Blissful beauty in Bampton

So the phone rang and, to my utter amazement, I picked it up.

‘Hello.’

‘Hello, stranger.’

My friend Nicky. My cohort in extreme exercise crime. Except since cracking myself on the nose I haven’t seen her for…weeks.

‘I’ve left you tons of messages,’ she said. I glanced at the ansaphone and winced. Thirteen messages? Eek.

‘Shit. Sorry.  Er, wanna coffee?’ I said and we both laughed cos we don’t ‘do’ coffee. We usually ‘do’ three hours of Zumba or killer Pilates with weights and wotnot. Come to think of it, I don’t even drink coffee but hey…

‘Sure,’ she said. ‘But let’s go to Bampton.’

So we went to Bampton.  Lo and behold a parking space right outside my mum’s old house. Sigh.

And we toddled over the road into Toucan, which is this really nice café/bistro on Front Street.  When Mum was alive it was her second home – she loved the place.  So Nicky and I shot the breeze and then she said, ‘Come and have a look at this…’ And she pulled me up the stairs. 

Huh? She wanted me to go to the loo?  But it seems that Toucan has a brand new beauty room, all beautifully clean and fresh and kitted out in tones of cool grey and zingy lime.  Soft music playing - Rumer.  Aromatherapy candle burning - possibly fig. 

Well, blow me down with a feather - it turns out that Nicky’s daughter, Charlotte Richards, is setting up shop as a beauty therapist here.  Now this is seriously good news if you live in or around Bampton.  Cos Charlotte is good, damn good. Actually more than damn good.  She doesn’t do healing and wotnot but if you want really professional, effective beauty treatments, she’s your girl.  I used to visit her a lot while she was training and she’s a total natural.  Firm assured touch, lovely manner and she doesn’t feed you any bullshit.  Yes, she’s young but don’t let that put you off – it means her training is up to the minute and she’s fresh and enthusiastic.  And, to be honest, she’s way better than the majority of people who’ve been doing it for years. 

What can I recommend?  Well, all of it really.  She uses Dermalogica products which are pretty nice. Not my absolute favourite but still...they ain't half bad.  She’s given me lots of facials and they were all really good. Her body massages are divine. Pedicures and manicures are the business.  Eyelash and eyebrow tinting?  Yup. And the girl’s a whizz with the wax.  Let it be said – very clearly – she was NOT the one responsible for the butchered badger – no sirree. She does a very neat bikini line - and makes you laugh at the same time, which is no mean feat. 

Anyhow…check it out.  Book yourself a treat or buy a voucher for a friend. Go see her and say hello from me.  She doesn’t know I’ve posted this so hopefully it will come as a nice surprise. J

Brook Street Studios, Toucan Café, Brook Street, Bampton, EX16 9LY

01398 331777  www.toucanrestaurant.co.uk/

Stories told in the body

It’s been a strange week.  A lot of sadness, a fair amount of anger, a few laughs, many tears, and a few moments that were totally madly surreal. 

I clocked up a few firsts this week, like doing push-ups and shuttle runs in church, having my arse appear in the media (twice on one page), sharing a bath with a photographer on a ladder  and giving Liz Jones feature ideas. 

But above all, one encounter stuck in my mind.  Yesterday I drove down to Minehead to the college.  The omens weren’t good.  Solitary magpies kept flying across my path and my head jumped into my mouth (interesting typo there) when a blackbird (male) suddenly flew right out and under the car, like he was hurling himself into oblivion.

I couldn’t really afford a makeover (even at the college’s crazy low prices) but I figured what the hell? I’m off to London for a week and I don’t want to scare the horses.  So I looked at Visa, raised my (unshapely shaggy) eyebrow and said ‘You up for it?’ And Visa winked.  So lovely Charlotte gave me a facial and a massage and then we howled with laughter as she rolled up her sleeves and attacked my bodily hair.

‘I’ve become obsessed with my right armpit,’ I told her. ‘I mean, look at it! The photographer yesterday said you’d have to trim it before you waxed it.’

‘Actually, I think I might,’ she said, with awe.  ‘That’s a first. Unless you want it plaited of course.’

‘With beads?’ I said with a grin. Then sighed. ‘Honestly, I don’t care. I’m in your hands – do with me as you wish!’  Her eyes gleamed. The little sadist.

But then, funny thing.  They had to switch people around and it transpired someone else was going to do my tinting and manicure.  And this ghost came in and started silently fixing my eyelashes. And my antennae went up; there was something there.  At first I thought it was typical teenage ‘can’t be arsedness’ but then I stopped thinking and started feeling – and the feeling was utter total desolation, way beyond sadness.

When we moved from the couch to a table for her to fix my manky hands, I got to look at her and she was the most beautiful girl ever. A pure pixie with a heart-shaped face, almond eyes and a short dark crop.  ‘I like your hair,’ I said softly, to break the silence. ‘I used to have mine like that when I was young.’ 

‘Well, it’s easy,’ she shrugged.   Oh, that sadness again.  Waves of it.  The ‘I don’t care about no nothing’ feeling. I resolved to ask Charlotte about her story when I saw her next – because there was a story, I just knew it.

But I didn’t need to.  ‘Do you think stress and sadness can cause physical illness?’ she said quietly after a while.  And slowly, so slowly, it came out.  Her father had died a few months ago.  And she was in the dark dark place.  The angry and sad and hurting place.  One I know all too well.  So I listened.  And listened.  And listened.

She said she didn’t talk about it.  Just tried not to think.  But that her body was shouting and screaming – in a million and one ways.  I didn’t tell her what to do – how could I?  But it seemed to me that she came to a fair few conclusions of her own during our hour together.  

No big farewell. No demonstrative hugs. Just a quick shy look. But she touched me. And, who knows, maybe I touched her.