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…

woeful or wonderful?

It was nothing short of a minor miracle that 6 slightly deranged women actually arrived at the station on Saturday morning for an early morning train to Glasgow following a week  of incident and trauma that could have sent any or all of us hiding under a duvet for two days.    An incident packed 36 hours  then ensued including delayed trains, rain, wind, snow and sleet, culminating in a gas and power failure in our hotel kitchen. All the elements of a truly woeful weekend with the potential for a collective pity party, hand wringing, confrontation, frustration, compensation demands and general misery. But as they whoever they are, say … ‘Its not what happens but how you handle it’  so having been informed our train was going nowhere due to door failure, we set the tone for the weekend and rather than join the stampede  onto the next train in order to morph into a sardine over 2 and a half  hours, we retreated to the buffet. Here we  spent a civilised half an hour imbibing hot beverages and perusing a street map  helpfully marked up with the major retail emporiums of Glasgow by the more organised member of our little group. Suitably chilled and with a full kitty – purse not feline – we boarded and spent two and half hours  travelling north enjoying some of the best of british countryside.  Best of all  we weren’t in the quiet coach so there was no one to shh us when we collapsed in the first of many fits of laughter checking out our eclectic range of headwear which ranged from cossack fur  through tartan helmet to pixie hoods and snoods with a slight detour down the piste via a knitted bandeau.

Having come to the crashing realisation that we may not look as if we had just stepped of the catwalk our press officer cancelled the paparazzi pack ordered for our arrival and we slipped incognito into the city. This was a good move as  several of us were suffering from that well-known affliction – cheap legging slide, and photos of us surreptitiously hoicking up the lycra would not have enhanced our reputation. A short trek from the station past a shop with a decidedly dodgy offer in the window and we arrived at the star of our weekend – the Indigo hotel.  The hotel was amazing with splendid staff and boutique rooms – though my room-mate and I have a reputation, fully lived up to,  for trashing them inside 5 mins. In our defence,  having all 6 of us partying on pre dinner champagne didn’t  help with the housekeeping.   We could possibly have done without the dodgy karaoke to Abba,  although who could resist the chance to sing the immortal line  ‘I called you last night from Glasgow’ whilst  actually lounging in a Glasgow hotel room in fluffy robes, drinking champagne out of tumblers… A simple pleasure matched earlier by a wonderful afternoon tea in the original Willow Tea Rooms , complete with a private view of the Rennie Mackintosh Billiard Room.

Resisting the temptation to stay slumped in the room we glammed up and  went off to hit the cocktails and dinner to be greeted with news of the crisis in the kitchen.  The hotel staff  must have felt they were in  some bizarre reality show with a restaurant full of diners including about 20 members of what one of our party members informed us was a fine dining club testing the restaurant for quality… more of this group later…. Our response of – ‘ who cares, we’ll have a take away if it will help’ seemed to be well received and we were  more than happy to receive the complimentary nibbles and champagne which helped fill the time until having presumably rounded up all the spare barbecues and microwaves in Glasgow the kitchen staff  managed to turn out a fabulous meal for us.  The Hotel Indigo staff were magnificent through and through , though Rodders disappeared mid way through the meal -  we believe he is now in Liverpool so our paths may yet cross again! However the wonderful Grant stepped in without missing a beat providing a dessert service beyond compare, and Colum  topped it off  the next day going the extra mile and providing a Black Pudding worthy of a star part in a revival of ‘Allo ‘Allo in order that a forlorn husband could be compensated for the loss of his wife for the weekend.

In fact we met with nothing but warmth and friendliness throughout our visit, yes the weather was awful, but no one laughed at our strange mix of headwear, the staff at the rather swish November Bar were happy to indulge us and take  photographs as we started our retail therapy with a bottle of prosecco. I cannot tell you what one member of a large department store arranged for us as it was extremely ad hoc, a fabulous experience but could have got them sacked! The hotel staff did their utmost to make sure our evening was not spoilt, and in return we attempted to help with the fine dining club. This resulted with our fearless leader infiltrating their ranks, acquiring their regalia,a photo call, much chatter, laughter and discussion about how wonderful the hotel was. It did however take  a great deal the next morning to get her to believe that they were in fact the ancient order of rottisserie chefs and not the Michelin Star committee!  But it is a splendid organisation with a long  and venerable history stretching back to the 14th century and I seem to remember that we now qualify for honorary membership of the Lancashire branch when we track them down.

We were  indeed a weary bunch by the time we boarded our train home laden with the spoils of our mission around the retail delights of the city, but as we finished the weekend with mojitos, coffee and nibbles we could truthfully reflect that what could have been woeful had in fact been totally wonderful.

Tea Parties, Talent and Transformations

It’s several months since the idea of cycling was first gently mooted over food and prosecco and 4 months since the first tentative spins of the pedals took place.  At that point the Cycletta seemed a lifetime away and there were many glib comments regarding  having plenty of time to get fit, organised, team t-shirts etc… Well since that point there have been major transformations…. The Purple Peril is now the Burgundy Bombshell, the team has expanded, new bikes have been purchased, my week in Tuscany has mutated into a week in Provence, shopping now takes place in cave like Emporiums of metal and rubber – and we’re not talking Viv Westwood here, conversations regarding style now include discussions of type of bike carrier, – indeed on a detour on a cycle ride yesterday to collect a brochure from a car showroom one of the key questions was regarding the type and accessibility of the bike carrier rather than that other critical factor, the colour. Our bodies have transformed and there are signs of leaner meaner shapes – and the pedals spin faster now.

But there are somethings that have not transformed – our love of spending time with friends, shopping and scoffing.  A rather wonderful piece of scoffing recently took place at an afternoon tea party which was just up our street -cakes, scones and champagne, good company and conversation to raise funds for a local cancer charity. Beautifully put together and all home-made  we scoffed guilt free safe in the knowledge  we would burn it off through pedal power. What a transformation! 5 months ago there would have been more guilt floating than you would find in any convent school – well from me at least.  There would be the murmur of  ‘I really shouldn’t'  followed by  ‘I’m only being polite… it would be rude not too’  to  justify  hoovering up everything in sight.

Sunday cycling has become a norm now and once again powered through fear of the Cycletta approaching like a runaway train, my scone scoffing cycling sister and I set out yesterday to attempt to go the distance.  Following an encounter with 3 aged walkers – think Last of the Summer Wine meets Cocoon- who scarily we had seen last Sunday as well – geriatric stalking comes to mind…. we demonstrated to ourselves definite signs of transformation  as we made it up the longest hill in Lancashire  (I maybe exaggerating slightly here) me slower than ever but with only minimal walking whereas previously I would have been stomping up it from the start! As we reached the summit  the heavens opened and here perhaps was proof of our  transformation  from Ladies that Lunch to the Stoic Sisterhood of Cyclists.  We sheltered briefly under a tree, shared a muesli bar and broke out the Emergency Poncho – now the thought of even having an Emergency Poncho about us would previously have been inconceivable.   However faster than you could say – Give me  that Prada handbag – my companion was swathed in something that appeared to be fashioned out of carrier bags from an economy supermarket.   Far from bemoaning its obvious lack of style, we admired the wonderful draping and large capacity not to mention the handy hood which  slipped under her helmet. Our oohs and ahhs were worthy of the front row of any show at New York Fashion Week, Victoria Beckham eat your heart out.  We only required the one EP as I had my trusty purple waterproof strapped to the Burgundy Bombshell’s carrier – not that it had had much use prior to the cycling adventure – it had been purchased  in case of a tempest at an open air  performance of Macbeth and had then languished in the car boot  for at least two years. Now you are looking at two women of a certain age here who previously have spent many a Sunday out and about – mainly in the changing rooms of  fashion emporiums or seeking the perfect Egyptian cotton sheets. These pastimes will still take place and no doubt  fill our hearts with joy as much as the wonderful afternoon tea party,  but may be less frequent as we continue to pedal the canals and byways rain or shine.  So with not a care for our appearance  -  and secure in the knowledge we won’t be figuring on any of the wonderful Cycle Chic Sites,  we set off on a slightly terrifying freewheel back down the hill – the yellow cape billowing like the front sail on a  racing yacht, but boy , did we get some envious comments from the sorry soggy cyclists and walkers we flew past.   Now to many of you this may seem trivial, but to us it is a small thing which demonstrates a big change, a change in our lifestyle, a change in our attitude to life and a change in what matters to us.

Over the past months  what has continued to matter to us,  is why we are doing this, why we even have such a thing as an emergency poncho  about us.  It is the  desire to raise money for our chosen local charity The John Bury Trust which aims to help young people transform their lives. We support organisations and individuals in small ways which will make a difference in their lives and help them reach their full potential.  This weekend validated our decision when we attended the  annual Talent Show and were treated to a fabulous night of local talent.  Dancers, singers and supporters entertained an enthusiastic crowd at  King Georges Hall giving everyone a great night out whilst raising badly needed funds.

Those of us who will shortly be pedalling round the roads of Cheshire for the charity will have gone through a range of transformations, big and small, physical and mental,  but I am sure that whatever has changed within ourselves it will be for the better.  Our aim is that by transforming a part of our own lives we can help make a major difference and really transform the lives of some who need it most.

Our sponsorship link is http://www.justgiving.com/cycletta

 

Champagne Chocolate and Charity

Do you have to ride 40Km, swim the channel or sit in a bath of beans to be considered a charity fundraising star? Make no mistake all of these, and the hundreds of other fabulous activities people undertake daily to raise badly needed funds for charities big and small are truly to be celebrated.  But last night as I looked round a packed banqueting suite at Ewood Park I saw nearly 300 people enjoying themselves drinking champagne, scoffing the wonderful JBT chocolates and it struck me that I  was witnessing the bedrock of charitable activity. So how does attending a great night out with champagne and chocolate make someone a charity hero?  Purchasing a ticket sends a clear signal, times are hard, particularly in our area of high deprivation and not everyone there last night has a full bank balance or even a secure income – there are young people who save a small amount weekly to ensure they get a ticket,  they sit beside  people with enough in the bank to bid for the enticing auction prizes –   a difference in the size of the wallet  maybe but not in the commitment.  That  I think is the key to a successful charity event – it is not necessarily the amount of money in the room but the collective desire to  make a contribution no matter how big or small to positive action – in this case to help change the lives of the vulnerable.

It was a wonderful evening, the opportunity to break out the bling,  eat fabulous food,  and indulge in some dodgy dancing. There were sequins, killer heels, blinding white shirts and  a positive rainbow of bow ties, I saw sprightly seventy year olds bopping around the dance floor despite previously protesting they were going to sit discreetly on the sidelines. In the miasma of excitement and joy of the party, however, the reason that brought such a diverse group together was never far from the surface.  The excitement of the auctions and raffle drawing was tangible and when asked to text and pledge a £1 the room lit up like a Barry Manilow concert as everyone used  their phones and and how amazing is it that people know their bank details by heart  to  make an  instant commitment to a weekly?

There was a collective impulse to contribute, something that feeds off  the gathering of likeminded people with a common purpose, the supporters may have come to drink champagne and eat chocolate  but they could choose to spend their hard-earned money in many other ways. By choosing to spend it  this way they are showing just as much commitment to the cause as we will  when  the Daft and Determined  Cycling Team tackle the Cycletta on the roads of Cheshire in October. And I am willing to bet our  supporters will be drinking champagne, eating chocolate  and punching the air on the dance floor again this time next year – though whether I will be cycling another 40Km is debatable.