I Took My Mother to a Spa for the Weekend and This is What Happened

I’ve reached that age where I truly enjoy spending time with my mother. Unfortunately enough she’s reached that age where her priority is to find me a husband. In this new series I intend to take my mother to new places and document the consequences. Lets be honest - one of the Journalism God’s gifts to young writers and media makers is the press trip. They’re a hoot. We get to visit hotels and hotspots around the country, wining, dining and calling it work.

Knockcranny House 

Luckily, I’ve done a handful over the years and last weekend I was delighted to head to Knockcranny House in Westport. I decided, for the first time, to take my Mother Trish. Now to preface this series of events know a few details; firstly, Trish and I have never been to a Spa Retreat. Secondly, having recently attended a wedding, Trish has started mentally crafting her Mother-of-The-Bride Speech for my non-existent wedding to my non-existent fiancé. And finally, Trish has, in recent weeks, become Ireland’s most stoic Marriage Equality supporter. She has a mild but concerning addiction to Words With Friends, Facebook and memes. My inbox is filled daily with suggestions for stories and YouTube clips. The press trip begins on the Friday but we’re both working late and decide to head on the Saturday morning. Sadly this means missing the arranged bike tour and when I tell Trish I can rearrange the recreational cycle for Sunday morning she says, “There’s absolutely nothing recreational about 29km”. The woman has a fair point. We arrive in Knockcranny before 12 and are checked into a suite bigger than the downstairs of our Dublin 2x2. Trish narrates a tour of the room as she films it on her iPad. The bathroom is giant and features heavily in her video footage.

 We instagrammed almost everything 

As we wander the hotel we discover a wedding of 250 guests is due to take place that evening. Mother dearest starts scheming. I remind her that we have dinner plans and my words fall on deaf ears. It has begun. Afternoon Tea with the press group is scheduled for 2pm and Trish is insistent, insistent, that nothing is left behind as she wants a before and after picture for Instagram. In fairness, it’s no difficulty to polish off the miniature treats. She begins floating the idea of crashing the wedding to the rest of the group and I see the glee in her eyes when she hears it’s not outside the realm of possibility. Encouragement is the last thing this woman needs.

 Afternoon Tea

The other’s change out of the cycle attire and we get a beer because “we’re on holidays”. We each have a spa treatment booked and my full body massage is divine. I relax completely and idiotically forget I’ve left Mother unsupervised. Mother has a hydrotherapy bath and is waiting for me after in the relaxation room, two cocktails richer. She’s beaming though it’s hard to say whether it’s from the treatment or the award wining cocktail. Trish describes her treatment as a half hour bath with super jets to release muscle tension and aches and pains. I personally have never seen a cleaner looking human. There’s a hair salon and we get curly blow dries because the decision to crash the wedding has not yet been fully dismissed. They are the most bouffant curly blow dries I’ve ever encountered and I count 19 brushes on my head.

19 hair brushes later 

Dinner is preceded by more divine award winning cocktails. In fact, the more we have, the more divine they become.

Award winning cocktails 

Dinner is served in La Fougére Restaurant. The hotelier Geraldine joins us. In casual conversation Geradline told Trish she had seven children and this fact seems to baffle my mother more and more throughout the night. The meal itself is easily some of the greatest food I’ve ever eaten. Honestly if I could only ever eat one meal again it would be the black pudding and crispy egg starter. The prompt table server refills our glasses regularly and the age-old “magic refilling glass” joke is made.

Black pudding and crispy egg 

During the meal we sit beside Niamh and John. Niamh is a fellow writer, professional and invitee of this trip. John is her charming brother and someone Trish has taken a large and concerning liking to. As the magic glasses keep magically refilling, mother dearest begins the tale of “Marian, Gillian & Gillian’s husband”. This tale has been lorded over my head for the past number of years. It’s a story, in which, my neighbour Marian approaches a young man on holidays, asks him to take her daughter Gillian out on a date and Gillian and the aforementioned man subsequently marry and live happily ever after. This tale, this one tale of success, is enough to convince Trish she has the matchmaker potential to rival Cilla Black and/or Tinder. Poor John. Throughout the course of the evening he’s invited to lamb dinner, to meet my nana and told repeatedly that my father will approve.

 Trish and John

 We move to the bar and Trish is in full Yenta mode and starts gravitating towards Geradline, no doubt, full of advice on how she should run her successful hotel. I catch snippets of the conversation and to be fair, an over 50’s spa package and a group deal seem appropriate, as the place is ideal for a girly weekend away.

However not before long the Baileys are being poured and Mother has secured Geraldine as a friend for life. Numbers are exchanged. I nip to the loo and my number is swiftly dished out to an accosted John. Conversation is flying and there’s a really warm welcoming atmosphere. The next day we are hanging. Like really terrifyingly and truly hung over. The full Irish breakfast is much needed and eases the hangover. Trish is tremedously baffled by her uneasy state.   “I only had one glass of wine,” she says.

The cure 

    Verdict: Knockranny House is absolutely beautiful and set amongst the stunning surrounds of Westport. The food is a ten out of ten and the spa is heavenly. Should you take your mammy there? Absolutely.