Friday 28 March 2008

Spa Break

It is impossible to stay in any hotel in Ireland nowadays without feeling compelled to escape the stresses of modern life by spending a couple of hours revitalising and rejuvenating in the luxury Spa. "Your health and wellbeing journey awaits you.... From the moment you walk through the doors your journey to tranquility and relaxing begins, feel the stress of life leaving your body, as you slowly inhale the delicate scent of natural oils... Embark on a delicious journey of self-discovery..." How can Wine Goose possibly resist all that the promotional literature offers?

Recent experience has suggested that these are all very similar havens - dark caves with lots of scented candles, twinkling lights in the ceiling, the sound of dolphins groaning or the dreaded pan-pipes playing in the background and smiling therapists all contrive to soothe us into a feeling of relaxation and well-being. An hour or two in this atmosphere and Wine Goose should positively float back up to the bedroom.

The occasion is a long overdue night away with the 'girls' (an awful Americanism that permits us to think that we are much younger than we actually are). We arrive at the hotel on the Saturday afternoon, and as soon as our blood pressure has returned to normal after discovering that our reservations have been mixed up, we make our way to the Spa in robes and slippers, with hair scraped back and faces cleansed of make-up. It is of course inevitable that, looking like this, one of us bumps into an old flame in full conference attire - suit, tie and over-sized name badge legible from 50 paces. The embarrassment is acute; we all blush and behave like 16 year olds, before vowing to make it a ladies only venue the next time. At the current rate that's another 10 years away and all the old flames will probably have retired by then so our fears are surely groundless.

Wine Goose has booked a deluxe facial and eye lift lasting 90 minutes. This facial treatment "concentrates on reviving the skins natural moisture and pays particular attention to the delicate eye area, helping to minimise the appearance of fine lines." The therapist will be spending more time on my skincare in one afternoon than I've spend in the last 5 years, so I'm expecting to emerge transformed. Her name is unpronounceable, she is young and unlined, and she talks me soothingly through each stage of the process. I am then guided to the Relaxation Room - more twinkling lights and scented candles - where I am instructed to drink lots of water. I fill a plastic glass from the water cooler, settle myself on a recliner, and promptly fall into a deep sleep. I wake up and have no idea where I am so I stumble out of the room, before trying to feel my way back down a dark corridor to the exit. Eventually I make it back to the bedroom where I find my friends in a similar state of greasy facedness.

The high point of the stay is the dinner, more importantly the conversation, gossip and red wine that we enjoy over dinner. Having chosen lamb as our main course, we allow the sommelier to suggest an Argentian Malbec to accompany it. It's a very good recommendation and matches the lamb perfectly, but when it comes to ordering a second bottle we opt for a Spanish Rioja, something we all enjoy, and on this particular night, to excess.

The next morning we are all slightly delicate. Add the dehydrating effects of too much overpriced and mediocre red wine to hotelface and Wine Goose appears to have actually accelerated the ageing process. Not only that but she has parted with her hard-earned cash for the privilege. Next time, she vows, it will be a straightforward manicure, followed by a full 60 minutes passed out in the Relaxation Room. From this she will emerge refreshed, and more importantly with something to show for her time. The polish will have dried to such an extent that no chips will appear, and should therefore be able to withstand even the most demanding glass lifting it is forced to undergo.

Paying a hotel bill is never a pleasant experience, especially when the extras make the room rate appear reasonable. Not only will I spend more wisely when it comes to treatments, I decide, I will also invest in a padiwrap, a neat little 2 bottle carrier which fits snugly into most suitcases. This will have added bonus of removing Wine Goose and her gaggle from the restaurant at a crucial point, no doubt depriving fellow diners of our lively and entertaining conversation, as we continue to enjoy a few glasses of wine in the comfort and privacy of our bedroom.

What to put in the padiwrap? The experts have yet to suggest a wine that is suitable for consumption in vast quantities long after the food has gone, and Wine Goose is not going to be the first. Choose something you know and like, and make sure that the alcohol content doesn't exceed 12.5%. You'll thank me the next morning.

Thursday 20 March 2008

Hotelface

No relation to pramface, defined as a girl who wouldn't look at all out of place at 14 years of age pushing a newborn through a council estate; hotelface is the face that Wine Goose wakes up with after spending a night in one of Ireland's newly refurbished and soul-less hotels. A glance in the mirror reveals a layer of rhinoceros hide, most likely caused by leftover builders dust settling on the skin and mixing, cement-style, with the perspiration caused by a combination of the hermetically sealed double-glazed windows and the non-functioning but very noisy air-conditioning unit.

Several applications of over-priced moisturiser do little to improve the situation. Moved to consider that perhaps the grandiosely named 'snipe' of bulk-produced Australian chardonnay (the only wine accompaniment on offer to last night's chicken stir-fry) may have been a factor, Wine Goose risks appraising her fellow diners at the breakfast buffet. All are victims of hotelface; even the men have a glassy-eyed look, as if they'd forgotten to remove their mascara before retiring for the night. And several women have compounded the problem by adding make-up, the resulting look bringing Frankenstein's monster to mind.

This being the west of Ireland the commonsense solution is a brisk walk in the lashing rain and howling wind, more effective and a lot cheaper than microdermabrasion, before undergoing the process again the next night.

Tuesday 4 March 2008

SUV or not SUV

The 'if only everything in life was as reliable' car has developed a wheeze. It sounds a bit like the exhaust is falling off, except that exhausts don't fall off cars nowadays, especially cars that spend their lives gliding around the flat-surfaced familiarity of the suburbs between schools, playdates and tennis lessons. This happens soon after a two-day stay in the garage for the car equivalent of a hip replacement. Lots of new spark plugs can't prevent the inevitable so Wine Goose is faced with the prospect of trading her in for a younger model.

Wine Goose is a woman, and so she takes a practical approach to choosing a replacement vehicle. What she needs is something that holds three passengers most of the time, but sometimes has to carry five, four of whom require booster seats. This because our socialite daughter likes to bring her friends home in pairs, and younger brother cannot just yet be left in charge of the house while I get the girls home. Anyone who has transported children in recent years will know that is not physically possible to fit three booster seats across the back seat of a normal saloon car. Environmentalists and right-on types can moan all they like about the prevalence of off-road vehicles on the streets of the suburbs, but it seems that as soon as the third child arrives the saloon must go, to be replaced by a 7 seater.

Wine Goose will not consider a people carrier. These vehicles are designed for mothers of large families (nowadays defined as 3 or more children) who devote their entire lives to ferrying children. This is definitely not the message about herself that Wine Goose wants to send out to fellow road users. Mr R gently tries to steer her towards a Sports Utility Vehicle (SUV). Good idea, I respond. 'How about a Jeep Grand Cherokee?' He is momentarily stunned. He expected a vehement no. 'I was thinking more along the lines of a Volvo XC90 or BMW X5' is the response. Aha, all his research has been conducted in the car park of the self-described 'exclusive leisure club' that relieves us of a sizable portion of our disposable income each month. Strange, I always think, that exclusive should not include enough car parking spaces for members, but the upside is that Mr R has had plenty of time to check out the merchandise while circling in search of a space. 'A Jeep Grand Cherokee' he repeats slowly, indicating to Wine Goose that he has never seen or heard of such a thing. He consults his well-thumbed SIMI (Society of the Irish Motor Industry) handbook, which gives the prices for all new cars, and nods sagely. It is clearly a ridiculous proposition, not least because it is all of 3 feet longer than our front driveway and would permanently obstruct the footpath. I remind Mr R that when first we met I was driving a Citroen 2CV, and probably still would be, if it were an option. My current car, while certainly not iconic, does contribute in a small way to the sense of individuality I like to think I have retained despite conforming in so many ways (3 bed semi-d, 2.2 children, husband a member of the professional classes - need I go on).

We take a break from our discussion and Wine Goose serves an open roast chicken and salad sandwich, accompanied by a glass of Rizzardi Pinot Grigio 2006 (€9.99). Pinot Grigio, with it's light, lemony characteristics is typically discounted as only suitable for summer drinking, however this single vineyard wine displays a lovely creamy nuttiness, and is full of delicious flavours of peaches and pears. A little glass of joy.

Replete, Wine Goose is inspired to question Mr R further about his choices. By now we are both fully aware of the carbon footprint (bad) and safety (also bad) issues associated with driving such monsters, so instead I focus purely on aesthetics. For example, does the purchase price include sufficient beauty salon, hairstylist, chi-chi boutique and liposuction vouchers to ensure that the driver of such a vehicle never leaves the house looking less than fantastic? Or does the car dealer politely but firmly turn away all potential drivers who don't meet the grooming and deportment criteria imposed by the manufacturer?

We are not getting very far. Belatedly I decide to find out about the regulations governing child safety in cars. Google directs me to the Road Safety Authority (RSA) website, which (in common with most 'official' websites) has lots of useful information for those who speak gobbledygook. A little more searching and the equivalent UK (also subject to EU laws) road safety website proves much more informative and user-friendly. From their FAQs I am amazed to learn the following: 'In many cars, there is not room for three child seats across the rear seat. If two occupied child seats or boosters prevent the fitting of a third, and the front seat is not available, a third child aged 3 years and over may then use just an adult belt in the rear. This may be a lap belt. It would be safer for the third child to travel in the front seat and use the correct child seat or booster but see below about air-bags. In all my school-gate conversations on the subject nobody has been able to supply any such rational or clear information. Spread the word.

I order the child car safety booklet from the RSA but it never arrives. I then book my car an appointment with the mechanic and mentally prepare myself for the humiliation every woman has to face as he explains that the problem was really very easily fixed, and then overcharges me for the privilege of fixing it. I cut the arms off a polystyrene booster cushion and fit it snugly in the middle of the back seat. I invest €12.99 in a booster cushion for the front seat. The front passenger airbag was already disconnected when I bought the car so I now find myself in the enviable position of having one of the smallest cars capable of safely transporting four children in all of suburbia. I decide against asking Mr R to gift me the car purchase price that my research has saved.