Today, I will mostly be wearing foodstuffs......

Last week, in the name of hard manual labour, I found myself lying on a massage couch covered from head to foot in sea salt, melted chocolate and finally gold, thank you very much.
I had been asked to cast my eye over a new five-star hotel – the Iberostar Odysseus – on the Greek island of Kos. (I know, dirty work, but I do it for you, dear punter, so you don’t end up in crap places).
This latest baby in the global Iberostar chain is properly on the beach - not in the way that lots of hotels say they are on the beach, when what they mean is they’re on the wrong side of a thirteen lane highway that runs parallel to the coast.

I remember staying at one of those once. As the crow flew it was indeed about 100yards from the nearest beach. Unfortunately to reach the sea (ferry port), you had to walk four hundred yards west to catch a bus which then headed three miles east along the dual carriageway, up to a bridge over the highway, round a roundabout, back down the other side and go west again where the bus stopped, 50 yards from the hotel. The bus stopped twelve times and took half an hour. And only ran twice a day, so if you missed it in the morning you couldn’t go to the beach until after lunch. In those days we drank too much Tequila and stayed up till stupid o clock so we always missed the morning bus.


Hallelujah, the Odysseus was where it was supposed to be. Here my room was 50yards from the waves. I walked through glass doors to my personal deck and down my personal steps to my personal plunge pool, where there was nothing to see except palm trees, sun loungers on lawns, the ocean – oh, and Turkey.

The Odysseus is about 3.5 miles from the Turkish mainland. In August, the Greeks swim there and the Turks swim back. It’s a friendly race and the same 16-year-old girl has won for the last three years. She’s Greek, as the Greeks are quick to point out. (The Greeks and the Turks are friends now, they tell me, but ‘we shake hands rather than hug’).

Despite its infancy, the Odysseus pretty much sold out its 267 rooms in July and August and straight away you can see why. Fantastic kids club for family jaunts and full conference facilities for business folk and thanks to a wide, open, single-level layout, an atmosphere of calm for both. 

And the most stunning (and certainly the longest) beach front pool I’ve ever had the joy to swim in. I ploughed its 190m length – nearly twice that of an Olympic pool - before breakfast (name a food stuff, you could have it - cheeses, meats, fruits, pastries, full English and a mountain of oranges ready for squeezing) as the waves broke to my left and the sun shone over the hills above Bodrum.

In the evening, it was also the perfect spot to lounge with a Greek mojito (made with Metaxa) from the little beach bar and watch the sunset over the Greek island of Pserimos, population 23. (Our captain told us of another island we could visit nearby with a population of only two. An Italian lady and her Greek husband. Well, ex-husband actually. So, in fact, population, one. The government had given them land and farming rights and paid them to stay there on their own little island. Sounds like paradise but in the end you’d have to get on really, really well, wouldn’t you?)

If you’re not shackled to the dreaded school holidays, skip high season and go in May, June, September or early October. The weather is warm enough to sunbathe, sit outside all evening, and dive off boats between islands for a swim with the dolphins. You don’t have to book restaurants and child care eight years in advance and it's cheaper. The Odysseus has three adult pools (one indoor) and two children’s and there was never anyone else in the pool with us.
If you venture away from the hotel (sounds mad, but it’s kind of tempting to stay put!) you can actually stroll down the beautiful old cobbled streets of Kos town without feeling like you’re battling the tube at rush hour in a heat which in August often reaches 40°. You can properly explore the ancient castles, markets and harbours without getting fourteen Germans, a Saga coach trip and most of the British school population in your photo.

Of course, with hotels like the Odysseus, you’d be forgiven for plonking your bags and staying in. From the minute you enter the stylish lobby, you can’t help but relax.
Especially at the Spa. Now I’m not an expert on these things, but the Aphrodite Spa did make me feel like a bit of a goddess. First of all I was scrubbed from shoulders to toes with Aegean sea salt and almond oil until I was raw as a monkey's bottom and then ushered into a shower to rinse it all off, which stung. Back on the couch I was smothered from head to toe, back and front, in a melted chocolate concoction and then wrapped in crisp, white sheets, covered in towels and left to cook for fifteen minutes. I fell asleep worrying about how the hell they were going to get the sheets crisp and white again. When I woke they sent me back to the shower again to wash off the chocolate. Guiltily I asked the young Greek girl how they would clean the sheets in this island where it hasn’t rained since February and all the olive trees were dying. She smiled and said, ‘yes’. (If you're looking for a natter in English this isn't the place, but for my money, the more charming for it). Finally I was massaged with a local lemon oil infused with real gold ‘to make you shimmy’. I did glow as I left but, as I was staggering like a drunkard rather than dancing sexily, I think they meant shimmer. My skin felt amazing - last time it was this soft I was having my nappy changed.

After my tough day of lying down I was famished. There are three restaurants – a beach tavern, a la carte Grill and buffet. I selected a cold salad of stuffed courgettes and vines, olives, and calimari, and thought it would be rude to turn down the excellent local wine. Next to me a family was tucking in to home-made fish fingers, chicken and noodles.
Somehow, the Odysseus pulls off that tricky feat of being all things to all people. It ran a full programme of activities, without destroying its atmosphere of peace and quiet. Daily volleyball matches ran alongside corporate days, rental bikes zoomed past business men arriving in black cars. Children built sandcastles while below them companies occupied the conference suites. Nothing was too much trouble and everyone was happy.
Next October they’re running a Greece v Turkey windsurfing race. Fear not, I will selflessly return to check it all out for you....

Details:
Iberostar Odysseus, Tigaki, Kos
Tel: 0030 22420 49900
Email: odysseus.hotel@iberostar.com.gr
Garden rooms: 14th May 2011 from £718, two people sharing, half board.

Eat less, move more.....

I've crammed a load of different things into my life. I have charmed a certain number of people into believing this makes me multi-talented, widely travelled and well read. There are others – a group which includes my mother, at least one sister and a husband – who attribute it to a short attention span, which I think is just mean.
Today I was mostly wearing my nutritionist hat, attending a fascinating conference on diet. It was fascinating mainly because this was a gathering of the globe’s most highly qualified and experienced experts, flown in from all corners of the world to help combat obesity – and I’ve never heard such a load of old cobblers.
Now I’m very sorry, but after many years of working in the fitness industry, I’m certain this is not something the World’s Best Brains need to spend millions researching and three days discussing. I sat through lectures by Doctor Bangonalot who told us that the only way to shed pounds was to measure every meal’s carb-protein ratio correctly. Another dietician with a whole alphabet of letters after his name and twenty years experience had flown from New Zealand to announce that the only proven method was to eat nothing for six months. Er, what now? Nothing? Nothing. At all.
The third speaker declared she’d developed a ground-breaking system. She’d been working on it full time for the last three years, thanks to a massive government research grant (don’t ask, I can’t bear to tell you). She had reached the conclusion that the most effective way to lose weight is to go to a supportive club like Weight Watchers but – and here’s where you get your money’s worth people – combine it with her own unique exercise programme. Which was available to buy.
I may be a Jack-of-all-trades rather than a global master of one like these folk, but three hours was enough for me, never mind three days. I high-tailed it out of there, grabbing a complimentary chocolate from the lobby (I promise I’m not joking) on the way out.
A few years ago I had an idea for my own diet book which I planned to bring out in time for the Christmas market. Now I’m seriously going to do it.
Because my diet is the only one that really works long term. I call it the ‘Eat less, move more’ diet. My plan is to create a book with a truly sumptuous cover that you want to treasure forever, maybe a gorgeous design or that heavy moleskin that you get on upmarket travel journals.
Embossed on the cover would be the immortal words, ‘Eat less, move more.’ Inside the paper would be of the best quality, and the fly sheet would say it again, in gold maybe. ‘Eat less. Move more’.
The rest of the book would be blank. Because that’s it, isn’t it? I could put it a few other ways; ingest fewer calories than you burn; eat a cake, run a mile; use more energy than you take in; but it’s all just words and I can’t be bothered to think of any more (unless I get a few hundred grand in a research grant, which is a possibility).
I know there are psychological factors and occasional medical conditions that affect people’s weight but, honestly, hand on heart, that is not what these people were talking about.
My charming book will make the perfect gift for loved ones this Christmas. It will be useful in so many ways - diary, recipe book, photo album – and an absolute bargain at just £23.99.
If I sell enough in the run up to Christmas, I’ll treat the family to extra champagne, a couple of free range geese and Christmas pudding. In the right carb-protein ratio of course.

Chrysler proves that size matters

I've never been very interested in cars. As long as they start every time and are big enough to get the dog in the boot, I’m largely happy. And if they hardly burn any fuel, my cup runneth over.
I don’t care what make or colour they are and I don’t care what the registration is. My daughter is at a school where these things matter more than world peace. In fact they will only be your friend if you fulfil the make/colour/registration criteria and I don’t, which is why none of them ever asks me to lunch.
Recently some mums from the school world collided with some friends of mine from the real world and somehow my name was brought up in a work capacity. The School Mums were gobsmacked. ‘We had no idea,’ they said. ‘But then she is so very quiet, isn’t she?’ At which point the sparkly wine came out of my friends' noses.
When I arrived at school next morning, a PTA stalwart called out, ‘Morning! You’re a dark horse, aren’t you?’ I assumed she was talking to someone else. She hurried to catch me as I walked past her to my old jalopy. ‘We must have coffee sometime’, she trilled. ‘I really don’t feel like I know you very well at all.’
She must have struggled to believe the previous evening's stories as I gawped idiotically at her and then, because the lock on my door was bust, crawled in through my car boot to the driver’s seat.
So when I agreed to review Chrysler’s new Grand Voyager, I wasn’t expecting to be impressed. I’m not a petrolhead, I’m a mum; torque and acceleration from 0-60 are nowhere near as important to me as which bits will collapse if you hit a truck and whether you can get a hoola hoop in the boot.
I remember driving the BMW X5 when it first came out. I was expected to be in awe of this top-spec, top-priced new car. My verdict? Lovely stereo - but for listening to music, not so comfy. And driving it was horrible. The thick struts at the back made lane changing in London an extreme sport – I couldn’t see a thing. There were loads of gadgets that made life harder and more complicated, rather than easier. It took three days and an electronics degree to change the radio station.
When my Chrysler arrived, I wasn’t excited. It looked like a very big, silver American car. So far, so exactly as expected.

But inside – O.M.G as my daughter would say. I can only think that, for once, the designers on this family car must, in fact, have had a family. Because they have thought of EVERYTHING.
The reason for having a car this size is because you are carrying lots of people and / or stuff. To make life easier the side doors slide open remotely, as does the boot, so you can actually get in - or out - while carrying school bags, shopping, children, dogs and double basses (which, by the way, will fit in the boot). And once inside, you forgive how enormous the car looks on the outside because, uniquely, it is that big on the inside as well. My giant dog could lie down between the back seats.
In the middle row of seats there is hidden, under-floor storage which - hallelujah - is actually big enough to put stuff in. So often this sort of space is a gimmick, loved by kids who can hide their pencil case and sweets in it, but in reality, not a lot of use. In the Chrysler, heading off for the weekend, someone peering through the windows would think we were taking nothing with us. The 140-mile trip was by far the most comfy ever, not least because we weren’t all jammed in amongst our bags, despite there being five children in the two back rows of seats. Add to this the fact that the car is very quiet, genuinely lovely to drive and temperature controlled (it was a very hot weekend) and we could have doubled the distance without a complaint.
There are two other major plus points about the new Grand Voyager that make it the perfect family car. Despite its size, it used no more diesel than my little hatchback. And to clinch it, when we arrived at our destination, a narrow lane with a sharp bend off a main road, this enormous beast turned almost on its own axis to manage the turn. The handling is amazing. You can park it in spaces two inches bigger than the car.
Of course the thing that makes me happiest is not always the same for the rest of my family. The in-car entertainment system is seriously neat.
The Grand Voyager has two rows of remote control, drop-down TV screens. The dashboard control panel is quick and easy to use. I’m technologically very dumb but in a couple of minutes I’d popped the post code into the sat nav, flipped over the panel to put in the DVD and the children had their headphones on and were enthralled. I set the controls back to the radio for myself and off we went.
Talking of what makes me happy, one of my favourite gadgets on this car was the automatic fish eye camera. The same central screen on the dashboard becomes a camera whenever you start to reverse. So in addition to its brilliant all-round visibility and big wing mirrors you can clearly see the cat sunbathing on the drive behind your wheels the instant you engage reverse gear.
This car ticks all my boxes, including the boxes I didn’t know I had. If you’d asked me whether I wanted to fold the entire back row of seats into a flat boot by pressing a button, I’d have shrugged. But when you arrive back at the car carrying a saddle, a couple of guitars and an overnight bag, you don’t need seats, you need space – and you can get it without having to put your prom dress on the ground. It has ‘cigarette lighter’ points by the back seats so the ipads (or lap tops if you’re carrying adults) don’t run out of batteries en route. It has a detachable, pretty decent torch clipped into the boot. I could go on but you get the picture.
Admittedly I didn’t test whether you can hurl this beast around a hairpin at 100mph or screech to a halt in snow at the same speed. I didn’t drive it into a wall and see if it collapsed. But it is a quality build and if what you need is comfort, space and adaptability I think you would really struggle to find anything better. My children didn’t speak to me for days after we handed it back.