Stuff the turkey, aspa! I’m off to
Gold facials. Frankincense massages. And silent nights . . .
The world seems to be divided into two types of people at this time of year — those who love Christmas and those who, like me, find the whole thing a monumental pain in the neck.
Some seem to revel in the industry of stocking up on presents for every conceivable cousin, sourcing the latest fashions in tree decorations and generally planning everything right down to the last morsel of plum pudding.
I’m the opposite. When people say to me, usually some time towards the end of November: ‘All ready for Christmas, are we?’ I have to resist the urge to run away screaming.
And, this year, I finally did. Yes, reader: when most responsible mothers should have been busy untangling last year’s Christmas lights, wrapping teachers’ presents and rootling through the garden shed to find that weird contraption that holds up the Christmas tree, I decided to sod the lot of them and award myself an early present: a solo spa weekend.
recent years have seen a rise in ‘Yuletide’ pamper packages. Mulled wine facials, Christingle body scrubs, mistletoe mud baths — all ostensibly designed to get you in the mood while at the same time, a cynic might say, cashing in on Christmas.
No matter. I needed something not only to get me in the mood, but also to buy a bit of breathing space before the onslaught of relatives and mincepie related activity. And so it was that, somewhat Grinch-like, I headed to heathrow to board a plane for Belfast and thence to Galgorm resort & Spa, where a cornucopia of seasonal delights awaited me.
The spa is set in 160 acres of Ballymena countryside, the kind of beautiful, yet rugged, landscape that characterises that part of the world. It has a river flowing through it, high and rushing when I arrived, peatsoaked water the colour of CocaCola bubbling and frothing over rocks just outside my hotel window.
Ireland, whether north or south, is truly one of my favourite places on earth, for the simple reason that the people are fantastically friendly.
COMING from a gloomy London, where the locals are more likely to stab you than smile at you in the street, it’s a relief in itself to be met at the airport by someone who isn’t — or, at least, doesn’t appear to be — incandescent with rage.
The weather is, of course, foul. The sort of horizontal rain that you only get in Ireland and parts of South Wales. Battling our way to the car park, my driver is apologetic: security means parking a while away from the airport terminal.
No matter: within half-an-hour we are sweeping up the drive towards the hotel, past children visiting the on-site Santa’s grotto. A little train driven by an elf snakes its way ahead of us, while giant Christmas baubles roll around the lawn. ‘Oh dear,’ I think. ‘What have I done?’
Inside, the welcome is enthusiastically festive. Will I have a wee sip of mulled wine? Do I have a choice? No. I sip the hot, fragrant liquid and the rain chills melt away. I am shown to my room by a young man of exceptional cheeriness, who demonstrates the facilities with the earnestness and seriousness of a head prefect.
My room has a small balcony. Outside, groups of women are sipping champagne in steaming open-air Jacuzzis, laughing and squealing with the cold as they scuttle to and fro in the frosty air. The river rushes past and the Christmas lights twinkle. It is a scene of idyllic seasonality.
My first appointment, part of my Yuletide treats package, is a SKINCEUTICALS facial. I dress in robe and slippers and take the lift down to the Thermal Village. And when they say village, they really mean it: the place is vast.
The atmosphere is calm and subdued and the girls at check-in impeccably polite and efficient. It’s a further indicator of the standout feature of this hotel: top-notch service.
My treatment bed is wide, well-upholstered, capable of assuming even more positions than the Kama Sutra and, thrillingly, heated. I honestly can’t remember much about the facial, apart from the initial glycolic peel (quite tingly, but not uncomfortably so), because I fall asleep and, I fear, snore.
At the end of it, however, my skin, which had been dull, dehydrated and lacklustre, has been layered with various improving unguents and, as a result, is dewy and porcelain-like in touch and tone. All the strain of the pre-Christmas rush has been erased and I look and feel better than I have in weeks. I repair to my bedroom and, instead of ordering room service, decide to venture out to one of the hotel’s five restaurants, the Italian-themed Fratelli.
A table of young men are celebrating the season with typical Irish vigour, while a party of hens sip seasonal cocktails and totter about in impossible heels.
AMeMBer of staff shows me to a corner table where I stand out like a sore thumb: the only person in the room to be dining alone. The best bit of the evening is watching the revelry and progressive unravelling of intricate hairdos and inhibitions and the booze and seasonal goodwill flow.
The next morning, after a delicious breakfast of porridge, I am back in the spa for my Winter Warmer Scrub, Liquid Gold Facial and Frankincense Back Massage. These are at the heart of the festive experience and do not disappoint. The salt scrub smells of clementine. I am swathed in the pure essence of Christmas. I can’t remember the last time my skin felt so soft nor my mind so soothed. Afterwards, I stroll around the Thermal Village, taking in the lavish relaxation rooms and outdoor saunas, and enjoy a spot of lunch in the dome-shaped spa cafe.
The best treatment of all is my afternoon Quartz Back Therapy, a slightly airy fairy-sounding notion that, in fact, turns out to be brilliant. Lying on a bed of heated quartz crystals, I am treated to a chest, neck and scalp massage. The sensation is not dissimilar to lying on a warm, sandy beach, possibly the most relaxing experienced ever devised by one human for the benefit of another.
That night, as I dine in the hotel’s river room, a truly gourmet experience, I reflect that if anything could make me love Christmas, this place is probably it. I wouldn’t go so far as to say I’m looking forward to it this year — but at least I’ll have very soft elbows.
Yuletide Delight at Galgorm Resort & Spa, from £89 per person in December (goodspaguide.co.uk/offers/ yuletide-delight-at-galgorm)