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Free fruit and a facial

It is a truth universally acknowledged that once you have kids, the only time you’ll get a f……………facial, is at Christmas and Birthdays.

A few weeks ago all my Birthdays came at once.

As you know, I’m testing some REN skincare products.  Part of the terrible deal of having to try out all these products, was that I would have to endure a facial at a luxury hotel in Cheltenham. Well…if you’re making me.

So I arranged for the other half to go on the nursery run and I was booked in for 5.45pm on a Friday, at the end of a tough week, I would be unwinding with the aid of the magic hands of a REN skincare expert.

Friday went as expected, the day got worse as the clocked ticked away, I was breaking into a stress induced sweat and by five o’clock was more worried about my personal hygiene than having my jowls massaged.

I'd parked near work so I could get away quick sharp. Only there was a barrier to get out and I didn’t have a key. I was trapped. After considering my options for a) crashing directly through the barrier; or b) heading through the hedge up a steep curb to freedom or c) none of the above cos the Police Station is next door…

I finally persuaded someone to let me out. “I’m going to be late getting the kids from nursery!” I screamed. ;-)

treatment room (soundproof for snoring)

I arrived at the Montpellier Chapter Hotel in Cheltenham only 1 minute late and was directed to the Spa, which sits in the cellar. Cool, refreshing, dark.

I was talked through the products and we worked out which ones would suit my skin, my lifestyle and my hopes and ambitions for the future. (slim legs, flat stomach, a naked David Beckham waiting for me when I got home).

The facial was so relaxing that I woke myself up with my own guttural snore. Yes it was that good. 

Free fruit, I mean, who doesn't like FREE fruit??

 After recovering in the chill out room with a selection of fresh fruit and juices, and acting like I did this every week, I reluctantly dragged myself away. 

The Hotel is beautiful. Smart, stylish and full of gorgeous people sipping cocktails in the early evening sun. I felt at once excited to be there and envious of those who could just decide to drop everything and stay. It was a glimpse of the life I’d left behind.

I vowed to go back one day for cocktail hour, and headed off home to my family.

Skincare wet dream

I'm not what you'd call high maintenance when it comes to my appearance. My hair mostly does itself and I only wear makeup on nights out. But behind the I-don't-care-how-I-look facade, hides a girl who's a sucker for a good face cream.

I have a cream for everything. If it promises to reduce the bags or iron out the wrinkles, I'm there.

I am a skincare marketing wet dream.

So when a friend offered me the chance to test and review a new British made skincare range (just as I was running low on Dermalogica supplies), I jumped at the chance.

I've got my samples and I've started using. Over the next few Weeks I'll review each product and let you know how I'm getting on.

I'm stress testing them on a no-time-to-fart lifestyle. After rugby, on a 5.30am wake up call and with a hangover.

The products are from Devon, take a look at www.renskincare.com on twitter @RENskincare

Here's my box of tricks. EXCITED! 

Gold medal mojo

The Olympics, they make me feel 13 again.

I can’t sit and watch every minute of every hour like I did then, but it turns out that my thirty-something self is still capable of forming Bieber-esque crushes that turn me into a squealing mess, leaving me searching the internet for hours for glimpses of my heroes.

I’ve got a girl crushes on Rebecca Adlington and Gemma Gibbons. A big brother crush on Bradley Wiggins and a poster boy crush on Mark Cavendish (phwoar). I want to invite Mo Farah for tea and I’ve got a growing ginger obsession with Greg Rutherford.

And after four Olympics I still desperately hope to marry Ben Ainslie.

I spend my evenings sobbing with joy and my sleeping hours dreaming of relationships I will never have.

I'm out cycling with the wind in my hair, enjoying the sunshine, looking stylish in lycra (is that even possible?). When I hear the whirr of the wheels behind me, feel someone coming up close, almost feel the breath on my neck. It’s Cav.....that cheeky boyish smile and mean determined stare....... We lock eyes....

.......and the alarm goes off, I change my baby's nappy and head off to work at the council.

You get the gist. After a summer of sport, we’ve all got a spring in our step, we’re proud to be British. And thanks to the poster boys I’ve got my Mojo back. :-)

mmmmmmm Cav.....

(And when I grow up I want to be Clare Balding, with Denise Lewis's body. That's all.)