The Fight Against Time
Not because of the weather and shortened daylight hours, although the former has been particularly frightful this year. No, November signals something much worse, it is the month of my birth and therefore cannot possibly fail to remind me of my fast approaching senility, along with the distinct possibility that Roger, as he never fails to remind me, ‘will trade me in for a younger model’, which always leaves me feeling somewhat akin to one of his automobiles.
So T suggested I visit the Longevity Wellness Resort in Portugal and I am now lying on a sun lounger enjoying some much-needed winter sun (the family Christmas festivities are once again being held at Sandy Lane and I do so hate turning up, all pasty and white). Presently, I am staring down from my mountain refuge at what they apparently call ‘the Garden of the Algarve’, although on the drive-up from the airport I saw nothing but golf courses.
I am in quite the state of excitement, however. This afternoon I have an appointment with the Dr Claude Chauchard, who is a specialist in Preventive Medicine and something of a guru, according to T, on Total Ageing Management. Considering my current state of decrepitude, I cannot think of anyone, other than perhaps Ashton Kutcher, who I would more like to meet. The good doctor was one of the founders of La Clinique de Paris which even Roger has heard of, ‘the place where all my clients’ wives go when they’ve divorced them’ he is fond of reminding me. Dr Chauchard has also written countless books on how to stay young and beautiful and is thus much sought after on the anti-ageing circuit.
T is so enthused by him that she bought what she calls her ‘secret to eternal youth’ but which in reality is nothing more than an investment in one of the resort’s condo-hotels. She persuaded her husband that it was a good investment, although I have since discovered that she gets all the rental income which, of course, for the duration of my stay is being paid for by me! T is not as daft as she makes out. Perhaps I should persuade Roger to part with some of that money he is stockpiling in Switzerland? He could buy me one of their cute little apartments as a birthday present, instead of getting his secretary to ‘rustle me up’ something at the last minute.
The resort’s staff are certainly very efficient. Upon arrival I was given an extensive physical examination by the resort’s doctor which, unfortunately, included a blood sample. None too surprisingly, since my experience at K’s, I have developed an almost pathological fear of needles. However, the doctor was most adamant as the blood results were needed to create my bespoke programme, including my diet for the week – the chef, ‘Olivier’, (Portugal’s very own Jamie Oliver no less) prepared my food specifically to fit my medical requirements. I refused outright of course but, after he started making noises about visiting the resort’s psychologist, I reluctantly agreed. I have had more than enough of those quacks Daddy makes me visit every week about my eating disorders.
To recover from this trauma, I immediately headed towards the spa and was presented with one of life’s major dilemmas: what treatment to go for? Longevity Chic, Longevity Look Chic or Longevity Chic-Issimo? Luckily, the staff realised I was a critical case in need of urgent attention and suggested I opt for Longevity Chic as it included something called a ‘Pro-Collagen Quartz Lift Advanced Anti-Ageing Facial’ which promised immediate results in the fight against time. The fight against time being something I have discovered that occupies me more and more, the older I get.
I must admit when T first told me she was intending to by one of Longevity’s condos I thought her most rash. But having spent the last three hours in what I can only faithfully report as spa heaven I think she has made a very wise decision indeed. I must get a prospectus for Roger’s secretary before I return. Leaving the Algarve’s balmy, blue skies for London’s cold, grey ones will not be easy. I just hope Roger has remembered to organise my ‘surprise’ birthday party. Nothing big this year of course. All I want is a small discreet affair, no more than 500 guests. After all, there’s not much to celebrate on becoming 23 is there?