Bad weather blues...

So it's back to earth with a bump.  Robocop is currently strimming the lawn prior to the year's first foray out with the mower, and there's no food in the fridge.

I was missing for just twenty four hours.  A whole day and night with daughter number two with both of us being massaged and fed, and generally being treated like a pair of princesses.  There is something quite liberating about being able to wear a dressing gown all day in these places.  For a start, you don't need to breathe in, except for those brief moments when a dunk in the jacuzzi is required.  Even when you go for your treatments, you are allowed to shed the dressing gown in private, and the therapist doesn't come back into the room until you've heaved your bulk onto the massage table and covered yourself  up with various towels.

Of course, there is the problem that when clothed, your waistband will let you know when enough is enough where food is concerned.  But in the dressing gown?  There's no warning light with these bad boys, and on a couple of occasions (one of which was after a slab of coffee cake) I confess to loosening my belt a little to accommodate the expansion of my midriff.

One thing which puzzled daughter number two and I was the amount of men who were there for the day.  I get the ones who were there with their girlfriends or wives (or somebody else's wife) but it was the older males in the baggy Speedos which caused me some concern.  Obviously, they weren't married ( no wife would let her husband be seen in public wearing something which looked like an old J Cloth and two Kiwi fruit) and they seemed to like simply staring at the ladies in the pools.  In my mum's day, there was a name for this kind of chap, and it wasn't 'Single male looking for attractive lady for cinema trips and country walks'.  

As our lovely day came to an end, we shed our wonderfully forgiving dressing gowns and squeezed back into our real clothes.  It was then up to the bar for a couple of swifties before going into dinner (sorry tummy, more food).

'I've lost my bank card', said daughter number two trawling through her handbag.  After a ten minute Q&A sessions, I suggested that she probably left it in her dressing gown.

Which she had.  The poor lady at the spa had to go through three hundred discarded robes before finding the card which made it back to the safety of daughter number two's handbag after breakfast.

But it was a really lovely day, and very special to be able to share it with my girl.

But wait, I hear you ask.  What about the husband and his flying lesson which was booked for this morning. Sadly, because of the weather, the lesson was cancelled.

Poor old Biggles.  He was looking forward to humming the theme to The Dambusters over High Wycombe...

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