In which Kellogg's take me to Champneys to eat biscuits

Anyhow.  Yesterday was…curious.  I got up at 5am and drove to the station after about three hours of sleep in a sort of fugue state to catch the early train to London.  It was pretty well empty – hardly surprising when I clocked that the ticket I’d been sent had cost £240 – and no, I wasn’t in first class.  How bonkers is that?  My plane ticket for Greece cost way less than that.

I was going to Champneys, the smart spa in Tring, courtesy of Kellogg’s.  I love Kellogg’s – I seriously do.  Not just because they produce Special K (my total guilty pleasure) – yes, I know, it’s not exactly a cream donut but when you scoff the stuff in industrial qualities it probably ends up amounting to much the same thing. And certainly not because they produce Krave (my son’s total addiction) – hey, even the guys at Kellogg’s have the grace to look a bit abashed about that one. You ever tried it?  Basically chocolates masquerading as breakfast cereal.  

'And so?' says James.

'Whatever,' says I.

Interesting aside – they don’t put MSG in it but apparently Pringles (which are, let’s be honest, stupidly moreish, do contain the stuff – so there you go, that’s why you can’t ever eat just one). Food for thought, huh?  

Be very grateful this is blank...

But no, more than all that, by far, I love Kellogg's because they invite me to lovely pamper days.  The irony is not lost. I am so broke I can’t even afford to get my hair cut.  I can’t even afford to get my disaster of a bush sorted out so now I’m getting ingrown pubic hairs which are threatening to turn septic. Yeah, okay, so that was way too much information. Sorry.  But Kellogg’s, lovely lovely Kellogg’s, plonk me on a killer expensive train and then usher me into a kick-ass Mercedes taxi and then deposit me at this vast pile to be pampered for the day. 

And yeah, I know, you’re muttering into your beards that they hardly do it out of the goodness of their hearts; that they don’t sit there up in Manchester thinking, ‘Poor old Jane. She’s having a seriously crap time right now (and boy, those ingrown hairs are a bugger); let’s organise a pampering press day to cheer up the miserable old cow. How about it, guys?’  Nah.  

For sure, they hope that I’ll write good things about their stuff, that I’ll spread the word through social media and, in my small way, raise brand awareness.  But, as anyone who reads this blog knows; it could backfire horribly.  Let’s just briefly stop a moment and remember the dog food that (allegedly, according to Adrian) nearly killed the SP and ended up costing me an arm, a leg and a perfectly nice sofa. The PR, bless his cottons, had the grace to laugh but did say that it was one he ‘wouldn’t be showing to the client.’

But...whatever...I was very grateful for the invite. Cos not only did they cheer me up with champagne and lunch and steam rooms and massages (of which more anon), but they very thoughtfully arranged for two of my dearest old muckers to be there too.  Alice and Becky were two of the Disney 7, the mad crew with whom I went to Florida back in 2009. Lovely, lovely people. I’d seen Alice at a few odd occasions (hmm, mainly Kellogg’s dos, come to think of it) but I hadn’t seen Becky since we waved goodbye (still cackling) at Gatwick.  And so yesterday we spent a good couple of hours talking – in fact we talked so hard we clean forgot we were in the outdoor Jacuzzi and our whole bodies, not just our fingers, went all weird.  So we cackled a bit in the steam room and then we had smoothies in the café and really, it was lovely.  Cos she’s one of those people that I just feel easy with and, yes, even manage to talk a bit of truth with… (sorry, too many whoms were threatening to overwhom me). 

Anyhow. Somewhere in the middle of all this niceness the Kellogg’s bunch gave us their presentation which was, actually, rather good.  They were launching their first biscuit – aimed at people who are trying to lose weight but keep falling head first into the cookie tin and not emerging until they have munched their way through a whole packet of Hobnobs or whatever and then proceeded to hurl themselves into a broiling cauldron of self-loathing. I’m not big on biscuits so it’s not my particular ‘issue’ but hey… each to their own and this is a smart idea.  These things don’t come in chunking great packets – they come in little self-sealed jobbies that contain two sweet offerings – at 99 calories for the pair. Theory being, having consumed the whole packet, your psyche says ‘job done’ without having scarfed twice your daily calorific load. They’re also designed to be filling – and to taste good.  And yeah, you might think that goes without saying but, seriously, have you tried some of the stuff that's out there?

Okay, so let’s take a look. Biscuit Moments?  Uggghhh!!!!  REVOLTING name. How can you have a biscuit ‘moment’? But, as they pointed out, it’s a helluva lot better than Fibre Plus.  

Hate the packaging – it just screams ‘DIET!!!!!’ (though, come to think of it, that’s probably the point). They look weird – kind of like an anaemic Garibaldi with icing drizzled over.  Let’s take a taste.  Way too sweet for me – there’s a jam filling (strawberry or blueberry) that makes your teeth sing. But, fair play, they are seriously filling – and if you have a sweet tooth, they might be right up your street.  I tested them out on James who absolutely loved them (blithely ignoring the packaging or maybe not realizing it was shouting ‘diet food aimed staunchly at women’). 

His preference was for the blueberry and announced they were ‘just the ticket’ for a mid-cycle snack. In fact, I had to double-check that they really don’t have MSG tucked away in there cos, since writing this, he has eaten his way through three packets (ummm, there’s that theory of mine blown away).  He’s just looked over my shoulder as I was downloading this picture of them and started licking the screen.    

So, thirteen-year old boys love ‘em.  And I suspect a lot of people will. 

‘Couldn’t you do them with chocolate?’ I asked wistfully (and, the words unspoken, ‘And have another launch at another fabby spa?’).

Kellogg’s Sarah tapped her nose.  

‘How about coffee flavoured?’ I sighed hopefully.  Even though I don’t drink coffee (only decaf) I adore anything coffee-flavoured.

‘Oh, I wish,’ she said. ‘But apparently it’s too niche.’

‘Almond?’

‘Ditto.’

Oh come on!  Let’s sex up these damn biscuits!  Lobby Kellogg’s for funkier packaging and some seductive fillings for the blighters! Let’s make ‘em gorgeous – how about vivid pink or neon orange biscuit for  a bit of contrast to those dark chocolate or caramel coffee fillings? How about drizzling a clashing colour of icing over the top?  Make them totally square rather than that boring old brick shape. Put ‘em in silver or gold shiny pouches with DECADENT or TREAT or DROOL stamped on the outside. 

Sorry, just got a bit carried away there.  But really, why not make it all a bit more fun? 

Anyhow, back in the real world, Kellogg’s Special K do this website that aims to help anyone wanting to lose weight. I reviewed it before and still think it’s pretty good.  Check it out here.  Oh, and try (oh GOD that name!!) Biscuit Moments and tell me what you reckon. 

Biscuit Moments available from August 2012 - £1.99 for a pack of five sachets (each containing two biscuits).

Diary of a Desperate DUPLO donating woman (OK, this is weird)

I thought Disney was surreal enough (what with pin-swapping and grown people wandering round in mouse ears) but life back home is turning a little odd too.
I returned to find I was double-booked for two funerals yesterday. Given one was in London and one was twenty minutes away, there wasn’t too much decision-making involved. Clifford was our old neighbour back when we lived up on the weird windswept moor (for any readers who go back a long way with me you might remember him as the flirtatious old dog who used to growl, ‘they don’t call it SExmoor for nothing’ accompanied by a lascivious leer and a finger tickling down your backbone and coming to rest, cupping your arse. For all that I was very fond of Cliff and even fonder of his long-suffering (if redoubtable) wife. So we headed across the moor back into our old life.
‘We don’t want to be too early,’ worried Adrian. Mainly worried, I hasten to add, because he didn’t want to bump into a certain ex-friend. It all went wrong when the chap had an affair, news got out – to his wife eventually – and the ex-friend blamed Adrian (very unfairly as it happens). But anyhow… So we dawdled, and went past our old place and eventually……
‘Oh shit. Think it might be busy.’

The entire hill was jam-packed with 4x4s and quad bikes and tractors. Sure enough, it was standing room only in the church. The average age was about 70 and, as we waited for the cortege, there was a small concerto for hearing aid (high-pitched squeaks and squeals) followed by a couple of deep sigh farts. It was a great funeral (if you can say that). Cliff was a hunting man (fox, stag, otter, mink, women) and we were only surprised that the church wasn’t packed with hounds. As it was the service ended with a rousing rendition of a local hunting song.

We slid out before the hunting horns got going and hurtled back home. I flung Adrian out of the car and carried on to town to get a chest x-ray (nothing horrid – at least I hope not – doctor just scared of litigation so covering all eventualities. Seriously hope those aren’t famous last words). Stalk into X-ray clad head to toe in black and the chap behind reception seems a bit bemused.
‘Are you clergy?’
Do I look like a vicar in high heels, slim black trousers and a coat with three-quarter sleeves? Is the make-up and earrings a bit of a giveaway?
‘No. I’ve been to a funeral.’
‘Ah. I wondered. Concentrates the mind, doesn’t it?’
‘Er, yes.’
‘He he, don’t worry. I’ll give you a good x-ray and if you’ve got lung cancer I won’t tell you. No point making a bad day worse.’
‘Er, thank you.’ I think.

So I sit in M&S drinking decaf and gazing gloomily at my trolley waiting until it’s time to pick up James from school. He’s fed up as they got thrashed playing cricket.
‘I got one run.’
‘Oh dear. That’s rubbish, isn’t it?’
Frown and hurt look. ‘I was the third highest scoring batsman.’
‘That’s great!’
‘Oh don’t patronise me.’
Really, you can’t win.
Anyhow, home James and a flurry of the usual when an email pings in.

Would I like a set of LEGO DUPLO?
Hmm, not really. My son is ten and, last time I looked, DUPLO was for toddlers. Now had it been the Battlestar….
‘Well, you could give them away to your readers.’

What is going ON with this blogging lark? First I get flown to Florida, now I’m being offered free LEGO. I said no, the chap from LEGO said, aw, go on….your readers will love it. So, in the spirit of wild generosity, I present Diary of a Desperate DUPLO Donating Woman. It’s got a ring, don’t you think?

Here’s the juice. LEGO are offering two sets of DUPLO. Each set comprises two boxes: one’s a funky Zoo type playset and the other one is a groovy police set (so the nice policemen can arrest the penguins or vice versa). If you’d like one bung a comment below and, come the end of the weekend, I’ll get Asbo to put out the magic paw and pick two wildly random winners. Sadly, you have to be in the UK for this and LEGO do ask that you visit their blog and report on how the sets went down with your children…..but hey, no hardship really?
Click here to see the sets…. http://legoduplo.dbmblogs.co.uk/

And watch this space. Today DUPLO, who knows what might happen tomorrow….Spa week at Champneys? Laptops? Plasma TVs? Surreal. Just surreal.