I decided ages and ages ago that we were going to have a little pre-baby holiday. A baby-moon, if you will (to give it a stupid name). After a lot of research and to-ing and fro-ing over various options, we decided that we wanted to go to somewhere vaguely seasidey, with a spa, where we could do very little except chill.
After all of the assembled research, what I managed to book was a weekend break in a ‘family friendly’ hotel in Dorset. Excellent idea, Gemma- your last child-free weekend away, and you book it in a hotel where you will be guaranteed to be surrounded by other people’s children. You don’t even like other people’s children (it’s true- I find them generally very annoying), but by then it was done, it was good value, and I was bored of looking so we decided to go with it.
The hotel in question was Moonfleet Manor. It’s part of a chain of similarly family-friendly hotels. It was filled with people that were probably posher than us, who had children with middle-class names like Hugo and Jacintha and who thought they knew it all- I heard someone have a proper shouty row with a waiter about whether or not a particular beer was a pale ale. It was. The waiter was right.
I’m majorly doing it down though- it was lovely- they had a hotel dog, which is always brilliant, and it was a cozy, shabby round the edges sort of a place, full of random interesting tat and stuff on the walls, roaring fires, and huge bedrooms full of old furniture, with massive baths and stuff like that. And it would be brilliant if you had kids- they had a games room, a cinema, and special sittings for children to eat dinner, followed by an adults-only sitting a bit later on, with some very nice food indeed. Consequently, the whole ‘other peoples children’ thing didn’t really become a problem- they were very much background elements in our stay and were very easy to ignore.
We arrived quite late on the Sunday, in time to check in, have a bath (woohoo- there is no bath at home and we love baths) and get some dinner in the hotel restaurant, followed by indulging in I’m a Celebrity (classy). On Monday, the weather was inevitably poo, so we spent a day driving around in the drizzle (we visited Portland Bill and it was fricking freezing) before admitting defeat and retreating to the hotel for whiskey (Mark) and cream tea (me) in front of the fire.
While there wasn’t a spa exactly, there were some treatment rooms, so I got a mum-to-be back massage, which was bliss and totally sorted out my lower back pain. Mark had a head and neck massage, followed by a collagen facial (tee hee), because he is that manly, and didn’t want to be left out of the treatments.
Day two’s weather was a tiny bit less rubbish and although we had to go home we decided to take a trip to Lyme Regis, seeing as it was sunny, which was very quaint, and gave additional opportunity for more cream tea on the sea front, and the purchase of some real ale from a tiny little micro brewery. After some ridiculously over-priced chips, we took ourselves off home feeling all relaxed and ready to face the real world- a lovely ‘final break’ as non-parents