I am lying on a bed, eating almonds, covered in fake tan, reading Tatler. The last time I did this I was child-free and about 19.
I am having an evening in after an exhausting day, which started with breakfast with the Features Director of Red Magazine and ended with a massage from Nari, who is based near Notting Hill and claims to give the best massage in the world.
Not having tried them all, I can’t say he’s right, but he is extremely good. He has incredibly soft but strong hands which he uses to expertly pummel your body. The treatment ends with a head massage which apparently children in India are given as a matter of course, their mothers tell them it makes them brainy.
I may not be any brainier, but instead of feeling exhausted after a glass of champagne and two glasses of delicious (English) rose at a lunch with a Daily Mail editor I skipped home, relaxed and invigorated. Actually Nari (bless him) insisted on driving me home (a service he doesn’t offer to all his clients but you might get lucky, check him out at www.thismassageworks.co.uk).
Despite my hectic schedule I have had time to go to M&S four times and can confirm that it’s as blissful as ever. The threading at Harvey Nichols went well and pink seems to be the colour to be seen in, which is lucky for born-again teenagers like me.
Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2008