Reaching peace via the M1

by Margaret Kennedy

A literary agent takes the afternoon off to discover what’s abuzz at a beauty spa...

Serenity is a reborn word now that the beauty and wellbeing industry has claimed it as theirs. But cliché or no, at Harbour Day Spa, it’s what greets you when you arrive. And it’s beautiful. Outside, downstairs, is nothing special, though being able to park at the door is welcome, but this arrival is like being wrapped in the soft gown that awaits you just minutes away. First though, have a little glass of peppermint tea at a pretty table amid flowers and spaciousness, while, unseen, things are readied for you by gentle staff whose only purpose seems to be to ensure your contentedness.

Lunch first? Step out on the garden balcony to a damask-clothed table overlooking the Raby Bay marina and hills beyond, and choose from light meals, while sipping on a crisp white. In good time, some one will come for you. Time, then, to change into gown and comfy slip-ons - abandoning your watch and phone along with everything else – before pausing a little among cushioned wicker chairs in a hushed, softly lit lounge, with serene (ah!), meditating Asian busts and perhaps one or two other women - coming or going you don’t know - except they all look peaceful and, mind, very much alive.

For a busy woman, this is bit like hiding, and it feels great. There’s no difficulty surrendering, believe me.

The next person to call for you is your beautician. She leads you to a spacious room with a bed where you discuss today’s treatment. Wrapping you in great towels, she disappears to assemble the products, leaving you, eyes masked and lying flat out, to take last leave of your cares.

You find out what the products are afterwards, but for now it’s a wholly ethereal, silent sensation involving creams, lots of them, warm towels, cool menthol, generous, slippery massaging of face, head, neck, shoulders and upper back, wafted steam, more creams and oils, and a foot massage while the face mask takes.

You won’t nod off, but this is as out of body as you can get on a regular afternoon, and you rejoin that familiar old world in the stepped way by which you left it.

Now, in another section, your hair’s being washed, then blow-dried, as late afternoon light floods the salon - which is altogether more beautiful than a hairdresser’s. Then it’s around the corner to a single seat before a huge mirror where you make important decisions about make-up, and try to remember what it was you were planning to wear out tonight.

This serenity is seductive.