As you’ll know if you read this blog a lot, Tom and I recently came back from an ace holiday in the South of France. Part of my prize was to tell you all about it, the other part was to tell you about my experience in the parc’s spa.
This is possibly one of the most challenging blog posts I’ve ever written, because basically, I did naff all in the spa.
While Tom was in his Pirate Ship club, I locked myself away in the small but beautifully formed hideaway and breathed a sigh of relief that had been building up for a good few months. I did try to read Fifty Shades of Grey but had to stuff it shamefully into a recycling bin after a few chapters (I had somehow missed the hype and grabbed it in Smiths as they were calling my gate at the airport: don’t do it.)
Without a book, there really wasn’t anything to do apart from switch off. I had the place to myself, so it felt a bit like the gigantic Jacuzzi and the steam room with the twinkly lights in the ceiling were all mine. My entrance to the spa was free, but it should have been seven Euros, which I think is a fair price for complete tranquillity. I did also treat myself to reflexology in a dark treatment room, which was 33 Euros and left me feeling temporarily like none of the stuff that was plaguing my mind mattered, at all.
After I’d finished not thinking, I emerged, blinking and nearly got run over by a gang of children on scooters. Back at the ship, I got a massive hug and tried to engage my brain for the daily ice cream nag.
“Mum, can I have an ice cream?”
“Er, how about some mawterwelon instead.”
“Mum, have you had too much relaxing or something?”
“Yeah, something like that.”