Chick-Lit for grown-ups….
Tomorrow I leave this delightful haven that is the Viva Mayr clinic. I think everyone should come here, at least once. I have discovered several important things about my health that will change my life.
First the reason I have always had a pot belly is not because I am built that way but that I have an inflamed small intestine. So my tummy has swollen up to protect it, just like your arm would swell if you fell over and bashed it. The good news is, it should be gone within two weeks. So if I am allowed to wear a bikini on the beach in Abu Dhabi, I will be doing so. Second my doctor has told me that due to my body’s reaction to stress (throwing calcium at it to reduce acid levels) I will almost certainly develop osteoporosis unless I start taking supplements (and avoiding stress). This is particularly emotive for me as my mother suffers from the disease. Finally (and also linked to stress) I am exhausted and have to allocate one hour a day to myself, along with one day a week and FOUR WEEKS a year - this is going to be the most difficult thing to do.
I don’t feel exhausted, I feel great. I have been working hard but also enjoying massages, saunas (to prepare me for Abu Dhabi) and lots of reading. I am almost at the end of A Thousand Splendid Suns which has been a huge international best-seller. It’s a really lovely book, totally gripping and a great if horrible insight into the plight of women in Afghanistan.
I have been trying to define it. It is not great literature, nor is it pure chick-lit. But somewhere in between. I would say, and this is no way a criticism, it is chick-lit for grown-ups. It is compulsive reading, the characters are well drawn but I think one of the differences between this and say F.Scott Fitzgerald is that here we are told things and with Fitzgerald we are shown them. There is a scene in The Great Gatsby where he describes Daisy Buchanan and Jordan Baker sitting on a large comfortable sofa, their white clothes being gently lifted by the wind, the view from the window and the billowing gauze curtains. In that paragraph he tells us more about the characters and their world than any passage that is purely descriptive.
Talking of chick-lit, a spa would make a great setting for a chick-lit novel. Maybe my next one could be set here with a cast of characters including: The attractive and successful female City executive deafened by the sound of her biological clock, looking for someone, anyone, to silence it. The gruff owner of a Premier League football club and his wife who share the exclusive suite at the top of the clinic, but what goes on up there? The brooding Spaniard, a man who seemingly has everything, but who is riddled with sorrow. The aristocratic playboy with a dark childhood secret…..I could go on. A good excuse to come back next year.
Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2008
06 Aug 2008 helena



Hi Helena,
Can you share your (medical?) plan to ease
your small intestine and diminish your pot belly? exercise? supplements to supplement the calcium? a new spa diet?
with many thanks………
Hi WJ
Yes, I will be taking magnesium, chewing slowly (30 times a mouthful minimum if I possibly can), not eating raw food after 3pm, not drinking too much wine, trying to rest more to avoid getting stressed which is one of the roots of the problem. Also combining food so as to reduce acid, so for example not eating protein and carbs together (especially in the evening) and talking of the evening, not eating late at night (the doc suggests before 7pm). And doing some tummy massages, going round with hand in clockwise direction.
Hope that helps.
Hx
HAHA! There must be millions of us with inflamed small intestines! Does it cause double chins, floppy underarms and big thighs too? What are you doing to uninflame it so quickly?!
Avoiding stress and getting all that free time….hmmm! That’s no quick fix! Not even really a possible fix round here! So pleased to have found your blog! t.x
All Spaniards are gloomy and filled with sorrow, the result, I believe, of losing their Empire and defeat at the hands of the French at the Battle of Rocroi. To be beaten on the battlefield by the French must be a source of constant shame and no doubt accounts for the lamentable flamenco music the Spaniards insist on listening to..
Talking of chick-lit, a spa would make a great setting for a chick-lit novel.
As ordered …
Emma drifted into pleasure at the thought of the full naked body massage from Juan. She had heard many tales of the magic his hands, and for some luckies, his tongue, could perform.
He told her to relax. His voice like melted chocolate which she imagined was being poured onto her; about to be lapped by this Adonis of manhood.
Her legs parted as his powerful hands stroked up her thighs.
“Such smooth skin.” He purred.
“Thank you,” she just managed to reply. Pleased she’d had the foresight to get the earlier wax.
His lips parted as he moved closer. Her stomach lurched, her mouth dried and her groin ached with expectancy. Was he about to taste her?
“You’ve got a few stragglers near your anus. I’ll whip them out with my tweezers if you like.”
Oh my God, was this man too good to be true? Biceps, a six-pack AND a pair of tweezers?
Emma felt her head spin as she lay back and let Juan do his stuff. Her mind wandered briefly to the promise she had made before she left home, but all of a sudden everything else seemed unimportant……
Barbara is a bloke.
Indeed, nothing mattered as he tidied her intimate pleasure zone in readiness, she hoped, for pleasures untold. She felt soothed, caressed with comfort and HOTTER than she ever had. Surely her lust would explode into a vibrant explosion of rapture.
Promises? Ha!
Suddenly Juan lifted his head and looked at her questioningly.
“Why have you come here?” he asked, laying down his tweezers.
Emma sat up on the massage bed, her head still spinning with anticipation.
“What do you mean?” she asked, smiling invitingly.
“Oh I think you know exactly what I mean,” said Juan, storming out of the room.
Very temperamental these Spaniards, thought Emma, as she got off the massage bed. She picked up the tweezers. They were pink. Not a good sign.
But Helena, what about the liposuction which you had done in New York last year? Did the pot belly come back? I thought it had gone for ever.
Yes, it stayed a bit flatter for a while but not for long. A week at Viva Mayr was more effective, I am trying to keep up the good work but it’s hard back in the real world….
Hx
Tell me about it! I have taken note of all the tips in comment 2 and will be trying them out on my own pot belly!
PS
Have you read The Bookseller of Kabul? Also a compelling insight into the lives of Afghan women.
I haven’t yet, but will do. I am just about to start The Kite Runner. After Wife in the North actually, I need something to make me laugh before I delve into Afghanistan again. Good luck with the pot belly, one good exercise is to lie flat on your back and slowly lift your legs up and then down again, but in an extremely controlled way. My yoga teacher Anna does one for every year (she’s 46) I can only manage 10…
Hx
The rusty bell above the shop door tinkled and Abdul the bookseller rose from his mid morning slumbers. The new customer moved about the tiny shop, her burka causing mice to scurry, flies to fly and the a cat to sneeze.
“May I offer you the traditional greetings and I live in hope that I may fulfill your wishes in your choice of appropriate reading material. I’ve got it all, bigamy, arranged marriages, Taliban recipes, Islamic law, the curse of Westernisation…. You name it, I’ve got it”.
“Vot I am really vanting” she said, trying desperately to hide her thick Norwegian accent, “Is zometing on tummy tucks, liposuction and rib removal. Possible you may be havink the Roald Admusen Arctic Diet or Henrik Ibsen’s Lose dat Potty Belly in One Veek?”.