surrey saviour

This stuff has started to really take it's toll. This wasn't how I imagined it would be, but some of the people that I need the most to help me, just aren't.

So for the moment, I'm putting it all to one side and not looking at it again until further notice.

This has all manifested into 'flu. I'm sick and at home today. Either I've been out and about in the chilly autumn air too much, (likely), travelling on tubes with other virus-addled people (more likely), or the stress of planning a wedding on my own has beaten me down (most likely.)

Take me back to last weekend! She Who Also Loves Tweed and I found a package a few months ago (deal, steal, bargain of the century) for a spa night out in the country.

Off we trotted in her car down to Surrey to Grayshott Spa - and it couldn't have come at a better time. I had about five bridal magazines (I mean, to think I'm actually buying wedding magazines...it is more foreign than deep-fried scorpions, seriously), and we snuck in a few bottles of champagne.

Well it was absolutely brilliant. I don't consider myself a "lady that spa's," but frankly, I need to start working this into my lifestyle somehow. Once a season maybe? Life is too short, and I work hard enough. So we've made a pact to find a spa deal a season. 

The deal was a night in the hotel, a head massage (do my head. Do it good), a three course dinner, breakfast and lunch. Plus use of all facilities (bubble pool, sauna, pool, steam room). All for £175. That's pretty good value. Considering the place looked like this:

And this:

Tweedy was an organisational heroine, something I'm really not at the moment. (Yes, I did ask if I could hire her to be my planner. As mine has disappeared.) She bought plastic champagne glasses, and tons of chocolate. While we were "detoxing from life" of course, and while having mud wraps and on the green tea and water. One would balance out the other out, right. Yin and yang, no?

I even did ten lengths of the pool. (Dude. This is huge. I don't usually exert myself.) Sweated out the toxins in the steam room, and generally was Super Chilled. 

People were allowed to walk around and lunch in their fluffy robes. This is my kind of hotel. Where you can wear whatever the fuck you want, wherever, whenever. Even if it does look like a mental asylum.

Take me back there. Where the autumn colours are pretty and don't freak me out that winter is coming either.

Hark! Orange leaves prevaileth! Doom or annual hibernation opportunity?

"The Drawing Room." One doesn't draw here, one sips on tea in a robe, while reading The Telegraph.

My milkshake car brings all the dudes to the yard. (It's not mine, but no question that a spa is a girlie sort of place isn't it?)

Magazines to induce Super Chillaxation and tabloid fix (and stress. Don't mention the 'W' word.)

We had our dinner, washed down with our stealth stash of bubbly, and decided to watch The Shining.

Don't ever do this if terrification duress isn't your thing. We felt it apt, given we were in a country hotel filled with people who wear white robes. It fitted well. And we almost shat ourselves.

One day I'll live in a house like this.*

* Yeah, right.