Have a spa weekend - chapter 3

It struck me, as I was sitting in the Rose Sauna at Ragdale Hall and observing those around me, how much time some women have on their hands.  Although some time had elapsed since my last visit - 4 years - and the number of men attending the spa had increased, I still reckon that it is still a 88/15 female/male split.  How come women have so much time on their hands?  Yes, I was one of those women, but  this was my first visit in 4 years and talking to some of the other visitors it transpires that at least a good proportion of them were regulars.  And, it was the Rosemary Conley week to be sure, so that attracted, I understand from the ladies on the next table to us at dinner, a loyal annual following.  But that apart, in the middle of a recession, how come so many women could afford to be having so much down-time? It led me to thinking about what men do for their wind-down equivalent. And, whether there is a certain type of woman that actually just has a kind of social whirlwind life where much of their time is spent doing not much. I don't mean there isn't any activity, there is, God forbid.  I just mean there isn't much activity that makes a lot of difference.  I suppose I am asking, are all these women living off their husbands or do they actually support themselves?  The answer is that I don't know.  In terms of the younger women, maybe the former. In terms of the older women, I think almost exclusively the latter. Am I jealous? Partly.  Would I give up my financial independence and sense of having some real value in the world? Not on your life.

But philosophy and gender issues apart, spa-going still seems to be predominantly a female occupation.  The male consensus largely seems to be that it's a good dollop of a waste of time.  Does it add anything to one's life?  Probably not.  Are we ladies glad we do it?  Definitely yes.  So ultimately it has to be more than just about the physical experience and more about feeding the soul.  So why, as women, might our souls need feeding more?  On the basis that I have no idea of the answer to that question and that this blog entry is in danger of wandering into territory or which I have no real understanding, I shall get back to the question in hand.  What did I do while at Ragdale and was it worth the experience?

More about my Ragdale Hall experience, later.

Have a spa weekend - chapter 2

A spa break has to do two things.  One, help you forget about real life for a day or so and two, make you feel young again. By this I mean that it has to be organised enough to leave you with a minimal loading of decision making but at the same time give you lots of opportunities to just 'play' if you want to. Ragdale Hall does this amply well.  It offers a raft of treatment choices from facials, to body wraps to the slightly sado-masochistic Ballinese massage for which I opted (Russia, Bali, who would have thought they had much in common? The kind of massage that has you slapping the couch, accepting you are just not man enough is only a starter. To understand this reference you need to read the previous post).  On top of that they have the fabulous hydro-spa and finally, enough quiet places full of comfy sofas and day-beds to make you feel like Lady Chatterley.  They probably have gardeners as well if you ask........   So, my included treatments - facial and body wrap - were supplemented by optional torture - read Ballinese massage - and topped up by a gentle rotation through the many options in the thermal-spa. And being a water baby at heart, this is where I spent a lot of my time.  The hydro-spa was newly opened at my last visit and I am embarrassed to tell you this, dear readers, but on my first visit I really struggled to get the geography of the place.  I would head to the spa and end up at the veranda café, head to the veranda café and I would end up at reception. Head for reception and I would end up at the Retreat. This was not at ALL satisfactory.   This time, having learned my lesson, I studied the kindly supplied map of 'Ragdale world' and got my bearings. Good and proper. This meant, unfortunately, that I could find my way to the new boutique all too easily.  Probably blindfolded, infact.  Rather to the detriment of my American Express card. But back to the thermal-spa.......

Heading north east from our rather sumptious superior twin room (another perk of being with super-client?) after about 3 minutes walk, you hit the indoor swimming pool (and you thought us gals didn't have any idea about direction......!).  This is a lovely shaped pool, with waterfall and lots of very comfy loungers usually full of 'I love being near a pool, but don't actually want to swim' types. The pool has,  very importantly for a 'once competitive swimmer', two straight 25m lanes which means you can actually get a bit of speed up.  Not being one of the 'I need to keep my hair dry and my lipstick on' brigade, this is a real bonus.  Seven forty-five a.m. I am in the pool, plowing up and down in my effort to lose the Mrs Blobby all-too-real-fat-suit, I am joining one other swimmer.  She is quite good too.  Nash.  But, without appearing to be overly competitive, I make sure I beat her every length.  She gets out.  Ha.

Beyond the pool, is the hydro-spa. This, is probably the most unique part of the Ragdale Hall experience.  There might be other better hydro-spas elsewhere, I don't know.  I just know that I love this place.  Just walking through the door makes me exhale in a great big aaahhhhh.  Time stands still. There is something almost primevil and womb-like about its security and call to the most basic human need to be warm and cossetted.  I'll stop now, because even I know I'm starting to sound like I'd being paid to write this. Which I am not by the way.  Honestly.

Step through the door of the hydro-spa though, and be ready to just let your stresses melt away.  The gentle sound of running water draws you in, the visual experience of lava rock and succulent plants makes you feel like you have stumbled in to some tropical paradise, and the very clear instructions on each hydro-treatment means you know exactly what you are getting yourself into.   I have to say it now, I will say it again later, my deep love is the thunderstorm shower.  And yes, I admit I hogged it for a bit, but standing in a (not real, but it feels like it) cave, with the sound of thunder, sparks of simulated lightening and the downpour of (very warm) 'rain' just calls on the most basic of instincts and makes you understand why our ancestors prayed and sought to placate the gods of the elements.  I want one of those at home, please.

More on my Ragdale Hall experience, later.

Have a spa weekend - chapter 1

It seems so long since the NeverTooLate Girl was in town. So much so, that it's only just now that I realised I had completed one of the items on my never-to-late list without knowing - I had a spa weekend.

Not a weekend technically, as we hit the hydro for two nights mid-week but the principle remains the same - a couple of days of R&R with thoughts of work and study allowed to slowly fade into the background.  Though as the masseuse climbed on to the couch and tied my lower body in a knot (believe me, it felt like she'd got me in a double sheep shank) memories of the Russian team masseuse at the European Masters Swim Championships in Ukraine last September started to flood back.  I made sure my sobs were very, very quiet.  But as ever, when she had finished with me and I slowly slid off the couch and checked my legs weren't broken, I realised how good I actually felt. Clearly pain and I have a worryingly symbiotic connection.

On a Take a Friend for Free package (it's not exactly free, but it is a good ploy to get you there) organised by my good buddy H, I was returning to Ragdale Hall four years after my first visit.  God, where does time go?  Ragdale looked the same.  I unfortunately had suffered some ravages of time. This was my attempt to undo mother nature's relentless routemarch and try to put back at least a couple of things which seemed to be heading in the wrong direction.  Did it work?  It did. For a couple of days.  A late night out last night with friends and camping in a not-yet-finished new-build with no facilities seems to have undone the good works of the previous week.   I slipped on my sunglasses as soon as I got out of bed. Thank god for accessories.

Ragdale Hall is about 8 miles from Melton Mowbray and about 13 miles from Leicester.  For those of you with poor geography, cut off Scotland, Wales and the SW and Leicester is just about in the middle of what is left.  The Hall is set in open countryside and if you turn around at the entrance and look back there is a long and beautiful unobstructed view across rolling fields and into the distance. The immediate grounds of the Hall are kind of nice too.  What Ragdale gets right and sets it apart I understand from some other spas (this is intelligence from my spa-going friends, I unfortunately don't get the opportunity to have this sort of pampering very often) is the quality of service you get from the staff.  With the exception of waiting an age to be seated in the restaurant at lunch time (more about this later), the staff were fabulous.  Polite, attentive, good at their jobs.  Which given that it's a sort of pampering conveyor belt (I mean this in the nicest possible way) and they all get to see probably a dozen different people a day, or more, the staff remain surprisingly cheerful, friendly and relaxed.  Yes, there is a bit of standard patter before each treatment but that goes with the territory. All in all it is an extremely efficient and professionally run operation that still manages to make you feel like an individual. To the point that even after a four year gap I was greeted like a regular.  Or maybe it was because my mate is, she's a three-or-four times a year gal at Ragdale.  I may well just have been the lucky recipient of reflected super-client attention.

The first things I noticed following the four year gap between my last visit and this weren't the rather swish new clothes boutique or the new facilities. But rather: one, that there were markedly more men than previously and two, how much fatter on average the women were.  I don't think this is an error of memory.  The women were bigger.  MUCH bigger.  Interestingly on the Ragdale website the images they show are women who are, well....... young, attractive and SLIM. But that's advertising for you.   And I don't say this in a critical way. From someone who has piled on a stone in the last eighteen months I can probably include myself in that Mrs Blobby critique.  But that's coming off folks, which is another story and for a later blog post.  Last nights Thai food and free-flowing Sauvignon Blanc didn't  exactly help with the diet plan though. Weak, so weak. I must do better.

Now, where's that tube of Jaffa  Cakes?

More on my trip to Ragdale later.