I am an all or nothing kind of person. I latch onto an idea or an interest and I become obsessive about it. I have developed two new passions in 2015, one of which is a frequent visit to a spa. (Not a week in a German Health Spa recommended on page 119 of ‘Things to do now that you’re 50…’, but one nestled in the English countryside.)

It all started when my friend Sally (with whom I shared a room in London during my late teens) suggested we treat ourselves to an overnight stay at Champneys Springs. Being a teacher, I could only make it during the school holidays, but we were delighted to see a special deal for February: Couples Retreat. Most of the people there were indeed romantic couples, and if anyone thought that we were too, so be it. As I proudly announced to Sally: ‘Our friendship has outlasted all of our romantic relationships – and between us there have been plenty – so we are a couple.’

As part of the deal, we both had just the one treatment: a Head in the Clouds massage, which was aptly named because all my worries seemed to float away as I relaxed and let go of my tension. I would recommend it.

Since that first visit, I have been five more times: two Mother and Daughter Days, twice with my hubby, and one more time with Sally. (I will go just once more this year, with my cousin Frances, for pre-Christmas de-stress and detox.) The staff recognise me now!

On page 111 of ‘Things to do now that you’re 50…’, it says: Have an aromatherapy consultation. You can benefit enormously from those relaxing vapours. Unfortunately, this was not true for me! On my second visit to Champneys, which was Mother’s Day, I had the Head in the Clouds massage, followed by an Aromatherapy Wrap. The former took away my tension; the latter gave it back.

The Aromatherapy Wrap was meant to last about half an hour. The first part was wonderful: the therapist smothered me in sweet smelling oils and massaged my aching body. Then, as the name suggests, she wrapped me in something very like cling film, with my arms by my side so that I couldn’t move. She covered me with a warm brown, fluffy blanket and tucked it in both sides, so that I resembled a cocoon. I wouldn’t describe myself as claustrophobic, but I am a bit of a control freak and the prospect of not being able to use my arms worried me. ‘What if I need to scratch anything?’ I thought, but I told myself to stay calm.

What happened next though ruined the calm completely. The therapist produced an eye mask and placed it across my eyes, so now, not only could I not move, I couldn’t see either. The therapist’s soft, gentle voice explained that she was going to leave me alone ‘to get nice and toasty’ but assured me that she would be back in five minutes. Lying in the dark, with only the sound of the spa music for company, my imagination ran riot. The rational side of my brain was saying, ‘It’s only for a few minutes; relax and enjoy; how often do you get the chance to do nothing?’ The irrational side (by far the larger) was screaming, ‘I can’t see; I can’t move; anyone could come in and do anything to me.’ Becoming hotter and hotter, the two sides of my brain in turmoil and having no idea what time it was, I could stand it no longer.

I flicked my head so that the eye mask flew onto the floor. ‘Okay now that’s better’, I told myself. ‘At least I can see and I am sure she’ll be back in a minute.’ However, time crawled by. I could hear footsteps and whispered voices on the corridor outside. Inside, the combination of the warm coccoon with my usual menopausal heat, meant that the temperature was soaring. In a flash of imagination induced panic, I wriggled frantically until my arms were free. I breathed easily again.

When the therapist finally rentered the room, she looked down at the crumpled mess and simply uttered, ‘Oh!’ in a quietly bemused tone. ‘Sorry,’ I whimpered, ‘I felt a bit claustrophobic.’ Once dressed, I looked at my watch: I had been in that room for an hour. Most clients may have been pleased about the extra time but not me: I now shudder at the memory. I vowed never again; I’d try something else next time. However, I can now tick off the activity on page 95, ‘Blindfold yourself and find out what it is like to be blind. Only do this where you can’t come to any harm.’ My admiration for those who are truly blind increased infinitely that day.

Fortunately, that experience didn’t put me off Champneys at all. Since then, I have tried Thalassotherapy with my husband. For those who don’t know, thalassotherapy is ‘a mineral rich warm pool with hydrotherapy jets to stimulate and tone tired aching muscles. Excellent for treating cellulite, arthritis and general muscular and joint aches and pains.’ The thalassotherapy pool at Champneys resembles a huge Jacuzzi. (Ah, I can tick something ese off the list: (page 108) ‘Have a Jacuzzi installed in your home. If you can’t afford it, at least try one in a health club.’) Of course a regular Jacuzzi is great fun, though I do wonder what some people get up to underneath the disguise of all those fierce and noisy bubbles! But the thalassotherapy was something else altogether. In fact, there is one particular jet which is perfectly aligned with the tops of my thighs. Aahh, no more needs to be said!

Although it is strange being in there with nine others, moving from jet to jet every few minutes in a rather regimental fashion, it did our muscles and aching joints a power of good. (Power being the operative word as the force of the water in those jets can leave you feeling as though you have been pummelled by a skilful masseusse.) Now I wonder how many times I’d have to dip into that pool for my cellulite to disappear?

My six visits have turned me into a confident spa user and my spa days now consist of swimming, lounging, browsing in the shop, eating healthy food and drinking vitamin filled smoothies. It doesn’t take much to make me happy. Of course, I could just as easily lie on my own settee in a dressing gown and lose myself in one of the many books on my ‘to read’ list. But I wouldn’t, would I? I’d find a job to do round the house. I appreciate that having to pay to sit and relax is a first word problem, but I am very grateful that I can afford the occasional opportunity.

So, Champney, please can I have my parking space?