On the way to paradise, otherwise known as Goldeneye, we were upgraded to Virgin Upper Class. I have never been upgraded before and was very excited. Rightly so it turns out.
Flying first class is a different world. You have a dedicated slave to see that you’re happy at all times, every time you go to the loo someone has miraculously folded the end of the loo-paper into a neat arrow (maybe I could train the children to do this at home) and they even hand out goodies like lip-gloss before you take off. But the most exciting thing about flying Upper Class was the Colin Firth look-alike. Obviously I spotted him the moment we got on, but it took until the passport queue to strike up a conversation.
“Shameless,” my husband called me. “Selfless” is how I define it.
Of course I am happily married with three children (and two step-children) so what possible interest could a Colin Firth look-alike hold for me? No, I was thinking of my wrinkle-free, single friend Iona in India of course. Turns out Colin, as we may as well call him, travels a lot to India, so I am going to put them in touch.
Last night I had the best massage I have ever had. Orah appeared with hot oil, warm stones and magic hands to relax me beyond my expectations. She set up her table in the sunken garden. I listened to the rhythm of the waves and drifted in and out of consciousness as she manipulated my body. We discussed ageing and what ages people, like stress, which is what ages me. Orah told me she had watched Oprah the other night and there was a programme about women who defy age.
“Funny thing was,” she said. “They had one thing in common. They were all single.”
Hmmm. Maybe I’d better keep Colin away from Iona if she wants to stay wrinkle-free.
Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2007