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SUSAN HELLARDMindy's pampering pick-me-up does not quite go to plan
If there’s one thing a Mindy really doesn’t like, it’s the cold. So the last few weeks have been somewhat of a trial for me. For a start, having to wear so many layers that I look like a Michelin man, it’s difficult to move, let alone get anything done. So breaking the ice on the drinking troughs and mucking out is even more of a chore than usual. Not to mention having to remove my super-warm, waterproof gloves to change the pony rugs and deal with buckles and clasps morning and night, while Jack Frost’s needle-sharp nails poke me all over. The swine.
But there’s no alternative – the job has to be done and the little poppets need to be kept cosy out in their paddocks.
It all came to a head one particularly cold morning a couple of weeks ago when I shivered back to the kitchen with a bright red face, freezing tootsies and numb fingers, and fought with the dogs over who could get closest to the Aga. Lying on the floor with my feet pressed hard against the hottest oven door, I quite surprised Richard when he came in.
“Blimey! What’s this? Dog yoga?”
Well, we were in a bit of a heap and the three of us had legs in the air…
“No. Defrosting.”
The following morning I saw my friend, Curly, at Willow’s school gates and we agreed that what we needed was an escape to a spa. She had a discount voucher and that was all the persuading I needed. So this week, with a small army of helpers left in charge of the ponies, Mel staying over in charge of kids and smaller creatures and Richard away working, I packed my overnight bag and set off. I’d booked my treatments and we were staying overnight so we could completely relax. Wonderful.
The hotel looked very nice and although the car park was a short hike from the reception, and my room, disappointingly, wasn’t ready when I arrived, I didn’t mind. I left my bag with them and followed directions to the spa (which was in another building, about 50 yards away). Curly had been delayed, so I went for a hot stones massage while I was waiting. For someone like me, with my knotted neck, creaky back and horrible hips, to be massaged with so much heat was absolute bliss.
I made my way back to reception feeling thoroughly pampered and after a few phone calls, my room was pronounced ready. It was a nice room and when Curly arrived, we were joined by our friend Lesley for lunch, then all three of us returned to the spa for more indulgence.
Because of the hard labour I put my hands through every day, they needed some serious TLC, so I’d booked a French manicure with gel nails to go on to my rather stubby fingernails.
The manicurist, however, had other ideas and looked decidedly disgruntled when I didn’t want to pick one of her 50 shades of red.
A hushed conversation followed between three bemused beauticians before a different nail technician appeared and set about trimming my already non-existent nails.
My original request had totally been lost in translation so that instead of ending up with smart, elegant nails, I left with them painted a dreadful pinky orange and clipped back so far I couldn’t even scratch an itch.
To cut a very long story short, the rest of the stay didn’t get much better with a mix-up over champagne, a broken television, a decidedly cold hot breakfast and – just to put the icing firmly on top of the cake – horizontal, gale-force wind at check-out time the following morning.
No matter, I drew myself up to my full 5ft 2ins and set forth, awaking my courageous explorer gene to battle the element, grabbing a complementary guest umbrella on the way out (which blew inside out in moments and tried to end its sorry existence against a wall).
I returned, bedraggled, and handed the umbrella to the receptionist saying, “I’m sorry, I’m afraid this might need a bit of attention.”
She gave me a displeased look.
We then examined our bills and were rather surprised to see: “Spa refreshments, £110.”
“But we only had two cups of tea.”
“£55 for a cup of tea sounds a bit much,” I joked, but the receptionist’s face remained stern.
When I finally set off for home, with rainwater dribbling from hair into eyes, and my stubby fingers gripping the steering wheel, I realised that much as I’d enjoyed spending time with Lesley and Curly, I’d far rather be at home doing dog yoga by the Aga with the smiling faces of my girls and my ponies, breaking nails and getting drenched for a valuable reason rather than misplaced vanity!
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