COLUMNISTS I dimly remember from biology lessons that most cells in the human body renew themselves every seven years. Come the end of year, though, a part of me keeps hoping that researchers will discover that they were wrong and that this rejuvenation is actually an annual event, taking place overnight on December 31. Of course, even if this doesn’t happen, seven-year-old cells are still pretty young, at least compared to my real age. It’s just that, if there were to be an end-of-year report on my performance in the subjects of health and beauty, I wouldn’t be surprised to see the phrase, “must try harder,” against a few categories.
As a result, I tend to start the new year not by putting my faith in a crash diet and a weekend detox but by investing in something more serious: a week-long stay at my favourite spa, the Mayr Clinic in Austria, with its wild-flower meadow surroundings, mountain vistas and lakeside setting. I know this still makes me a January cliché but, in the interests of well-being, I am willing to endure being a stereotype. Besides, the Mayr is the very antithesis of those hotels that offer preen and pamper packages. There you get a week of gentle exercise and a regime of spelt bread and sheep’s yogurt (for breakfast and lunch only – dinner is banned). As a result you lose pounds and gain – or at least I do – an almost evangelical devotion to its strictures.
