As much as I would never choose retail therapy for any ailment, I can definitely admit that I like a good treatment. Alternative therapies really made a difference after a serious injury 2 years ago. As part of my recovery, I went to a reiki massage therapist, a homeopath, an acupuncturist, an osteopath, and a physiotherapist (physical therapist). Manicurists and pedicurists fall under those ‘ists’ that I’m not really interested in but today, I have an appointment to have a facial…with a facialist (is that even a word?)
CSr bid on a prize at last year’s school fair and it is expiring tomorrow so last minute LondonLatte booked today. I have had a facial before but it was just before I got married and was sort of booked under duress, as one of those things a bride to be was supposed to do. For £100 I think it would have been easier to go to my acupuncturist and have her stick needles in my face for £25 and the effect would have been the same. It hurt. A lot.
I don’t think I came out looking any younger, any more vibrant or any better for that matter. But that was almost a decade ago so who am I to turn down 90 minutes of (supposedly) sheer indulgence. So, I’m off to Spa NK on Westbourne Grove…
That isn’t a typo by the way. Put Spa NK together and it is not really a place that you would consider going to for a luxurious, pampering experience….well, maybe for a Pampers shoot but a beauty salon spa? Come on! With such emphasis on the NK?!?
But Spa NK is Nicky Kinnaird’s Spa service from her cosmetics chain SPACE.NK Apothecary. Not the catchiest of names for beauty products, skincare, fragrances and candles but what do I know. Nicky started in Covent Garden in 1993 and now has 60 brands throughout the UK and quite a few in the U.S. Apparently 3 now in New York alone. Who knew!
Nicky’s a Belfast lass and I admire her business acumen and experience. I’ve never met her and my lack of purchases certainly does not contribute to her annual sales growth forecasts. Yet, I am sure we’d get along, as it is also pointed out that she does not sound like a local. Last year in an interview in the Evening Standard, the journalist commented on one of Nicky’s responses with, ‘the 48 year old says, in a think Belfast accent that has prevailed despite her living in England since her university days’. REALLY? A multi-millionairess beauty magnate and it’s STILL about the accent?
Anyway, my posts are long enough and I could now elaborate on how blissful and rejuvenating my facial was, but I’ll leave that to the beauty treatment experts. What I can tell you is that my ‘facialist’ advised me to not touch my face or put on any make up for the rest of the day ‘if that was possible’. Okay, that should be easy enough and as it may be another decade before I am back, I may as well let this one last.
So I leave without so much as a pat on the behind, for all of my misaligned (malaligned?) assumptions about Spa NKing and head off to Portobello Road, to return a pair of trainers (sneakers) that CSr bought last weekend.
I exchange the trainers and now know where all of London’s single men in their 20s hang out on a Friday afternoon, but I digress.
I start walking home and remember that I need to pick up tomatoes for tomorrow’s school fair, where I have somehow been cornered into slicing enough tomatoes to feed 250 hungry parents, children and others, expected at the BBQ.
I stop at my favorite fruit and veg stall on Portobello Market, but I didn’t bring any bags and I had not planned on coming down to the market this morning. I also didn’t know that I would buy 25 tomatoes and I am not sure how long it will take to slice them. But, I am here and might as well buy them. I can jump on the bus to lighten the load on the way home.
But the bus stop I could normally use is closed due to Notting Hill Gate being CLOSED. This is not really a surprise and I know that Notting Hill Gate is closed and that buses are ‘ON DIVERSION’, because I get Thames Water’s texts (more on that later), updating me on all of the work going on. I just didn’t think the bus stops would be effected down on Portobello Road. Never mind, I am feeling relaxed and refreshed thanks to my pseudo-sado-spa treatment so can walk.
After about 3 minutes, I am sweating. I am fairly fit and am not exactly exerting myself but my face feels unpleasantly clammy. I am carrying more bags than I had planned, but that does not in any way explain why on earth my face is suddenly slimy and sticky. My hair is fine and my neck, chest and arms are dry. But I am dripping. My face is soaked. If men sweat, women perspire and dancers glow, I sop.
My fascialist’s propaganda is haunting me and I remember her message that I am not supposed to ‘touch my face‘. I take one of the tomatoes out of the bag and gently blot my face, hoping to mop up the glistening tears of whatever is coming out of each and every pore. Now I have clammy tomatoes. Clamatoes.
Is this a normal reaction? Ninety minutes of massage and creams have ended with me looking like a sleazy faced bag lady frantically walking the streets. Everything else is fine. It is just my freaky face oozing a cocktail of products.
Maybe I can text Thames Water and they can help turn off the water works. Or maybe it’s time for a drink.
1- 1 1/2oz (go on make it 2) vodka
2 drops Tabasco or 0 drops if face still sweaty
4 drops Worcestershire Sauce
Celery salt for glass rim
Apply directly to lips without touching face and drink.