Day four of the thirty day writing challenge is to write ten interesting facts about yourself. I got stuck after the first two, which to be honest are not even interesting. I'm sorry.
I thought of some more though, after a while, so even though they are not interesting at all either, at least I got there in the end.

Ten 'interesting' facts about me.

1. I'm so scared of fire. It's very hot and difficult to control, and I watch it all of the time to make sure it's not going to kill anything that I love.

2. I mostly hate housework but I actually enjoy cleaning the bathroom. I find it somewhat satisfying.

3. Dogs make me so happy. I don't think anything else could make me as happy as my dogs do.

4. I probably have aspergers... Is that interesting? I hope it is, I find it interesting.

5. I always thought I was magic, because my eyes are green. I spent my childhood waiting for my powers to develop.

6. I used to see ghosts a lot when I was a kid. Sometimes I wonder if I used to be insane, and sometimes I wonder if ghosts are real.

7. I'm a bit psychic, but I always think things like "being psychic isn't a real thing, don't be so stupid." So I'm not really sure how to deal with that. I'm a big believer in logic and science and coincidence. But sometimes I feel confused about it because things happen that I can't explain and I guess pretending to be psychic is easier than not being able to explain it. Maybe?
Once, I was talking with a really old witch lady that I used to know, and she put her hand on my forehead and said that I was "very psychic", and then I felt a kind of fuzzy, light feeling in my head. She was really really super old, like 100 or something, so I'm sure she was right. Respect your elders boys and girls.

8. I wish that I had been 35 when I was a teenager, because I think I almost know what I want to do with my life, but now it's too late. I know it's actually never too late, but I'm old and tired, and I just want to sleep now, but I can't. I need to learn things and look for work.

9. Is it an interesting fact that I make candles for a living? I like to make candles that look like food, and I make them smell like what they look like. They smell and look delicious. So there's cupcake candles that smell like cupcakes, and ice cream candles that smell like ice cream, and coffee candles that smell like coffee... And more stuff too. I love them.

10. Is it another interesting thing that I want to be a book editor? I love reading over people's work and fixing it, and being a book editing candle maker would be my dream job.

There you go guys, I hope those facts interested you more than they interest me. They're the most interesting things about me that I could come up with.
Tomorrows installment, number five, is 'a place you would like to live but have never visited'. See you then!

30 day word challenge, day three. I should have posted this last night. We had a date night and I forgot. But the next morning is better than never.

So number three is - Your first love, and first kiss. If separate, discuss both.

Thinking about out this a lot. My first love, probably was not my first love. Not really. It was definitely my first obsession, my first thing that I had a reason to get out of bed for. My first thing that gave me a reason to be alive. Before that I didn't have anything.
I fell into that, and it was very very difficult to clamber back out again. It took a long time to do that, and it exhausted me.

I feel like now is my first love. Now I have a proper love. One that is good for me, and good for him (I hope). One that makes me feel happy. One that doesn't make me question myself or second guess all of my decisions. In this love, nothing hurts. In this relationship I can look to the future and know everything will be good. I'm comfortable with me and with him and with my life. And it's really, really nice.

My first kiss... And I'm probably cheating on the thirty day writing challenge here, I think the aim of this is to write about random things, some of which you may be uncomfortable with - and that is good for you. That's the challenging bit. But my first kiss is not something I care to remember or dredge up, not now anyway. Maybe someday.

Tomorrow - or tonight rather because I was late with this... Number four is 'Ten interesting facts about yourself'. I'm not sure I'm interesting enough for this one but we'll give it a whack.

I started the thirty day writing challenge in my last blog post, yesterday. Let's hope we can keep this up! Here's day two.

Day 2. Your Earliest Memory.

I remember cycling around the kitchen table in our house in Ballybrack, on my tricycle. That was my favourite thing to do and it's probably my earliest memory. I remember it weird though. I don't see it as though I'm on the tricycle myself, even though I was. I see it, in my head, like I'm a grown up and I'm standing in the kitchen watching myself as a child cycling around. But everything is pretty blurry and I don't know what I look like. I can't see details. I know there's a dresser on the right and the sink and fridge on the left and a table and chairs, and they are wooden, but I can't see the walls or the floor and I don't know what colour the tricycle is. I wonder whether everyone's memories are blurry and selective like that.

Tune in tomorrow, same bat time, same bat channel, to find out about my first love. Swit swoo!

I found this thing on Facebook. I recently did some night classes in creative writing and I've been doing some writing exercises, to hone my skills, I suppose. So when I saw this 30 day writing challenge, with a different thing to write about every day, I figured it might be a fun exercise to do. So let us find out if I'm right... Let us delve into my memories, my opinions, and my thoughts and feelings. Sound good?

Day 1. Five problems with social media.
​
1. Stupid people.
Oh they're everywhere. With their tiny brains and their racism and their homophobia and their lovely lovely sexism.
Shut up. Shut up everybody. Just shut up.

2. Selfies.
When you take a selfie with someone awesome, and put it on Facebook, that's awesome. When you take a selfie with someone you love, that's lovely. When you take a selfie at a historical landmark or something really cool like that, that's cool.
When you take lots of selfies just because
youre a narcissist, that's none of my business. When you put those every single one of those selfies up on Facebook...
If we're friends in real life, then I know what you look like already. So that's fine, thanks.

3. Opinions.
Everyone has an opinion. And that's great, you really need one. But the fact that anyone can plaster their opinion all over social media - that's not so great. That gives people the misguided notion that their opinion is important. But it is not important. It is just your opinion. Like this is just my opinion. And nobody else really cares. Do you?

4. Keyboard Warriors.
You see an opinion on social media that gets your back up. You retort with your own opinion. Another faceless stranger offers up another opinion. Someone gets called fat. Someone else gets called ugly. Someone is accused of having a tiny penis. Congratulations. You have just participated in a completely pointless keyboard war. You could have been doing something productive, like planting trees or feeding orphans, you fucking twat.

5. That zombie-like feeling you get from scrolling for hours non-stop because you just don't know how to get your life together.

Tune in tomorrow for the next instalment of the 30 day writing challenge, where I get to tell you all about my earliest memory. What fun.

I have at least four 'almost-completed' books written. They are on USB sticks around my house. These are not the only 'almost-completed' things that I possess. Oft in the past have I begun making things, and those things are just lying around the house, waiting for me. Things like clay models, and a wizard staff that I want to burn awesome symbols into. And some crochet. And painting...
I start these things with the best of intentions, but I lose interest in them and want to read instead, usually.


I started this blog with the best of intentions - I wanted to write something new at least once a fortnight. Did that happen? Did it fuck. I've written four posts and a few recipes in the last few years.


But I cannot be blamed for this terrible lack-of-interest-in-things-that-I-am-originally-super-excited-about.
You see I have a curse upon me.
It is an old family curse. I know not when it began, or how far it goes back, (generations, I guess) but I know it was passed down to me from my father.


Legend has it that (it's not legend, it's actual fact, taken from my memory) when I was ten my mother was pregnant with my youngest brother. My father decided to make this new child of his a beautiful handmade wooden rocking horse. And so he did... Except... He never got around to putting rockers onto the horse, or painting it. So it was only ever used as a seat, pretty much. My youngest brother is now 24 and that wooden horse is now headless, and rotting in the garden. My father probably still plans to finish it one day.


In addition to the unfinished horse, my father has also unfinished plenty of other wooden things, as well as two conservatories, (yes, two, there are two unfinished conservatories on his house), several fish ponds, some small gardens (he has lots of land to unfinish things on) and I'm sure there are many more things but I can't think of them right now.


He has also finished plenty of things, so thankfully it's not all doom and gloom and half made wood turning.


So you see, in comparison, my unfinished things seem very small compared to the sins of my father. I know I will need to keep an eye on myself, lest my small unfinished things grow larger. Although I do not think they will ever grow to a conservatory size.
Poor horsey.

I've been thinking a lot lately about my ex boyfriend. The other day I was wondering why I was thinking a lot about him, and I realised that it would have been around this time all those years ago that we started going out together.

And then, I thought back and realised that I think about him at the start of every spring. So just like smells can remind you of someone or something, so can seasons.

That's a bit awesome.

I have been in a very amazing relationship for the past eight years, and I'm not thinking about my ex in any sort of 'lonely-and-wanting-him-back' kind of way. But me and him, we were best friends for a very long time. I think about all my old friends from before, from time to time. I wonder what sort of life they're living.

Edit: I just deleted a couple of paragraphs here, they made our relationship sound a bit too perfect. It wasn't perfect, by any stretch of the imagination. We weren't good for each other. These paragraphs probably made this story less fun as well, it's supposed to be a fun story, not a 'poor me' story.

Anyway, let's get to what I actually want to tell you. I had a few drinks tonight, and I've been remembering my ex. So this combination of drinks and memories led me to this memory - my most embarrassing moment - which involves drink, and my ex.

Back then, we did everything together. We were inseparable. And I had a friend, a very good friend, who lived close by. She was also inseparable from us. We were like the three musketeers. All for one and one for all.

I'm not going to get into the nitty gritty of it here, but you can guess what happened. It was bound to happen. I should have seen it coming but I'm afraid I was dreadfully naive, and completely oblivious to the fact that a man who has already cheated on you, and a friend who has kissed more than one of your boyfriends before, maybe shouldn't be hanging out alone together...

Yeah, so they did very bold things with each other when I was in work, and after a few weeks of them having what I'm sure was, for them, a terribly exciting 'affair', he left me for her.

A week or so later, my brother came to me with the news that my ex boyfriend and my ex friend were down in the local pub... My local pub.

On a date.

How fucking romantic.

Obviously I had to go and check this out, so off I went, and I did, in fact, find them in my local pub.

They were sitting just inside the door, on a double date with a couple that my ex and I would have hung out with a lot. They had been his friends to begin with, but still. This was another giant kick in the teeth. As was the fact that, this being a rural pub, and a weekend night, the place was packed with people that I knew - my friends and neighbours. Kind of humiliating...

However, I took it like a fucking Dutchess. I didn't pour drinks over anyone, or scream, or hit people. I didn't want to embarrass myself, or draw any more attention than necessary. Things were already bad enough.

I stood straight and proud and I asked my friend if she wouldn't mind coming outside with me. She came out and said she's-sorry-but-she-loves-him and all the rest, and I had a little rant about how hurt I was, and then she went back inside.

Then one of my friends from inside came out, and hugged me, and brought me in, to the far corner of the pub, right out of view of the happy new couple. She bought me a drink. And I drank it, very fast.

Then, the whole pub, it seemed, started coming over to me with drinks. Everybody knew what had happened and seemed to have a drink for me. So I started knocking those drinks back, because I knew then that the only thing to do really was to get completely pissed. That would totally fix things.

All of a sudden, after more than a few drinks had been thrown into me really fast, I felt them wanting to come back up the same way... Or even faster...

I jumped up as quickly as I could, and pushed my way towards the toilets, which were just outside the door. Now, if you'll remember, at the start of this story, when I entered the pub and found my ex, he and his friends were sitting just inside the door. So I had to go past them to get back out the door to the toilets in order to vomit.

But the vomit didn't seem to want to wait until I got past them. The vomit seemed to be in quite the hurry to get out of my body.

So. Just as I reached the door, right beside those rotten cheaters, just as I reached out and grasped for the door handle, my other hand firmly clamped over my mouth, that vomit just couldn't wait any longer. I threw up, right beside my ex, and my ex-friend, and my other ex-friends their double dates. I threw up right there on the floor.

And I cried.

And then I ran away.

And that, my friends, is my most embarrassing, humiliating memory. I don't think anything that has happened to me before or since will ever come close.

I just want to add that their relationship only lasted for about two weeks. And yes, even after that, my ex and I started talking again and stayed friends, for a very long time. We even tried to make it work again but that was just impossible. You can't ever get that trust back.

Although, the friend in this story? We met up again years later, and we are very close friends now. Sisters before Misters I guess. We were young and stupid back then. We are very much older and wiser.

So I suppose the moral of my story is, if you get dumped and you want to get drunk, don't do your drinking in the same pub as your ex...? Is that a good moral? I don't know... I know I never vomited in front of an ex again, so I obviously learned my lesson.

I was reversing out of my driveway the other day and I backed into another car. Now, I know that some of you menfolk will be thinking that’s because I’m a girl and we of the fairer sex can’t drive very well, but you’d be very very wrong (and silly). I’m a pretty fucking awesome driver - and most especially good at reversing.

So then how on Earth would something like this come about? I hear you ask. Well, allow me to explain…

After thinking about this for quite some time and delving through my memory of the baffling event, I have come to the indisputable, unmistakeable conclusion that some form of sorcery was employed. There couldn’t possibly be any other explanation for what happened.

I was driving backwards at a speed of probably less than ten miles per hour, looking out my back window, looking in all three mirrors, looking out either side of my car, twisting my neck in unimaginable ways and directions, all in all being very careful indeed, as I generally am when I reverse out of my driveway because the children that live in my estate are notorious for standing in the exact place that I am about to drive, and I have a suspicion that if I ran over one of them a grudge would be held against me for quite some time. So yeah, there I was reversing, being careful, scanning all directions. And I’m telling you, that fucking car was not there. It just wasn’t. Even when I bumped into it it wasn’t there, and suddenly it appeared.

There was no flash of light or puff of smoke or anything, that devil car appeared out of nowhere.

I’m sure most of you reckless scallywags would probably just drive off if something like this happened to you, but I am terribly grown up and conscientious. Bracing myself, I got out of my car -wishing and hoping that there was nobody in the other car- but there was… and she wasn’t very bloody happy. At all.

Of course the first thing I did was apologise and ask her if she was ok, or at least I tried to, but I honestly can’t imagine she heard me over the sound of her own shrieking. “Are you really that fucking blind” she was roaring at me. “Are you really”.

What could I say but no. I’m not blind. I mean how would that even work? As far as I know they still don’t give licences to blind people. I can only imagine how dangerous that would be. I love equal opportunities and all that, they’re great, but I think letting blind people drive is going just a bit too far.

Also, seeing-eye dogs - or do we call them guide dogs here? I watch too much American TV. Yeah guide dogs, they’re wonderful and so clever, but I don’t know how good they’d be at giving directions from the passenger seat. So fuck you lady, but no, obviously I’m not fucking blind.

However, my earnest and heartfelt apologies coupled with my denial of having any visual impairments fell on deaf and uncaring ears.

The fact that a scuffed bumper was the only damage done didn’t seem to matter either, she kept going with her unjustified tirade while I stood there saying nothing, my brave lovely boyfriend beside me trying to get her to calm down, to no avail.

I can’t remember much of what she said (my mind was focused on thinking about guide dogs directing blind drivers to… I dunno… where would blind people drive to? the opticians I suppose) but I do recall her shouting that I frightened the life out of her. Which I completely sympathise with, of course I do, I know more than most how horrific it is when someone scuffs your bumper.

I’ve had my own bumper scuffed three or four times over the years and it is petrifying to say the least, almost akin to being held at gunpoint in a dark alley behind a theatre while your parents are murdered in front of you and your mothers pearls cascade from her broken necklace, descending slowly and dramatically to the ground.

Once I even had my mirror knocked off by a passing car, I’m sure I don’t need to tell you how frightening that was! As terrifying as unexpectedly falling right through the ground while out playing in your own garden, into a dark old well where confused and frightened creatures of some sort… oh lets say that they’re bats… flap frantically about your face and head, and then being stuck at the bottom of that dark abandoned well, alone and scared, until someone comes to rescue you.

So I don’t blame this woman for shouting at me, not at all, or for cursing at me while my child sat in the back seat of the car watching all this unfold and wondering what was going on. Indeed I have oft considered donning black clothes and adopting a vigilante attitude after my own dreadful bumper scuffing incidents so I completely understand her ire.

I was most sorely tempted a few years back when a guy literally ploughed into the back of my car as I was yielded at a junction. But I didn’t go crazy like I probably should have. I didn’t put a cowl and cape on and judo chop some criminals. All I did was listen to his apologies, assure him that nobody was hurt, thank him for saying he’d pay for the damage and exchange phone numbers with him.

Well maybe I have learned. Maybe if it happens again I’ll take a leaf out of the shouty womans book and make everything as difficult and embarrassing as I can, and maybe then someone will write a story about what an overreacting cunt I am. Maybe... But probably not.

I want some very simple things Unfortunately, these simple things are really not very simple to obtain. But I am working towards them.

I would very much like a little house in the country. A little house that comes with a large wardrobe, a big shed, and a very big garden.

I currently live in a house that I rent. It is a small house in an estate, with a tiny garden and a tiny shed. I am saving money so I can hopefully get a mortgage for a better house.

I suppose you could say that I am saving for my sanity. I really mislike where I live now. I mislike it to the point of madness. I'm sort of joking about that, but not really.

This is why I want what I want...

I would like a very big garden for my dogs. I would ideally like the garden to have some mature trees in it. I would like if my dogs had trees to wee on. I think my dogs running outside every day and weeing on trees would be ever so cute.

Also, I love climbing trees. It is one of the best feelings in the world to pull yourself up into a tree and be surrounded by leaves. It's like being in a green bubble - if it's summertime.

I have two dogs now, a big dog, and a small dog. They are both idiots, and I love them more than life itself. If I had a very big garden I would get three more dogs. I think five dogs is a perfect amount of dogs to have.

I would like a big shed to work in. The shed would have to be one of those clean sheds, with electricity and a proper floor. Not a dirty shed, with a floor made of the simple earth.

I make candles for a living now. Which is nice for me, and pays the rent. So I would need a big shed so that I could have one half of it for 'candling'.That's what I call my work. I know that it is not an official term, but I enjoy saying it.

The other half of the shed would be used by my partner. He makes all sorts of things, mostly clay models. He is very talented and clever and lovely and strong. And annoying. ;-)

I would need a large wardrobe because, although I wear jeans, t-shirts, hoodies and converse almost all of the time, I have a stupid amount of clothes. Mostly dresses and shoes and nice tops and skirts. I love them all, but when I wear them I feel weird and overdressed and self conscious, so I don't wear them very often. But I would like a wardrobe to put them in. At the moment they are in underbed storage bags.

And I would like a little house to live in. I and my daughter and my partner would be very happy in a little house if it had a large wardrobe, a big shed and a very big garden. That would be lovely.

What would make you happy? I would really like to know.

I think most people just want the simple things.

And then some people want lots of money and shiny cars.

My whole life seems to be spent waiting. It doesn't suit me in the least. I'm one of those people who want things NOW. The instant I decide I want something I want it there and then. I am literally ridiculous. 

I wasn't always like this though. I remember when I was younger, if I saw something and wanted it, I knew I couldn't just have it. I would have to save up my pocket money and my wages from babysitting and cleaning jobs and I would buy that thing when I had enough money. And I would treasure that thing, because I would have worked hard for it.  

I remember one of the things I wanted was a bag. A schoolbag, one of those canvas ones that were really popular in the nineties. All the cool kids in school had one. My parents wouldn't buy me one because I didn't need a new schoolbag. They were, and still are, remarkably sensible with money. So I saved all summer and finally was able to buy one for myself. I was about 14 or something. I used that bag for years. I still have it somewhere. 

When I was 16 I got a job for the summer. A proper job, in a factory, not just an after school job that paid pittance, or the odd weekend babysitting. I worked all day every day Monday to Friday. And I got a proper wage, a couple of hundred pounds a week. 
It was a huge thing for me, having money in my pocket, my own money, and knowing that I didn't need to save it, that there was more money coming next week. 

I spent all of that money, every penny of it, on cigarettes, sweets, beer, chocolate, clothes, and shitty take away food for me and my boyfriend. When I went back to school in September I had nothing to show for my three months of hard work. Absolutely nothing. 
Did I learn my lesson though? 

No, I certainly did not. All I wanted to do was get back out there and earn more money. I had spent 16 years never having anything that I wanted and having to scrimp and save for everything. 
I loved the instant gratification that came with having a wage every week. So when I finished school that's what I did. Shitty job after shitty job, just so I could have money in my pocket in case I needed to buy things on a whim. 
I have wasted years working, on and off, frittering away almost every penny I earned on stuff that was just given away or dumped when I was tired of it. Now I haven't been able to find a job in years, and something just came along that I want. 

My dream house. I want it so badly that it literally hurts my chest (I'm not sure if this is medical, maybe I should be worried). I see myself living there, Making pie in the kitchen and hanging laundry outside on a sunny day and playing with the lots and lots of dogs that I would adopt from rescue centers because the garden is huge. And maybe even a cat. And a ferret. 
People would come and visit me and we would all sit in my huge kitchen and I would pour them tea from a teapot and they would eat freshly baked scones. Because the kitchen is huge also. I could go for walks in the countryside simply by stepping out of my front door, instead of having to drive to the countryside first. 
And it would be sunny there every single day...

It's beautiful and I want it, it's in exactly the area that I want to live, it has an orchard and a place where I could keep chickens and a lovely piece of walled garden where I could grow my own vegetables and herbs. 
But I spent all my money on whiskey and beer, so it's no, nay, never for me and this house I'm afraid. 
Maybe a few years ago, when I had a job, I might have had a chance of getting a mortgage, but now, with me having no income and almost no savings, I have no hope of buying this beautiful house, that I think I am actually in love with, before someone else snaps it up. And it makes me so so sad. It is my own fault, and the fact that I squandered away everything I ever worked for makes me want to punch myself in the head. 

I have come to the conclusion that it's good though. I'm treating it as a life lesson. I've spent years in a sort of stagnant state, just waiting for something to happen, thinking things will be different when I get a job, and things will be different when I finally finish writing a book and get it published... I've written loads of half books and they're all just lying around, waiting to be finished, on memory sticks and scraps of paper. 
I have decided that I am the master of my own destiny, or some shit, and I really need to knuckle down and work hard, instead of staring at a blank computer screen, waiting for someone to throw money at me. 

I've missed this opportunity, but when another one comes along, in a few years or decades or whenever, I will be ready for it. And I shall seize it with both hands. It shall be mine.

So this morning, me and my friend Karen visited a spa. A day spa. This day spa in fact... http://www.ballycoursey.com




Now, I love to write shit, and thats why I set up this bloggy thingamajig here. But since I set it up I just can't seem to think of anything to write about. Which kinda sucks, because I know the world is just waiting, with baited breath, for me to put fingers to keyboard and astound you all. Therefore, I decided to write about this. I shall keep you waiting no longer.




So here we go. Prepare to be astounded! Or at least mildly entertained for a minute.




I'm going to tell you about my - two thirds delightful, one third 'what the fuck?!' - day spa experience. And if you want to read my friend Karens account of the same, go to her blog http://crazycozychic.weebly.com/1/post/2013/08/friday-review.html and sure while you're there you might as well learn something about how to do your hair. Maybe she can help you to not look as if the cat dragged you through a hedge backwards. You scruffy bastards.




Balleycoursey day spa is situated outside of Enniscorthy town, in St. John's Manor. It is a very lovely big old fancy house, I think Karen took some pics of it so if you want to see them... go look... We talked a lot about how it would be very nice to live in such a place and how you could have your friends over for dinner and that sort of thing if you did live there.

A tree lined avenue - or 'lane' as they're called where I come from – leads you up to the house, and while I was looking for the car park I noticed some huge trees to my left with hammocks between them. I got dreadfully excited then, as I like hammocks very much.




When we parked and got out of the car, we were greeted by very friendly possibly labrador or golden retriever cross, who wagged his tail at us and allowed us to pet him for a minute while he stood there with his tongue hanging out.




Then a lady who may own the place - but I'm not positive about that – opened the door for us, she was very friendly and welcoming. She brought us to a changing room where we were each given a robe and slippers and a pair of disposable knickers. I was a little creeped out by the disposable knickers at first, but I must say, when I put them on I really found them rather fetching. And also quite comfortable.




We put our clothes in the lockers provided, and then we were brought to a beautiful living room where there was tea, coffee, a plate of biscuits and a huge bowl of fruit waiting for us. I had a plum. It was delicious. After I ate it I looked around for a bin so I could throw the stone away. There was no bin. I left the stone on the table. Awkward. Also my tea was nice.




We were then informed that if we wanted any more tea or coffee throughout the day there was a little kitchenette area for us to make our own. That threw me a bit. We only get one cup of tea made for us? I thought I was going to be spoiled!

What threw me even more was the sign in the little kitchenette area that said when you made tea or coffee, you were to please wash up after yourself... Eh, what?




Correct me if I'm wrong, but did I not come here for a half-day of pampering and relaxation? Is that not what I'm paying for? Making my own tea and washing up after myself isn't my idea of relaxing, not at all.




But I forgave them for that and I moved on, and so we began the treatments. First up, I got an 'Express Facial' - which I presume is like a normal facial, but faster - while Karen went in for her aloe vera body wrap. The facial was nice, my face skin feels amazing after it, and people have been commenting on my glowing complexion, but for someone like me, who is always thinking about ways I could be maimed or murdered, it was a little bit stressful too.




Don't get me wrong, please! The lady was so so nice, she was really friendly and gentle and not at all murdery, I was just a little stressed out because of my brain. For some reason it always thinks it's in danger. Silly brain.




Firstly the nice lady did some facial cleansing thing I think, which was a bit nice, but she kept pinching my nose closed, which probably wouldn't bother most people while they're getting their face cleansed but I hate it, it's one of my worst things, having my nose pinched closed. Every time she did it, for a split second I thought, "Oh shit, I can't breathe, I'm going to suffocate, fuck fuck fuck." However, not once did I open my mouth to breathe through that... No, that would have been far too easy...




But my inward freaking out didn't stop there. Oh no. She gave my face a good old scrub, and then gave me a face massage. That was awesome. Relaxed me no end. Until of course she started massaging around my eyes. I could feel her pressing on what I assume were my pressure points, on my temples and eye sockets. Now I 'suffer terrible' with migraines and sinus headaches, so it felt like this was probably really good for me. But all I could think about was how easy it would be for this lady to just poke right though my eyeball if she wanted to. I would never be expecting it, and therefore wouldn't have a hope in hell of stopping her. She had very strong fingers. Massage therapists probably all do.




After this she put a mask on me - a mud mask, not a halloween witch mask or a Ronald Reagan mask or anything. A lovely mud mask, and some aloe vera pad things over my eyes. This was all very well until I heard her get up and cross the room. And what thought went through my head? "Oh shit, this crazy bitch is going to lock the door and slit my throat" of course. What else? She could have and all, I'd never have seen it coming with those things over my eyes. Anyway, she didn't brutally murder me, or quietly assassinate me, or harm me in any way. What she did was give me a lovely hand massage until the mask was ready to wash off.

She was a lovely lady, not a crazy bitch, and I'm pretty sure I need therapy.




All in all, the facial was very relaxing, and my face skin feels and looks amazing after it, so I'm glad I got it and I will again. I might have a shot of tequila beforehand though, just to help myself chill out a bit.




Next treatment... The Aloe Vera body wrap. Karen went off for her facial while I went for my body wrap – swapsies! I have to tell you that Karen thoroughly enjoyed her facial. She obviously harbours no illusions that everybody is out to get her.




This body wrap thing is a crock, there is no way I would ever get it again. Now – my skin has felt literally amazing ever since, I don't think it's been so soft since I was just a tiny baby – but still, fuck that noise.

I went into a room with this young wan, and she said, "right missus, get your kit off and clamber awkwardly up onto that table until I slob this shite all over you."

That's totally not what happened, that's such a lie. She was actually very professional. But that might as well have been what she said, because that's what happened. I had to take my robe off, climb up onto the table in my disposable knickers, she slobbed gooey shite (lovely really good for you aloe vera gel) all over me, wrapped a load of cling-film stuff around me, left me there for half an hour maybe, then she came back and helped me out and I got in the shower and washed it off. It was disgustingly slimey.

But oh my goodness my skin is so soft and lovely. I keep stroking my arm and smiling about how soft I am.

I'd definitely recommend getting a body wrap if you want to hydrate your skin - I honestly can't stress enough how good my skin feels. But if you're looking for a relaxing treatment and you're prone to getting an itchy eyebrow as soon as you can't move your arms, this is not for you.




Next treatment, and best thing EVER, I'm so glad this one came last, because it meant I was actually relaxed leaving the place. The Thermal Mud Treatment. I want to have this every day and do it forever.




I had the nice facial massage lady again for this. She brought me to a treatment room and mixed up a bowl of this seaweed mud stuff, then put a line of it along a sheet of tin foil that was laid out on the treatment bed thing. I think she put some paper or something over it then, I wasn't really paying attention. She got me to sit up on the bed and lie back onto the line of mud, so I was lying with the line of mud underneath my spine. You get me? She then explained that it would pop and crackle underneath me and heat up a bit more – it was already hot – and to sit up for a few seconds if it got too hot, but thankfully it didn't.




Then she left me with some nice music for twenty minutes to half an hour. It was amazing. The mud was nicely hot, and it was doing this weird popping, crackling thing underneath me, which I'm not quite sure how to describe. It was as if air bubbles were coming to the top of the mud, and then popping on my back. Maybe that is what was happening. I don't know and I don't care, it was lovely.




So that was that, it was over when the mud cooled down, and I went and got dressed and it was time for us to go. We had a little wander around the beautifully landscaped gardens after we got dressed, although I don't think the spa people wanted us to be outside fully dressed.

They had earlier encouraged us to go for a walk in the gardens in our robes and slippers, but we didn't, because wearing indoor clothes outdoors is something that I have always considered an activity reserved for a certain type of person.




After we had a little sit on the hammocks and threw the ball for the dog a few times, it was time to leave. But we'll be back, a hot stone massage is on the cards for the future.