I have had what are commonly known in the business, as a properly shitty couple of days. All I can think about is booking a massage and maybe a blow out and pretending none of it is happening. Sadly, this is apparently not possible because I have to Go to Work. Arses.
Anyway, I should explain that my daydreams were set off by an email from a London buddy, raving about this spa in Tunbridge Wells*, the Royal Day Spa. Now, a spa’s a spa, right? Well, maybe not. Having spent ten minutes this morning on the phone with a very rude lady from a certain international chain trying to book a facial with a gift card I was given at said brand’s recent beauty blogger event, I’m not even looking forward to the appointment anymore. The Royal Day Spa however, has become the spa of my fantasies.
All the treatments (which sound divine – check them out online) are complemented by reiki, treatments take place on Tempur mattresses in rooms lit by lanterns, infused with essential oils. I am currently sat in a whirly chair, in a room lit by fluorescents and infused with the scent of tuna baguettes from across the hall. The Royal Day Spa is forty minutes out of London by train. I am forty minutes away from the bloody deli across the street because we only have one elevator working.
It is now my life’s goal to visit the Royal Day Spa.
If you make it before me, will you please tell me how heavenly it is? And you know, book me in?
*I went to Tunbridge Wells once before to see Easyworld (dearly departed indie rock trio of my uni days joy) in a venue that used to be a public toilet. True fact.http://0