We're not ones for holidays as such. We don't get the brochures out on Boxing Day and plan the two weeks in June. We're more inclined to recharge the batteries a little and often, in the shape of a few stolen days here and there.
After we've weathered a particularly hectic few months at work or whatever, we take a notion and book a few days away, somewhere within the country. Rest and relaxation. The thought of it carries me through the busy times: the dangling carrot of escaping the madness. In the parlance of today, I look forward to chilling.
Just such a few R& days were required recently. We chose our destination carefully, which means it was far enough away to feel "away" yet not so far that we'd be exhausted by the drive.
Everything was in place, yet I wasn't looking forward to it and I couldn't understand why. I'll be all right when I get there, I kept telling myself, but for some reason I wasn't convinced. Then, as I packed the pool shoes and the Deep Heat, it hit me. It's that confounded Leisure Centre.
Every hotel we've gone to in the past five years or so boasts one. We've even been brainwashed into thinking that if it doesn't have one, the hotel's not up to the mark.
Our idea of relaxing has somehow been forced to change over the years. It has now become action-packed and busy, perhaps even busier than our normal day.
I desperately wanted to savour my few stolen days, lazing around, eating too much and reading a book in daylight. The thought of rowing machines, steppers, treadmills, chlorine and claustrophobic saunas were not lighting my bulb. I had a tough decision to make. I could accept this as part of modern living and go for the burn or ignore the leisure centre.
The latter option is more difficult than it sounds, because in order to do it successfully you have to rise above the guilt. Guilt that you're a slob and guilt that you're not getting your absolute money's worth. What to do? By the time we had arrived and settled ourselves, I was still wavering.
Could I do this? Could I justify sitting down and doing nothing for two whole days? Without committing to anything, we walked down to look at the award-winning torture chamber. The bright young thing manning the desk gave us every encouragement to join the fun. Anything he could do to help, etc. "Just looking," I replied. "Maybe later."
We could see everything through the modern glass wall. All shapes and sizes puffed and panted on bits of machinery. Some tried to lessen the torture by listening to Walkmans or trotting, hamster-like, on treadmills with televisions in front of them. None of it was pretty.
A woman lay on the floor, seemingly welded to a piece of metal that rocked back and forth. Her lower portions appeared to be at an unnatural angle to her upper portions. Her face was alarmingly contorted. Through the glass, our eyes met. "Run," she seemed to say. "Run for your life and save yourself." I did.
Our room had a balcony. Believe it or not, the s really nice. For two whole days, I spent the mornings sitting on the balcony, drinking coffee and reading. To vary the entertainment, I watched the antics of a pair of wagtails that were nesting in the eaves. After lunch, we rambled into town and had tea and sticky buns.
Did I chill? Are my batteries recharged? Absolutely, and not an aching limb in sight. Whatever about the body, my kind of leisure is good for the soul.