I have just returned from a three day break at Champneys Spring near Ashby-De-La-Zouche in Leicestershire. I head to a Spa most years as a birthday treat. This year I went with my good friend Siobhan. She lives in Spain for most of the year so it was a great opportunity to meet up and spend some quality time together.
We had deliberated long and hard about where to spend our special treat. I had been to Hoar Cross Hall in Staffordshire on several occasions and Shiv had been to Ragdale in Leicestershire. We had found both places to be exceptional. However we were succumbed by thriftiness as online research had revealed that Champneys Springs was better value for money in terms of inclusive treatments.
Now there was a last minute body blow prior to departure when I discovered that there was no on site bar. Drinking alcohol was also banned in the bedrooms. Now I’m not saying that Shiv and I are slaves to the demon drink, but we do like a tipple, particularly when we are supposed to be on our holidays. We thus hatched a plan to sneak a couple of screw top bottles of Australia’s finest red in amongst our luggage. This policy should have given us a clue to what was in store.
On Sunday I arrived at the resort five minutes before check in. First impressions were not great I have to confess, but being a natural optimist I was prepared to delay judgement until I had at least entered the building. I tried not to let the drink clank in my bag as I approached reception and set it down gently (the contraband being wrapped in my gym gear). Within 15 minutes I was draped in my dressing gown and was slouched on a sofa reading my book – good job I made the most of it because as soon as my super sporty mate arrived that was to be the end of rest and relaxation.
Shiv rolled up at lunchtime. We went to our room, unpacked and headed for the restaurant. To say that the food was healthy was a bit of an understatement. It was impossible to choose an even vaguely fatty but tasty option! Shiv at this point had ready suggested that we head for the gym followed by a three mile run in the afternoon, so to avoid the risk of chucking up all over the cross trainer I held back the portion on my plate. After lunch we headed for the gym, and nearly killed ourselves. I staggered up to the therapy room for a rest and was rewarded by the excruciatingly painful removal of my stray eyebrow hairs one by one with a pair of tweezers.
Later we puffed (sorry ran) around the fast A roads (the cars were fast not us) of the Leicestershire country side. On returning we rolled up for our first inclusive treatment – a session in the Thassolotherapy suite. I can’t quite understand why it was supposed to be therapeutic. We were bombarded by pressurised sea water through a variety of pipes. It was really painful and not at all pleasant. Unsurprisingly when the therapist offered a discount for another session she was not trampled in the rush!
We were by this point getting a bit peckish and were looking forward to our dinner. We had a little pre-dinner snifter (using the screw top wine and the bathroom glasses) and headed for our three course dinner. There was a choice and we made our selection. We were a little shocked by the size of the starter portion and decided that we needed a bottle of wine to increase the volume. We were significantly more shocked by the £18.75 price tag, but justified it by the large gap in our stomachs. When the main course arrived we started to panic slightly. We had burnt off about 500 calories that afternoon which was significantly more than the number in my small portion of pasta. We ate up with a feeling of unease (and emptiness) and baulked Champneys tradition by asking for butter to go with our (small) bread roll instead of the tomato spread supplied. We did not endear ourselves to the waiter any further when he came to take the dessert selection. “Which dessert has the biggest portion” I asked. I was told that the portion sizes were all substantial and felt very heartened. It must be a matter of interpretation because frankly my portion would not have satisfied a 6 month old baby. Siobhan had to restrain herself from congratulating the chef on the most tasteless piece of cake she had ever eaten.
On the way back to our room we began to review the literature and notice little things which indicated that we might not be in the place where we wanted to be. The strap line said that Champneys was a Health “Farm” rather than a Spa. The former indicates starvation and the latter a treat. The coffee shop only had muesli bars and no cake. The coffee was all “skinny”. We noticed that the swimming pool was 25 metres, functional and cold, not Romanesque, relaxing and the wrong shape to do a length. The corridors were all devoid of people who must have been in their room thinking about food or up the road at Ragdale. By the time we got back to our room we couldn’t stop laughing. Fortunately Shiv had bought some weight watchers mini Victoria Sponges and we filled up as best we could on those (she pointed out that she would have bought full fat if she had known what she knew then).
The following morning, we jogged before breakfast and then headed straight for the buffet. By now we had got the message; fill up while there is opportunity. After this we headed to “ultimate aqua jog” and I discovered that it is possible to sweat in freezing water. This was followed by a de-stress body wrap, the effects of which were quickly removed when I discovered the internet had gone down and I couldn’t access the Baby Sleep Answers Forum. Shiv headed off to do yet another class (told you she was fit) and I set off on a campaign to find a way to help my tired customers.
At 12.30 we headed back into lunch and again visited the buffet on several occasions. By now I was beginning to experience quite a bad wind problem – there is only so much salad you can eat before the rest of your stomach fills with gas.
At 2.30 I rolled up for my pre-booked exercise prescription. The fitness guru was very nice, very young, very thin and very childless. She weighed and measured me and concluded that I needed to lose a stone. Easily done apparently – I now have an exercise regime that includes 2X3 mile runs, 2 arduous gym sessions and a swim (to include aqua jogging, not too sure if the High Peak is ready for aqua jog). I must also limit my alcohol consumption (agghhhh), drink 2 litres of water a day and have my cooked meal at lunch time instead of in the evening. Watch this space.
In the afternoon I turned up for my relaxing facial and back massage, but as I struggled to get my aching limbs on to the bed the beauty therapist offered me a sports massage instead. I have to say that I did feel a lot better after that and was still contemplating doing the Spinning class that Shiv had booked me in for at 7.30. However once back in the room, the call of the screw top beckoned and we settled for a couple of glasses of red and a chat. At dinner we enjoyed very small but tasty portions of food and went back to watch TV. Aching but happy we fell asleep.
Next morning we were up with the larks again and headed to breakfast. We then enjoyed a head in the clouds neck and scalp massage followed by a cardio burn session. Only Shiv and I had been mad enough to enrol so it turned into more of a personal training session. The sweat mixed with the massage oil from my treatment soon made me look spectacularly unattractive.
After lunch we chilled – yes for the first time in 3 days. We reclined on sofas and read our books. At 4.00 we set off home. We vowed to value our friendship more and to meet more regularly for some quality laughing. Next time it will be somewhere that sells cake!
Thursday, 10 May 2007
Friday, 4 May 2007
A Typical Sunday Walk with the Dean Clan
Do you ever look at other people’s families and think that their life seems more sedate than yours? I do this all the time. Take this weekend, for example. On Sunday we decided to go for a walk. I have recently bought a book which has really altered the format of our weekends. It’s called All-Terrain Pushchair Walks: The Peak District.
On this occasion we decided to try a new walk in a place called Macclesfield Forest. I checked out the walk assessment and it was described as Grade 2:
“These are mostly easy, but have one or two areas with minor difficulties, either rough ground, narrow gates or an unavoidable stile. A second adult to assist is advisable”
As there are 5 grades of difficulty (5 being the hardest) this walk seemed like it would be okay. I had suggested during the planning process, that we might call at a farm that has diversified into very good ice cream that was over that neck of the woods, but when we checked out multimap we decided it was a bit out of the way.
We started on our epic journey with hub making the usual mutterings “too many kids”, “we’re not getting another dog”, “I’ve forgotten to put the trolley in”. He then widened the usual list of complaints with some rather derogatory comments about my navigational abilities. Finally the seven of us (2 adults, 4 kids and a smelly, hairy Labrador) piled into the car and we set off.
Now I don’t know whether anyone else suffers from the same problem, but I get terrible motion sickness if I read in the car. Most husbands would be understanding of this malady, but not mine. Not only does his erratic driving style add to the problem, but even when I am clutching a Tesco carrier vomit bag and doing my best to follow a map he decides that he knows better than me and resorts to his rather inadequate homing pigeon skills. Such was the case on Sunday. Carl had decided to take the scenic route and we hurtled along single track country lanes, vainly looking for a signposts that said Trentabank Reservoir. Finally we emerged onto a familiar ‘A’ road (the road which I would have taken, I must add) and it was clear that the pigeon wasn’t homing. However, every cloud has a silver lining and there we were 100 metres away from the ice cream farm. We tumbled out of the car, sat and froze in a howling wind at 10,000 feet and licked ice cream – the children covering themselves in it in the process. A packet of wet wipes later and we resumed our journey.
Eventually after a dozen or so wrong turns we found our destination. Dean children, plus dog emerged from every door. We piled water and spare clothing onto the pram and set off following the signs for route 2 as per the directions in my most excellent book. En route we passed the information office and picked up 2 children’s activity sheets. Of course Elly dog decided to walk past every bin before squatting to do an enormous pile of yellow poo. I heard “your dog” and watched the rest of my family beetle off whilst I scooped. Five minutes later Caitlin and Ben were searching for mini beasts as per the sheets and the two hours that I had allowed for the three and a half mile walk was beginning to seem a bit optimistic. Enthusiasm was dampened by Carl telling Ben that he might find a tarantula under his latest log and the small boy who freely admits to having a cowardly disposition screeched and ran off. When I pointed out to the quaking seven year old that tarantulas were only found in Africa I was informed that they did in fact live in South America – an educational trip all round I think!
I was really starting to enjoy my walk at this point. The wind had dropped and the sun was shining and because we were climbing a big hill, the view was becoming spectacular. “Oh isn’t this a fantastic walk” I commented. At this point I caught the expression of my dear hub. I had of course forgotten that he was pushing the twins up this rather steep escarpment and he was looking red faced and not like he was having a good time. To add insult to injury there was a faint whiff of the Elly dump that I had surreptitiously placed in the bottom of the pram. At that moment the walk deteriorated even further by Caitlin falling flat on her face, thanks to the totally inappropriate Doodles that she had insisted on wearing.
Some three quarters of the way up our climb we spotted a fallen tree ahead of us, blocking the path. We could not go under it, we could not go over it, we had to go through it (anyone recognise that line!). Team Dean went into action and Ben and Caitlin were given the job of holding back the foliage while we scrambled through. At the top of the hill we were met by a greater challenge – a styal. Carl has never treated me as a gentle, sensitive wife to be cherished “do your She-Ra impression love and lift the front onto that gate” I huffed and puffed and managed to balance the buggy containing my two year old twins a little precariously on top of the gate. I was then instructed to get round the other side and lift them down.
By the end of the walk we had negotiated a further two styals and a set of steep steps. Carl was threatening to “write to that fat bird and dispute her grading system”. We let the twins get out and walk the final quarter of a mile which ended up taking half an hour because it was up hill and Ewan and Joseph preferred the downhill option in the opposite direction. At the point where we had got fed up and were prising them howling back into their trolley we spotted one of Caitlin’s friends from school enjoying a much more sedate walk with her sane looking parents and one sibling who was beaming angelically from a back pack. Her dog did try to bite Elly though so we felt a bit better (not sure Elly did!).
We finally collapsed on the picnic tables at the end and took stock. Yes we had enjoyed it and would do it again we decided – as Joseph fell in a patch of nettles!!!!! As the saying goes, you would never do anything if you truly sat and thought about it.
So ended another weekend for the Deans.
On this occasion we decided to try a new walk in a place called Macclesfield Forest. I checked out the walk assessment and it was described as Grade 2:
“These are mostly easy, but have one or two areas with minor difficulties, either rough ground, narrow gates or an unavoidable stile. A second adult to assist is advisable”
As there are 5 grades of difficulty (5 being the hardest) this walk seemed like it would be okay. I had suggested during the planning process, that we might call at a farm that has diversified into very good ice cream that was over that neck of the woods, but when we checked out multimap we decided it was a bit out of the way.
We started on our epic journey with hub making the usual mutterings “too many kids”, “we’re not getting another dog”, “I’ve forgotten to put the trolley in”. He then widened the usual list of complaints with some rather derogatory comments about my navigational abilities. Finally the seven of us (2 adults, 4 kids and a smelly, hairy Labrador) piled into the car and we set off.
Now I don’t know whether anyone else suffers from the same problem, but I get terrible motion sickness if I read in the car. Most husbands would be understanding of this malady, but not mine. Not only does his erratic driving style add to the problem, but even when I am clutching a Tesco carrier vomit bag and doing my best to follow a map he decides that he knows better than me and resorts to his rather inadequate homing pigeon skills. Such was the case on Sunday. Carl had decided to take the scenic route and we hurtled along single track country lanes, vainly looking for a signposts that said Trentabank Reservoir. Finally we emerged onto a familiar ‘A’ road (the road which I would have taken, I must add) and it was clear that the pigeon wasn’t homing. However, every cloud has a silver lining and there we were 100 metres away from the ice cream farm. We tumbled out of the car, sat and froze in a howling wind at 10,000 feet and licked ice cream – the children covering themselves in it in the process. A packet of wet wipes later and we resumed our journey.
Eventually after a dozen or so wrong turns we found our destination. Dean children, plus dog emerged from every door. We piled water and spare clothing onto the pram and set off following the signs for route 2 as per the directions in my most excellent book. En route we passed the information office and picked up 2 children’s activity sheets. Of course Elly dog decided to walk past every bin before squatting to do an enormous pile of yellow poo. I heard “your dog” and watched the rest of my family beetle off whilst I scooped. Five minutes later Caitlin and Ben were searching for mini beasts as per the sheets and the two hours that I had allowed for the three and a half mile walk was beginning to seem a bit optimistic. Enthusiasm was dampened by Carl telling Ben that he might find a tarantula under his latest log and the small boy who freely admits to having a cowardly disposition screeched and ran off. When I pointed out to the quaking seven year old that tarantulas were only found in Africa I was informed that they did in fact live in South America – an educational trip all round I think!
I was really starting to enjoy my walk at this point. The wind had dropped and the sun was shining and because we were climbing a big hill, the view was becoming spectacular. “Oh isn’t this a fantastic walk” I commented. At this point I caught the expression of my dear hub. I had of course forgotten that he was pushing the twins up this rather steep escarpment and he was looking red faced and not like he was having a good time. To add insult to injury there was a faint whiff of the Elly dump that I had surreptitiously placed in the bottom of the pram. At that moment the walk deteriorated even further by Caitlin falling flat on her face, thanks to the totally inappropriate Doodles that she had insisted on wearing.
Some three quarters of the way up our climb we spotted a fallen tree ahead of us, blocking the path. We could not go under it, we could not go over it, we had to go through it (anyone recognise that line!). Team Dean went into action and Ben and Caitlin were given the job of holding back the foliage while we scrambled through. At the top of the hill we were met by a greater challenge – a styal. Carl has never treated me as a gentle, sensitive wife to be cherished “do your She-Ra impression love and lift the front onto that gate” I huffed and puffed and managed to balance the buggy containing my two year old twins a little precariously on top of the gate. I was then instructed to get round the other side and lift them down.
By the end of the walk we had negotiated a further two styals and a set of steep steps. Carl was threatening to “write to that fat bird and dispute her grading system”. We let the twins get out and walk the final quarter of a mile which ended up taking half an hour because it was up hill and Ewan and Joseph preferred the downhill option in the opposite direction. At the point where we had got fed up and were prising them howling back into their trolley we spotted one of Caitlin’s friends from school enjoying a much more sedate walk with her sane looking parents and one sibling who was beaming angelically from a back pack. Her dog did try to bite Elly though so we felt a bit better (not sure Elly did!).
We finally collapsed on the picnic tables at the end and took stock. Yes we had enjoyed it and would do it again we decided – as Joseph fell in a patch of nettles!!!!! As the saying goes, you would never do anything if you truly sat and thought about it.
So ended another weekend for the Deans.
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