Dead in the water...
So Day Two of my mini break was yesterday, I'd been looking forward to this for weeks, Finally, I was going to get Miss R to a spa for a morning of heavy duty pampering. Coming along for the ride were daughter number two and her friend, Little Miss O (she's tiny, hence the pseudonym). I was carrying a small holdall which contained my swimming costume, a clean pair of drawers, my purse and my mobile, which I had vowed not to touch for the duration of our visit.
Miss R on the other hand, was manhandling several large holdalls out of her car containing a smorgasbord of various items. I reminded her that part of the deal was lunch, but apparently, her timetable is such that breakfast is not a movable feast hence the apples, oranges, pears and several bananas.
Fast forward half and hour, and the four of us are sitting around the pool. Daughter number two and Little Miss O were in the jacuzzi, while Miss R and I were chatting, reclined on padded deckchairs. Miss R rifled in her bag, and pilled out a cling filmed bowl of something resembling vomit and tucked in. We had ordered some coffees, and a very fit Spaniard tipped up with our drinks just as Miss R was laying out the fruit on her side table (this is young talk 'fit', rather than 'he does a few press-ups every day 'fit).
He took one look at the fruit and veg stall which Miss R had laid out, and very calmly told her to put it away immediately, as you are not allowed to eat or drink any of your own food while in the spa. It became apparently clear as to why they have this rule when I realised that they charged £11 for one glass of Prosecco. Oh, how it all made sense.
There was an aqua-aerobics class going on the pool, and grabbing a polystyrene sausage I joined in, with the famous last words of 'How hard can it be?' Well, I'll tell you how hard it was. Not wanting to be outdone by the six octogenarians in the pool with me, I really went for it, and gave it all I had. That bloody sausage was used to do things which I am sure aren't legal in a public place, and at one point, I had it by the throat (or thereabouts) ready to strangle it.
But I stuck to it, and forty minutes later, I got out of the pool red faced and wanting to throw up. I managed to keep it together, and headed off to the Sanctuary Room, with its heated beds and thick fluffy blankets. I was just starting to recover (I'd stopped panting and checking out the location of potted plants just in case) when I was called in for my facial.
And it was lovely...