check if they work on commission…..

A Tale of two Spa’s

You know how it is, a day ahead full of relaxation, good company, beauty treatments in tranquil surroundings. Yes the traditional Spa Day, something myself and friends value as an essential escape  from work and life stress.  This week we had just such a day  arranged  and oh how were we looking forward to it … our emails  spoke of  fluffy towels, chilling  beside the pool, hot stone massages, lunch with champagne, robes and slippers, relaxation rooms and aromatic candles…

We held tight to this vision as two of us  drove into the car  park of the facility, despite its resemblance to a crime scene in a Danish police drama.I mean every where needs a bit of refurb now and then doesn’t it?  However hearts were sinking rapidly as we progressed to the ‘Leisure Club’ where  nostrils were assailed not with subtle sensual fragances but industrial strength chlorine.  We had ignored the slightly shabby entrance

still believing that once through the doors we would enter the expected oasis of luxury.  On entry we  peered through the grimy glass into the spa pool  area where  a group of  local OAP’s were flailing around apparently attempting to recreate an Esther Williams routine c 1930.  In the dim distance could be seen another pool surrounded by rocks, the colour of the water was tasteful slime green and would have provided an excellent habitat for a stray crocodile or anaconda.

Relentless optimism set in as we walked along endless corridors to the Beauty Spa reception, we tried to ignore the worn carpet tiles, though whitewashed breezeblock will always look like…whitewashed breezeblock. We met our therapists and along with two other victims (oops clients) completed our pre treatment sheets – one pen and 2 clipboards between the four of us. We recieved  towels and  robes (£2.50 extra payable in cash) and  retreated to  the coffee bar area to await the remaining two spa girls.

Entering the canteen, sorry coffee bar,  we  deposited ourselves on the non too clean and definitly non luxurious seating  and found we were  again gasping for breath due to the assault on the senses from the chlorine and disinfectant. At this point  another member of our spa team arrived.  Stomping across the stone floor (no fluffy carpets here) she greeted us with the  words… ‘who booked this and where’s the manager?’

Remaining upbeat whilst imbibing  liquid which was allegedly caffeine we began to consider a Plan B – decamp to the main hotel area for a relaxing lunch and return to the Spa for our treatments.   Our new arrival left to check out this possibility, returning swiftly with the news that the Hotel was no better, though as the Spa Lunch Menu consisted of  Beans on Toast, Corned Beef  Sandwiches and Baked Potatos  the Hotel was going some to come in behind this.  Whilst this activity had taken place we had noticed  a steady stream of people  entering the canteen and exiting through another door. The reason for which became clear as a cacophony of noise burst forth at ear bleeding decibel level and continued to increase steadily as a relentlessly pounding beat kicked in.

It was at this point that I could no longer keep up the positive spin and  descended into the abyss with my companions. Leaving the Disco Zumba we returned to the luxurious Spa Area where even the plants had given up the ghost and died. Our therapists brought us more caffeine and I ransacked all our bags for any form of pain killing drug – which turned up a crushed pack of sudafed and some prescription drugs for period pains. Our final spa girl had arrived by this time – she grabbed a couple of pills and pitched in as we went to Plan D – cut and run ( Plan C  had been a suggestion of driving to Tesco for drink and nibbles – quickly quashed!)

Settling ourselves on the luxurious seating andavoiding lacerating ourselves on the artex we attacked the problem with Gusto. No task on  a management or leadership course will ever daunt us… hitting IPads, Phones and Map Apps we located alternate Spa’s in the area. Hard bargaining and subtle persuasion led to success.  20 mins  later we were en route and within 40 mins we were ensconced in a darkened relaxation room surrounded by pleasant fragrances and candles.The music was soft, the chairs deep and luxurious and the scene was complete when our rescue lunch and sparkling wine was served to us by two charming young men.

The rest of the afternoon passed as we had anticpated  for our Spa Day, treatments, relaxation, good conversation over a glass of fizz.

In the end we  had a wonderful day, laughed until we cried and would like to thank the fabulous staff at Kilhey Court Hotel for rescuing us from Spa Day Hell.  We could well be back…

Sunny Spring Sunday

Three words you don’t often put together. But  today spring was bursting out all over East Lancashire and Cycletta training along one of the more scenic stretches of the canal took place in glorious sunshine.  No need for thermals , the arms and legs were out along with the sunglasses.

This was, in all honesty, the first time I was really looking forward to getting out there. Despite  an early morning melt down involving a missing cross bar attachment leading to  speedy re thinking regarding transport  we had a brilliant time. We even managed a couple of hills – well not really hills  but there was an undeniable altitude change.

This was really an opportunity for me to debut my beautiful vintage box bag and fabulous new  front basket. This clearly marks me as a non professional but they did come in handy as we shed layers in the sunshine.

As my  pedalling companion remarked between the two of them they would hold more than  the RyanAir Hand Luggage allowance.

The basket was,  I must emphasise,  minus the white wine, though we did scope out several excellent picnic places for those days when pleasure will take precedence  over pain.

Clearly the weather had been a clarion call to walkers, dog owners and the more speedy cyclists of the county. All along our 17 mile route – we were knocked out by the stunning views. This  did include  a rather magnificent  male specimen who appeared to have teleported direct from Bondi Beach. Tight White T shirt and bulging biceps made a pleasant change from the  normal oceans of  neon lycra though it did result in a momentary fogging of my companions sunglasses.  Fortunately they cleared speedily as the canal path was positively congested  giving us plenty of practice in dodging the  dog. There is a computer game ripe for development there if only I knew how to do it.  Below is a picture of one of the stunning views… apologies, Mr Bondi moved too quickly for me to dig the camera out of the basket……

There was of course the traditional tea and toasted tea cake, this time at the end of our trek.  We sat on a balcony, basking in sunshine overlooking the marina swapping cycling tales with other intrepid souls  (alas not Mr Bondi)  and it was almost as if we were on holiday. At the end of a long day in holiday sunshine, its  usually a shower followed by liberal application of aftersun, rather than the deep muscle soaking bath which I have just enjoyed.  However, I must  admit it was accompanied by a rather nice glass of sauvignon blanc. After all what’s better than sunshine, white  wine, friends and family?

Lets enjoy it while we can.

 

 

 

 

 

Mothers Day Musings..

Once upon a time I remember Mothers Day passing in a haze of breakfast in bed, champagne , chocolates and flowers.

This year I had flowers, champagne and  an excellent meal cooked for me.

I was also serenaded by my cycling sister with the following ditty..

We’re cycling in the rain

We’re cycling in the rain

What a glorious feeling

We’re going insane…..

By which you will have detected that Cycletta training is ramping up a gear. A Sunday Cycle took place, timed to perfection as a passing rain cloud dumped its load on East Lancashire. Luckily, the musical muse did not strike earlier as  we attracted a small crowd of young boys  happy to provide technical assistance to my companion in replacing her front  wheel and ensuring the correct placement of brake cables. I am not sure they would have been ready for a sing song on the car park and they probably didn’t know the words to Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head. The musical interlude came to an abrupt halt as the preciptation became persistent just as the singing cyclist hit top note which coupled with the need to traverse a tricky roundabout  saved passing pedestrians  from further off key renditions of  weather related compositions.

It was not just us taking an active approach to Mothering Sunday,  as the cloud passed and we powered… well in my case crawled, along the canal path we  dodged children, families, fishermen and packs of dogs.  Fellow cyclists passed us in a blur,  one accompanied by so many dogs we were surprised he was on a bike rather than a sledge.

We did manage to locate the traditional stopping place, this week swapping scones for toasted tea cakes before a return in glorious sunshine.

The canal path was deserted at this point… perhaps news of the singing had reached the wider population and they feared an encore.  After a brisk pedal home due to the fact that though sunny, the temperature was  hovering only slightly above brass monkeys, I returned to another Mothers Day tradition… the bubble bath.  Deep, warm, welcoming, though this year not Jo Malone but Radox….

A serious cyclist?

Several times in the last few days I’ve found myself explaining to people that I’m not a serious cyclist. I then go on to state that I don’t do drop handlebar lycra speed stuff and that  I just ride a bike.

Which is what I do, I have a nice bike, a town/tourer, with gears and I ride it on the roads and it will go along grassy canal paths and bumpy tracks. If I had the inclination it would probably get me round a few mountain bike routes. I wear cycling sports gear but have been known to just get on my bike in ‘normal clothes’ and ride it to work,  or friends for coffee.

But I do enjoy my rides out,  set targets and goals – usually about which hill I can get up and  want to do Cycletta in a faster time this year, along with a much longer trip planned for the summer.

So am I a serious cyclist or just someone who takes cycling seriously?

The Sisterhood Rides Again!

Yes the sisterhood of sweat and scones is back in business, pedalling along the canal and scoffing scones at the half way point. Though as we arrived purple and sweaty at a local emporium we were stunned to find a total dearth of bike racks. On enquiry we were informed  that no one ever arrives by bike!  By Jove we truly  are pioneers.

It was a cold grey day and I made a pathetic attempt to divert from pedals to dog walking, but the steely determination of one of the sisterhood allowed for no evasion. We not only have Cycletta to aim for this year but seem to have committed to another greater distance event. we await the final details of that one, but either way training needs to commence.

Spring is defintly in the air and we were only one of several pedalling teams out and about. We may not be as fast as we were and the hills … well small slopes… seemed gigantic but we have made a start and lived to tell the tale

Today was a short but thoroughly enjoyable run out and we look forward to many more, we are aready planning our future outings including the return to the Hill of Doom – though we are working up to that one.

One thing has not changed, as we tucked into the scones we were heard to say  ‘We’ve Earned Them’ and yes we had.

 

 

 

 

A Different Sunday

Well not totally different, as it still involved tea, cake and extreme exertion going upwards. However this was nothing to do with cycling, today I spent a lovely afternoon with friends climbing Manchester Town Hall’s awesome clock tower followed by an excellent afternoon tea at the Midland Hotel. Two Manchester icons steeped in history yet living and breathing modern life.

The Clock Tower Tour was an amazing, if slightly wobblylegged experience, but not to be missed, though we nearly did, big thanks to Sue and Steve from New Manchester Walks for sorting our booking (or lack of it). Having to sign a disclaimer in case we expired on the way up or down did cause a frisson of anxiety which blossomed into full-blown fear at the end of the health and safety briefing. Shrugging off minor details about not standing on trap doors we set off up the 330 steps of the  tiny spiral staircase crouching and squeezing our way into the various chambers housing the workings of the clock.

The information from Steve was fascinating and anyone who likes mechanical stuff would notwant to miss being in the clock room as the clappers turned and the bells chimed. Climbing endless stairs and squeezing into almost hidden chambers we stood behind the clock faces -  peered underneath Great Abel the largest bell, and finally ventured out onto the balcony with its amazing views over the North West.

The descent was slightly more terrifying, the constant turning of the spiral staircase leaving us feeling light-headed but more than happy. This especially as on the return to the clock room we watched the amazing mechanism  swing into action and chime the hour.

Tea, coffee, sandwiches, and cake finished off our afternoon in good style with the reflection that there is nothing quite so wonderful as enjoying something new with old friends.

 

A Call to Arms

What is it with dress designers and sleeves or rather their lack of them?  Do the fashion colleges  not do a unit on sleeves and their importance to the slightly more mature woman? Has Michael Gove removed them from the curriculm in place of  Latin and Greek?

On several occasions lately I have been browsing a range of dress emporiums – from designer to budget in search of suitable wear for the coming season. I also have an eye out for the fact that I need an evening dress for a couple of black tie events in the offing. There is a plethora of new stock available  with no shortage of what one of my friends husbands refers to as  ‘bonny frocks’ , however, in most cases there is a complete shortage of fabric from the arm hole to wrist area.

If you have the patience and  hunt hard,   you can unearth ranges offering coverage of this area, however. they appear to be fashioned from polyester sofa covers or curtains a la Sound of Music.

I have had this conversation with friends,  we agree, it’s not that our arms are totally abhorrent, and yes we probably could  bring them to a more toned state if we were prepared to spend hours in the gym or putting baked bean tins to good use as weights on  daily basis. It’s just that with age, the arm area does tend to become less attractive, and while we can get away with it in the sunshine on holiday, in the depths of winter or the office somehow it doesn’t quite cut it.

We can, and do wear jackets, cardigans etc – but when things heat up a bit – you  then need to choose whether to swelter or reveal.

Evening wear is an even bigger sleeveless zone,  unless you are the divine Helen Mirren who has got this pretty much under control, though even she resorts to shawls and shrugs at times- but we don’t all have her budget. Why should we purchase a fabulous frock only to then hunt high and low for a shrug – usually made from a lace curtain or a bit of  nylon not designed to complement the main garment.  I for one, however am not prepared to  either purchase or wear Mary Portas Armery – though if I get  really desperate I suppose I could stick a pair of stocking on my upper limbs.

We can go the pashmina route – that’s Ok till you are  sitting  a table having your meal trying to keep the fringes out of  your cheese souffle or lamb jus, whilst on the dance floor it transforms seamlessly into a weapon of mass destruction capable of leaving scars worthy of a medieval torture chamber on any one  unfortunate enough to come within 2  feet of you.

So a plea to anyone with influence out there – just try to get teh designers to put a bit of something up there – there’s a whole market of women who love clothes with a limited choice at the moment. Surely it’s not too much to ask for a bit of choice – otherwise there could be a lot of us this spring looking like cushion covers and singing Doh a Deer…in my case very badly…