Will we? Won't we? It turns out that the science in the drugs and the magic in the soup that I got Daryl yesterday are having some effect and she's feeling well enough for the drive to Italy. So the answer is, we will!
After I've walked the dog walk and Daryl's sorted out the packing – which practically wipes her out – we're off. Approximately six hours later, we arrive at the hotel, tired and fractious.
The hotel looks lovely, but on check in I am asked a barrage of questions about our stay, when all I really want to do is flop on a bed after the drive. The final straw comes when, having spent five solid minutes answering questions, and having moved the fondue that we apparently have to order well in advance for some reason to another day, and having chosen meat over cheese, I am asked if I prefer oil to bouillon. I'm afraid I snapped. I beat the desk with my fist saying 'I don't bloody care whether I have oil or bouillon. Just show me to my room, please, I'm really tired.' I don't often snap, but when I do, people tend to appreciate that I'm not in the mood to be trifled with.
The room however is fantastic. We've been upgraded to a suite and it's amazing. There's a Hammam in the bathroom, there's a log fire in the drawing room, and there s a stunning south facing view of the mountains that we'll be skiing on. It really is very special. Although I'm sure, after my outburst at reception, if the receptionist could have un-upgraded us, he probably would have...
Daryl's booked a treatment on arrival, and it turns out that someone has cancelled their massage, so I nab it. Just what the doctor ordered after a long drive, an hour's deep tissue massage. Lovely and the spa seems pretty good. In fact pretty good doesn't do it justice, as I find out the next day.
We've booked dinner in the Wine and Grill – the least posh of the four restaurants this Hotel has to offer. On Friday we're eating in the one with two Michelin stars, but tonight, we're keeping it plain. I do however, forget about portion control in Italy, or rather the lack of it. The starters are easily the size of a main course, as are the main courses. Desserts are out of the question, and we're both so full up that we barely get back to the room.
There is a bar, but it's empty. I suspect that this has something to do with the appalling live music that is amplified way too loudly. It's a guy at a piano surrounded by enough technology to run a space shuttle, which gives him all the orchestral, drums and seven piece brass band backing that a guy alone at a piano in an empty bar in a hotel could possibly wish for.
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