wheels go round

I have rediscovered cycling - with the aid of a £10 second hand bright red mountain bike, purchased from a local market. And I love it. How could I have forgotten how much fun it is to pump those pedals until your heart is also pumping, determined to get to the top of a particularly stubborn hill (there's a lot of them around us), clunking the gears gradually until they're all used up. And the feeling of huge exhiliration as you crest the hill, and finally stop pedalling as the downward gradient carries you along - faster and faster. Personally I like to scream a bit at this point. The few fellow cyclists I encounter seem to find this amusing....
Now that cycling and I have found each other again, our love affair is deep and intense. Nothing will part us again, and although Thelma, my bike is past her prime, this is no way detracts from her loveliness and her dedication to the art of two wheels going around and around. She's gorgeous. Solid, strong and dependable. Like me.
Now I am keen to open the doors of Retreats for you to other lovers of two wheeled beauties. So that we can share the joy. With this in mind, and also the fact that we are mid point on the wellknown cycle route, The Western Way, I have posted Retreats for you as likely cyclists accommodation on www.thecyclepeople.com

Proud proud proud

I feel as if I've given birth. Very happy and hugely proud.
The name of my new baby is 'How to survive the great recession. A resilient response,' by Dr Ed Deevy, a writer from Ireland.
Ed has made the trip from Dublin to stay at Retreats for you twice, the second time in order to concentrate fully on the final draft of 'How to survive the great recession.' Every day he rose early, put in a full day's work on the book - making sure he sensibly took time out for a walk and a breath of Devon air at lunchtime, and was always excellent company at dinner. His charming anecdotes and wealth of experience provided endless entertainment for us and other guests, and we were sorry to see him go at the end of the week.
And a few days ago, we were thrilled and delighted to receive a copy of 'How to survive the great recession' in the post. It's an extraordinarily positive and intensely practical book, which can't fail to provide inspiration and optimism to sustain us all until things get better and brighter. As they surely will.
I'm hugely flattered that Ed asked me to be one of the guest contributors to the book, and that my contribution on ways to maintain equilibrium when times are tough is now in print. And I'm enormously proud that 'How to survive the great recession' was born at Retreats for you.
A champagne occasion if ever there was one.
Cheers, Ed. Or rather, Slainte!

Couples retreat

You'll never know who thought of it first - Retreats for you, or the nice people bringing out the film, to be released on Friday. No matter - it's a great concept, and it's here at Retreats for you.
Couples retreat - the perfect pampering package for couples who need to get away from everything and focus on each other. And to be honest, quite often that's enough to heal an ailing relationship. Yes really. A couple going through a rocky patch may well not need counselling or therapy. A goodly dose of TLC - good food, good wine and comfortable surroundings with plenty of privacy, may be all that's required. A chance to rebond and rebuild their relationship while snuggling by a blazing fire, enjoying candlelit dinners and strolling through beautiful countryside.
And if a sympathetic ear's required - hey, I'm here. 21 years of mostly happy marriage must make me some kind of authority on the subject. Couples retreat. At a cinema near you from Friday, and Retreats for You right now.

Retreat

When the charming Judi Spiers asked me what we at 'Retreats for you' mean by the word retreat, I must admit that I hesitated for a second. Then I remember that long pauses don't work well on live radio, and quickly launched into my own interpretation of the word.
The freedom to concentrate on whatever you need to - whether it's writing, painting, reading, or just spending some time alone with your thoughts. The space to spend your time as you choose, with all the encouragement and support you require. An atmosphere of friendly welcome, and also a complete lack of pressure to socialise and converse, should you not want to. A place of safety. Plenty of good food, and no cooking or clearing up. A feeling of being nurtured and looked after.
That's what the word retreat means to us. If it means anything else to someone reading this blog, I'd love to hear about it.

Sometimes the phrase 'everything happens for a reason', feels especially pertinent.I recently wrote a piece on how we all need to slow down. It covered the whole business of frantically needing to cram more and more into our days -and feeling guilty if we dare to take a breather. Of course it's good - and healthy - to be busy. But it's also vital to take time out for ourselves and not feel guilty about it. As I wrote, I remembered a conversation I'd had with my daughter Flo, when she was last home for a couple of days. We'd planned to spend a girly evening together, drinking Lambrini (secret vice - oh dear, the secret's out), giggling, eating sushi, which both us adore, and watching Mamma Mia (again). When I proceeded to drag out the ironing board, thinking I could multitask during the evening, I was met with a look of acute disappointment.'Why do you always have to be DOING something?' asked my lovely and sensible daughter. 'Put the bloody ironing away, and just come and hang out with me.' Needless to say I saw her point. A lesson learned - and reinforced when, a couple of days later I did an interview on how 'Retreats for you' came into being, for Radio Devon. The presenter, Judi Spiers was a delightful host, and the interview went swimmingly, until she asked me 'And do you ever go away on retreat yourself? You know, to recharge your batteries.' I think I winged it pretty well, and came up with a reasonable answer, but in fact the thought had never occurred to me. Now however, the idea was well and truly planted. Practise what you preach, I told myself sternly.Yesterday was a glorious warm sunny day. It was Flo's day off, and I drove into Exeter to meet her. By 9.30 am we were drinking frothy coffee in a little cafe down by the quay. I blinked into the bright sunshine, and watched the ducks cavorting on the water. 'I feel like I'm on holiday', I said. After a morning of light shopping, we picknicked on the Cathedral green, along with lots of office workers and students, the girls dressed in brightly coloured tops and dresses. Everyone was smiling in the sunshine. We talked and ate and relaxed, and then we shopped a little more.Eventually we wandered home, to find somebody else making dinner. It had been utterly delightful. And there was no guilt.

Yesterday was a perfect day, spent at the beach with family and friends in the sunshine. Along with a ton of fresh mussels, which we doused in wine and garlic and cooked up on the fire, in a huge cast iron saucepan. Said mussels combine perfectly with french bread and more wine - this time in a glass, and contributed hugely to enormous feelings of completeness.
Mental note to self to take next group of writers on a beach/mussel supper outing. Varied surroundings v good for creativity.
I think that when I am 109 or thereabouts and have finally tired of running about on this earthly plane, I will cast a benevolent eye over my life and see many snapshots of happiness. Yesterday will be one of them.

It was dark at 6.30 this morning as my fellow runner and I started reluctantly on our daily brain rattling, teeth shaking, boob joggling jaunt around the country lanes of rural Devon. We chatted to each other as we ran, and tried, as we always do, to forget the fact that our spouses were still tucked up cosily under the duvet - and the fact that, were it not for our devotion to the temples at which we worship daily (ie, our bodies), we would be snuggled up beside them.
Gamely we chatted as we pounded on and on, grimly ascending the hills, (of which there are many), seizing brief respite as we descended said hills, and desperately flashing our torches at one or two oncoming tractors intent on squashing us. (You can imagine the casual post mortems, held in local pubs. Well, ers shouldna' bin out at that time, runnin' round. Ah wouldn' let mah missis. Would 'ee?')
As we jogged up the final brutal ascent, two or three cars passed us, carrying locals on their way to work. Hearing them before we saw them, my brave jogging pal and I automatically straightened hunched shoulders, tensed flagging leg muscles, flung our heads back and pasted bright smiles on our faces - not forgetting to swiftly swipe a sweaty sleeve over our equally sweaty faces. Waving merrily, as they passed, we continued the enjoying the run charade until we reached the summit - and thankfully the end of the run.
I'd love to say that at this point, the adrenalin rush so apparently beloved by runners, (lies lies) finally took hold, and in a burst of endorphins, we strode glowing into our respective houses, ready to take on the day and all that it could fling at us. Sadly the reality was that our main feeling was one of relief that the entire bloody business was over - at least until tomorrow. There is a bit of a glow, however - of smugness. And I'm happy to report that it lasts all day...