Some luxury bloody retreat this is turning out to be.
There is a brief questioning silence hanging in the air while the entire group turn, too interested as to what I’m about to say next, but I’m beaten to it by Gandalf.
‘Vee encourage self-love, of course vee do,’ he says, ‘but without the intervebs, yah?’
Self love? This barmy oddball thinks that while I’m in the middle of a substantial breakdown, the thing I’d focus on would be rubbing myself raw to whatever I can find on the dark web?
‘No. No. No. You’ve got it all wrong,’ I say forcefully. I’ve just about had enough of people for one day. ‘I don’t need the internet for… ’ The entire group is staring at me.Why am I bothering?‘I’ve got better things to do than… look, I need the wifi for something really urgent. It’s work-related.’
‘Vee are one heart. One tribe. One Earth,’ he says doing a heart shape with his hands as though it is somehow relevant.
Before I can clarify, Gandalf hands over to a similarly dressed white warlock with flowing Jesus waves, a pointed grey goatee and a handlebar moustache, called Endless Cloud. I stare mesmerised at his multi-coloured rubber foot gloves. He smiles beatifically and gives us a little bow as he says, ‘Namaste’, before putting a shushing finger gently to his lips (to halt the childish sniggers from the group) and turns to give me a waggle of his woolly eyebrows.
Dear God Almighty.
There are a dozen or so of us in the group. Endless Cloud gathers us around him so that we are sitting in a shamanican circle. We are told that we each have an individual itinerary for our stay as he hands round an information pack to each of us, plus some mandatory group activities that we all must do; spirit dance, tribal drums, third eye healing techniques, New Moon incantations, gong therapy, throat singing, charcoal nibbling and so on.
‘Your wibe is your tribe,’ he repeats to each of us in turn.
‘Vibe,’ I say as he bends low to hand me the itinerary. I’m still annoyed over the lack of wifi and feeling petty. ‘It’s vibe, not wibe.’
He smiles and floats away as though I hadn’t said a word.
I scan the leaflet only to be dealt a further devastating blow – no sugar, no wheat, no dairy, NO ALCOHOL. Even Oliver appears alarmed at this. No meat, no caffeine, no gluten, NO SPEAKING for certain periods of time. We have slots when we are allowed to speak. SLOTS!!!
What the feck have I done?This is cruel torture. And I’ll be far, far worse off for not having a drink tonight after the day of shit I’ve had. There’s no way I’m putting up with that. What about the fine dining and the excessive wine intake? It’s my birthday for God’s sakes.
‘Excuse me again,’ I say, interrupting Endless Cloud. ‘It says here no alcohol? That doesn’t include wine, does it? I assume you mean no liqueurs or spirits?’ I ask, my voice almost a whimper. This time the whole group is nodding hopefully along with me. Oliver gives me an enthusiastic thumbs up.
Gandalf jumps in to answer. ‘Elly-nellyeor, alcohol no eez necessary for your alone activity.’
Jesus Christ, he still thinks I’ve only come here to get pissed and flick myself off.
‘It’s not for that. I just…’ I say, tailing off. I feel the fight draining from me. I’m exhausted.
What to say? I need an industrial-sized glass of wine to combat the fact that I have critical levels of toxic bitterness seeping through my veins? I feel out-of-control anger towards my sister and ex-boyfriend whenever I think of them? And I just told a multitude of fibs to get a job that I desperately need and now won’t be able to do because there’s no bloody wifi?
I can feel my lip wobble. ‘It’s my birthday today.’
Gandalf closes his eyes and arranges his fingers to make a peace sign. After a few moments it is clear that he may stay frozen this way for some time.
Pointless. Utterly pointless.
I receive a few half-hearted birthday congratulations, but the alcohol-free bombshell has sapped the joy from us all.
‘I’ll see if they can organise a birthday cake for you,’ Oliver says quietly to me. The sudden kindness brings a lump to my throat.
‘When is dinner?’ Oliver asks Gandalf.
Gandalf’s eyes spring open, quick to answer. ‘Hunger is a state of mind.’
‘Well, no, it clearly isn’t,’ Oliver says impatiently. ‘We missed the evening meal because we were delayed by…’ He looks over his shoulder at me and I wait for him to blame me for the airport mix-up with the police. ‘… by an incident at the airport. We’ll both need to eat.’
Thank God, I’m starving.
‘Eez good you fast. No food. Just sleep. Autophagy will reset entire immune system,’ Gandalf says with a smile as though this is good news.
Oliver’s jaw drops open. I look him up and down again. He probably needs to eat his body weight in protein every day to maintain that kind of physique.
