Tuesday, November 16, 2010

Needless to say, returning to little Thorpe-le-Soken was a shock, but showing it to Whitney was enjoyable. And as we arrived, the weather descended mercilessly down upon poor Essex. Amazingly, although already November, we had thus far been spared wet weather, and had enjoyed a few brief showers mixed with cloudy and more than our fair share of sunshine. In fact, the weather was so good that working in the gardens was easily the best job on the whole Spa site, as we got to enjoy for nine hours a day that endless angles among the trees and shrubs and flowers and ponds. Not so, starting Monday morning. The only thing worse than the pouring rain was the mud it created and constantly enlarged, and the only thing worse than that was the biting wind that would nip inside our inadequate layers right at the wetest and rainiest moments. But still we worked our long hours, in good company and slightly-less-good-than-usual cheer. (I was reading The Guernsey Literary and Potato-Peel Pie Society, a joyful clever book recommended by Pooty Mahood, which I also recommend, and that helped to lift my spirits a bit). But for the most part we were wet, sopping wet and the cups of tea that we would enjoy in the gardeners caravan became utterly precious. But, after a few days, we were greeted by sunshine, the value of which had increased ten-fold by its pointed absence.
Whitney left after a few days (apparently there wasn't enough going on in Thorpe...Ridiculous!) and changed residencies. We had been living in a B&B owned by a harmlessly mad little old woman who treated us with excessive (almost cloying) kindness and care, but on Monday we moved up to the Spa itself.
But first, our departure. We left with a bang. Our hostess had been increasingly kind and generous every single day for two weeks, had never denied us anything, and had gone far outside her duties as a B&B owner. She even took our wet clothes after work and put them in the drier when it was raining. So Monday evening, returning wet and finding her asleep, we stuck them again in the drier and went upstairs. What followed when she found the clothes in her drier without her permission was a rant of such cataclysmic proportions that plaster rained down from the roof. The rant included lines such as "You are the most disrespectful children I have ever met!" "I hope you don't treat everyone you meet like this!" and "How Dare You" [Got that last one quite a few times]. Honestly, I have not embelished the story, we truly just stuck wet clothes in the drier as she herself had done a few days before. But she broke off from her rant to kiss us goodbye and then continued to steamroll as we faded away down the street and towards our new destination.


And what a place it was (and is)! The site, which included two hotel blocks and a massive spa as we

Our first night there (Whitney was still around) we explored the endless halls, and had massive secret agent battles running from room to room. Having 89 hotel rooms to choose from and no one to stop us from firing or swinging lightsabers at our enemies is the fulfillment of a lifelong childhood dream, when running down hotel halls is forbidden and reprimanded. Now we have a little paradise to ourselves, and after about 8:00 every night, it is totally empty.

So this week, despite the rain, became a wonderful one, as every evening we would return from work, wash and dry our clothes in the massive industrial machines, shower under powerful boiling water, make some dinner, and explore a new part of our castle (I cannot disclose further details of our explorations while we are still in the employ of Mr. Cronk, who might be reading). Evenings end with a cup of tea, falling asleep on the heated cushions in the spa while reading, and then crawling upstairs to collapse gratefully into bed.

But I haven't even gotten to the best part, which is the acoustics in the stairwell. The echo and amplification are wondrous, so we go in ever few minutes and play, everything from old favorites to new compositions, to gypsy-style jamming and crazy new inventions. None of it ever gets old, and we make new discoveries every day. We have gotten into a rhythm, in every facet of our lives.
ll as a smaller treatment center, (also a pool, hot tub, sauna, juice bar, real bar, five star restaurant) is not yet completed, except for the small treatment center and one hotel block. As yet no one has slept in it, but there we were, courtesy of Mr. Cronk. We chose the biggest suite in Block A, in the center of the second floor, with sweeping views of the gravel garden (into which we had planted), the upper pond (which we had weeded around), and the sunken Victoria rose garden. The room is not yet furnished so we wrapped the (incredible!) mattresses in sheets and put our sleeping bags on top. The room is big and comfortable and luxurious, and as we will never be able to afford it when the place opens (it is literally one of the nicest rooms and we could not afford a broom cupboard here) we are relishing every moment. We spend much of our time in the small spa, which has (among other things) an incredible shower, heated floors, and comfy couches. We make meals in the little kitchen and drink tea and read sitting on the heated floor after a long day's work. It is beyond delightful.

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