In a fight to find the best Valentine’s Day presents, Spa Boy beats Iron Man every time; Andrew Boulton explains …
My dear old dad once bought my mum an iron for Valentine’s Day. To this day, in our house he is fondly referred to as ‘Iron Man’.
But if you were possibly thinking about a Valentine’s treat for your much, much better half then might I suggest something that can’t be used as the blunt instrument of your inevitable murder.
I personally find the pressure of Valentine’s Day nothing short of immense. A pal of mine will, without fail, produce something extravagant, thoughtful and spectacular to treat his girlfriend, causing a ripple of envy and recrimination amongst the wives and a wave of fury and worthlessness amongst the men folk.
No more. I have taken steps and this year I will be whisking (well, as much of a ‘whisk’ as you can muster in a Vauxhall Astra) my wife off for a spa weekend.
It is not until this last year, working with my chums at Spabreaks.com that I really got to understand what a spa was all about. Like many chaps I think I mistook the experience for one of bubbles, manicures and half a radish for lunch.
Now of course I realise how wrong I was, the epiphany coming at the end of an exquisite spa break dinner in which I had eaten myself to a point where I was joyfully weeping custard. A spa break is a gloriously relaxing and indulgent experience with not a whiff of a radish, halved or otherwise.
What the eagle eyed amongst you may have noticed is that I seem to be discussing my wife’s Valentine’s gift in terms of my own enjoyment. I suspect I may have been rumbled.
But yes, in treating the very, ahem, lucky Mrs Boulton to a spa weekend I am first and foremost expressing my love and gratitude through a calming and luxurious experience. The fact that I myself have to accompany her as her life companion and protector is just a by-product of my own generosity. If as a consequence I happen to find myself slumped in a hot tub bumbling my way erratically through the Guardian crossword with a cheeky grin on my face, I surely can’t be blamed for that.
And in the generational scheme of things, in my family at least, Spa Boy beats Iron Man every time.
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