Sanctuary

It was all a bit like a pre-Raphaelite painting. Women in robes were draped here and there, some sleeping, some dreamy, some chattering quietly... Many were lying down, soaking up the soporiphic vibes (no bird/ wave/ whale music, thankfully). A few slept, others drank, ate or read magazines.

H and I had first visited the day spa The Sanctuary a couple of weeks before S and I got married. It looked pretty much the same, if a little more spruced up. I, like the last time, arrived later than I had wanted to due to train problems. Anyway, I found H lounging on a round sofa, holding a copy of Asian Woman so she could read about its current cover girl, Shilpa Shetty, and a profile of Jimi Mistry, who shares a similar genetic heritage to H's gorgeous, bright, charming little boy. She'll have her hands full in about 10 years when the girls (and hormones) start calling. I tried reading the magazine while H had a facial but the type was too small, the paper too shiny and it wasn't really engaging enough. So I lay down.

I had a body polishing treatment and a massage during the day. The first was good but the second was utterly amazing. I'm normally extremely ticklish but the therapist, with her hands that felt like flowers drifting along my skin, hit the exact balance necessary to render the massage neither too light, too heavy or – horrors! – ticklish. I felt, for the first time after a massage, that I had been in a trance, and when I found H afterwards, she said I looked as though I'd been asleep. We used the day to catch up, eat good food and relax.

Back in the changing area, I was so out of it that I washed my hair, conditioned it, dried myself off, and then realised I hadn't washed out the conditioner, and had to go and do it all again. H escaped quickly to catch her train. I, on the other hand, still in holiday mode and smarting slightly from the shop assistants' apathy in that beautiful shop in Le Marais, went to one of my favourite shops in Covent Garden (it is filled – always – with exquisite clothes – and not many people I know go there, which is good)... I – erm – discovered a 'perfect' skirt. It really does look good, and was not overpriced, unlike the silly French shop. Mmm. My most unusual (and most complimented) clothes come from this shop, funnily enough. Oh, and the garments were comparable to those in that snooty Parisien shop, as far as the level of detail was concerned.

Yes, yes, I'll stop justifying it now.

Kung fu session two went well. I still feel uncoordinated but I love learning this new skill and feel quite driven to become very good at it. The aches in my muscles weren't too bad, considering. The instructor is very good and doesn't laugh at what must look as elegant as a dog running over an iced-over lake. I felt a bit embarrassed trying to copy patterns (sequences of moves) but I shall persist, dogged woman that I am.

My parents are finally back from their long trip to the Caribbean and South America. I popped in to see them yesterday while S was out working. My mum and dad looked well but were very tired, having had no sleep in 24 hours or so. I should have stayed for only 10 minutes but, of course, there was lots of news to share (including reassuring them about my insomnia and the treatment; they had been very worried while they were away due to the way I had sounded on the phone). I left their place two hours later, leaving them even more sleepy-eyed, poor loves. I'll take S (who collected them from the airport at a very early hour) with me tonight for dinner at my parents' place. S is with his father at the moment, fixing up his little boat. The sun is shining, so their painting should hopefully go well. Then, we are off to do some afternoon culture, visiting an exhibition for which I have press tickets.

Talking of the press, my dear friend R is talking about maybe having to move to Dubai to find 'decent' work. This will be an awful shame (yes, I am being selfish), as she and I spend so much time together socially. I'll be very sad if she goes – indefinitely! – and will miss her lots. But she doesn't have a choice, she says. The type of work she does is in short supply in London and she needs to pay the mortgage on her new place somehow. Bugger.