A mirror pool is a pool

filled with natural sulphuric thermal water kept  heated at 38-39  degrees C.You walk in in the altogether,having showered first, and are left to enjoy for  10-20 minutes.The first time I was by myself and stayed for 20 minutes,today there were five of us,I stayed for barely fifteen  as two German battleaxes   thought  they had it all to themselves.  No regard for any-one. A man from the men's pool separated by a partition had asked them twice to be quiet, to no avail. Why are the Germans so thoughtless?
After one leaves the mirror pool  [ so called,I presume, because the walls are glittering like a mirror, and the water is clear,too] one is ushered - wrapped in a massive white sheet - into a separate section  to lie down in a cubicle  and relax.It is quite common to have a massage after the bath,and I did today,it was a very enjoyable 25 minutes.
As much as I like the mirror pool,my favourite is the mud pool.You walk in sulphuric  mud in thermal water which springs  directly into the pool.The water is,well, muddy,dirty. Totally and completely.And I love it.

If I were not a glutton for punishment

I would not have experienced this morning one of the best massages I  have ever had.This massage was Thai,with oil.Oh,it still hurt, but only because the muscles,especially thigh muscles, needed time to recover from yesterday.
A "glutton for punishment" is such an amusing little  expression.I remember  using it when  Clem Curtis,The Foundations singer,told us during his performance on  a cruise ship, that he was getting married  again  in his seventies,having had quite a number of failed relationships behind him. A glutton for punishment, I muttered to myself involuntarily.He heard me and burst out laughing. Yes, I must be, he said.About a year or so later we met  on a cruise ship again.His memory razor sharp,we exchanged some pleasantries.I did not  ask him if he remarried.I never complain,never explain about my private life  and never ask questions about the private life of others.

Had oxygenotherapy this morning

as a part of  the nine treatments in the six day package.
The air we breathe  has about 21% of oxygen only. This special treatment through nostrils  gives the body 90-95% of pure unadulterated  O 2.   It helps the body   get rid of toxins and makes one  more frisky.I remember reading Madonna is a fan and many Hollywood stars like it,too.I chose it instead of a visit to  the salt  cave as the weather is supposed to be very bad this week.But the salt cave is well worth visiting and am hoping  to book it before I leave Themia Palace.

Thai massage

There is massage and there is Thai massage.
When my brother-in-law said yesterday he had the best Thai massage ever  and as  I love being massaged and a good massage  comes into the category of being totally and completely spoilt, I booked the classic massage  with the same native Thai girl without delay. For 60 minutes no less. The  mattress on the floor looked very comfortable and the pants  with a matching top I was asked to change into 3 sizes too big, just as I like my comfort wear to be.I never try on  clothes in a shop, buy everything a size larger than I need and thus can never go wrong with anything.It all started so well.And slowly  the dimly lit  lovely smelling room became a torture chamber. Lying on my stomach I was pressed by knees and elbows and hands  in bits I never thought I had.The pain in my thighs  at times excruciating.When I was asked to turn over  I thought things could only get better. Now I know never  to  count  the  chickens...Where and when have I acquired all the little tiddly muscles  that hurt so much when being squeezed? For donkeys years  I  have lived happily without them and suddenly here they are letting me know at every which turn they have been neglected  and the time  has come for me to pay!   The massage of the back, the arms, the neck and the head was as I had expected it to be.
Being a glutton for punishment have booked an hour with the same  masseuse for tomorrow, only this time I have craftily selected a massage with aromatic oils.She will not be able to pinch  with greasy hands quite  so much.

I don't know why the frankfurters The Thermia Palace serves taste so good,but they do.

I I don't know if it is  their  tiny  midget like size that makes them  appealing, or special ingredients. I just know  that I love them.And when I knew I would be staying in the hotel I could not wait to have them again. And they were lovely. My brother in-law had seven and I, well, I was not far behind!

And the waffles, oh la la!Home made blueberry  and plum jam, haven't had  a waffle for good five years.

Thermia Palace, Piestany,

According to the very respectable Washington Post

TheThermia Palace, the five star spa hotel in Piestany,Sovakia,is the seventh best place in the world to lose weight.I do not go to this lovely hotel to lose weight, I like my food too much.I go there to indulge and to have the most wonderful  treatments.I arrived today for six nights,my sister and her husband have joined me  for two.The room is immaculate.This is the only hotel where  I never have to wipe the drawers before unpacking.I did check the first time, spotless, the second time  equally clean, the third time - well, why did I bother.
The weather  has been glorious, tomorrow all is going to change.Who cares, when one is being spoilt and looked after, and taken care of from morning til night.

Most women ignore the instruction manual,

says The Daily Mail."Women, the young and the highly educated  are most likely to give up and muddle through - or settle for never fully knowing  how their device works. "Yep, that's me,  not young but highly educated  giver upper and muddler through.  But somehow, and only God knows how, I usually find out how everything  works,it may be later rather than sooner, but find out I do, it kind of dawns on me in a flash of inspiration.But there are the sofa legs still in the original packaging after good 7 years.One day...

There is no TV programme more enchanting than The Undateables

James, so prepped by his mum, his brother and the best friend for the date and then completely speechless in the presence of the very capable and confident  Caroline  who propelled them  forward and the birth of fledgling love palpable.
The effervescent Charlotte.Her first date did not know what hit him.Not  a hugger,she concluded. No,Charlotte,not a hugger.
 And then she was paired with an assistant chef whom, not having had a date for five years, was ripe and ready to be hugged by this bubbly woman with the  indefatigable spirit.
Forget about nerdy, forget about geeky,you have been waiting for this lovely woman all your life, so let her touch  do the talking.
It was such an humbling experience watching these young people take a mammoth step into the lion's den of dating.At the end of the hour I felt completely inadequate and such  a coward.
There is a little bit of the  "undateable" in all of us.

Westfield Shopping Centre, White City,

or Shepherds Bush, to those in the know.
This part of London  used to be a dump with a very high crime rate, but things have changed considerably since the  shopping centre has been built. It is a lovely brisk  walk from my home down the Holland Park Avenue,but I do not come here often,only when I have visitors.Today is an exception. Wanted Marks & Spencer  tomato soup.It is seriously good.  So it was either Marble Arch or Westfield.
Too late for the  tomato soup,had some chicken and sweet potato salad, the  birds are going to enjoy  the latter. M&S,the best brand in the whole wide world, is wonderful, beautifully  laid out, the latest new arrivals  hanging up proudly. I just had to have  a dark blue raincoat.A short   autumn jacket  shining in the light caught my eye,ideal for the wife of  one of my nephews,was very tempted to get it, but with new items coming in every day, have decided to wait a little longer.
Why on earth would I want to shop on the internet,when it is so much more pleasurable to touch and feel what catches my eye.
PHASE EIGHT. There was a branch years ago in Notting Hill and I have some lovely pieces from there,many not worn for years, yet I cannot give them away.No,I tell a lie, gave  a leopard print sweater to my sister, regretting it instantly [no, you do not have to return it to me!]  So I was overjoyed when I came across   a branch here, in Westfield. Not for long. There was nothing, absolutely nothing I would want to wear.The last item I bought in Phase Eight was an utterly gorgeous netted skirt two years ago.I think it is going to remain the last.
So I am sitting, enjoying a free cup of Starbucks coffee,courtesy of  Samsung [they have such lovely, smiley,friendly staff.]
Samsung has a new  S 4  tablet out, am seriously considering getting one. For a year I have been seriously considering getting Samsung  S 3   tablet.  Now S 4 has arrived.  By the time I make up my mind S 6 will be in the shops!  It is just  that I am so used to  my  lovely Toshiba  chromebook,it  does everything even though sometimes  Google refuse to connect me when they think my privacy could be compromised.  But it is heavy. And a tablet would be half the weight at least. And a new lighter  something is a must for next year when I  intend to do a lot of travelling.I travel light.  Toshiba often weighs more than all the clothes I carry!

Yes, I know who Germaine Greer is,

I answered  an acquaintance yesterday.
Are YOU a feminist,she continued.
What on earth has brought this on, soon you will be asking me how old I am and how much I weigh,I replied laughing.
She pointed to a small tin of paint I just bought in my local Leyland.
So you think I am a feminist  because I carry a tin of paint,  I exclaimed in disbelief.
And you also do decorating, she ventured smiling.My daughter said she saw you outside  on a ladder some months ago.      Yes,  my  ladder and I  are good friends.
Our little talk has got me thinking.Ms Greer is a feminist.She  does not have a high opinion of the Duchess.
Ms Greer and I have one thing in common and i is not my being a feminist.      What on earth does it mean,anyway?

I have always been my own woman. I know my worth,am comfortable in my own skin.
I bow to no man.
I neither smoke nor drink, except when I remember how good red wine is supposed to be  for one's heart and the odd cocktail on holiday.
I am not much of a cook, but am  a wonderful hostess and a homemaker.
I  readily tolerate  people's little foibles yet do not suffer fools gladly.


I believe every-one and trust no-one. Not until they have proved to me they deserve my trust.Then they have it unreservedly.
I dislike scroungers and layabouts be it royal or common but help readily when help  is needed.
Does any of this make me a feminist?
The thought  of political correctness sends shivers down my spine.
That certainly dos not make me a feminist!

"The day I learned to live with my wonky nose and wrinkles"

was the day in a Harley Street waiting room,says  the beautiful Rachel Johnson, The daily Mail columnist.
Well, Rachel,I too have a wonky nose and wrinkles,and I also  have deep set hooded eyes that are getting deeper and hoodier as I write  and I have decided to do something about it.  As  soon as I get a little bit of time.     In  the autumn of 2019.    And if not then,  in 2020  definitely.  Maybe.

"I'd walk by and pinch their bum or give them a slap.So what?"

says the eminently sensible and down to earth  former BBC Royal Correspondent Jennie Bond. "A little office flirting  is good for morale."  And I agree totally.When the very likeable  world class Slovak cyclist Peter Sagan pinched a flower girl's  bottom on a podium in 2013, the politically correct  band  was in uproar.Utterly preposterous.We are so uptight about a little mischief that makes  the world go round.
I was in Warnemunde, Germany,about a month ago.  Walking while taking an important phone call, I passed  a man dressed as a white statue, suddenly I felt a pat on the bottom and heard  a whistle. I looked at him,burst out laughing,made a face, finished  the call,then took a picture of him.  An Englishwoman would have shouted  sexual harassment, an American would have hauled him in front of a judge demanding  a million $  for pain and suffering.

Carol Vorderman reinvents herself as a relationship guru

Oh,Carol,you were on TV for 26 odd years, then on Celebrity reality show,were a Loose Woman, have advertised money schemes,published a book on dieting, you have two failed marriages behind you and are not able to keep a man yet you see yourself fit to tell women over fifty how to have a fulfilling relationship!   Is there no end to your talents? True, your face at 57 is flawless, your figure  that of a temptress,but does this  give you credence to proclaim yourself to be an expert on the matters of the heart?
A man over fifty, if divorced, would rarely commit again, once bitten,twice shy.
If a widower, he would go to his grave grieving for the woman he once loved and no-one else would ever come anywhere near her in beauty and personality.
This leaves the married younger lothario who would bed any woman stupid enough to fall for his hard luck story about the wife at home who does not understand him, or the married older lothario,who would bed,well, any-one.
There are success stories, of course,when a woman meets a man and boom bara boom,something wonderful happens and a relationship worth having and nurturing can be  had. But this does not happen by sleeping with every Tom,Dick,or Harry.