Bliya! (1) - I put on eight pounds while I was in Paris. This is disaster! Arkady and I always take few days' holidays in the sun in April and I cannot let him see me in a bikini like this. So once again I go to fat collective Mayr Clinic.
The Mayr Clinic is set in a 'Sound of Music' landscape on the banks of a beautiful lake in Austria. Inside it has the atmosphere of what I imagine a psychiatric hospital to be like - not that I have actually been to one, you understand - though I am not saying that I shouldn't have!
The inmates wander round in white towelling robes, as there is nothing to get dressed for - least of all meals - for throughout your stay, you are kept on a course of Epsom Salts to flush (and keep flushing!) the system, followed by a series of klizma (2) and intravenous infusions of multi-vitamins.
Apart from this my diet consists of an eggcup-full of unsweetened raw ewe's milk yoghurt for breakfast, then thin consommé (is such a thing possible?) and hi-energy biscuits for lunch and supper. Every mouthful has to be 'chewed' 40 times (how can you chew consommé?!) before swallowing.
The inmates vary from plump middle-aged Germans and Austrians, to Londoners there to lose weight, or to detox having 'partied too much' (like my friend Svetlana!) back home.
Awful in some ways though it is, the rich flock there because it really does purge the body of toxins and cause you to lose many weight - a pebble in 2 weeks is quite normal!
Arkady took me out on the first Saturday and we drove down to Venice for the day. While it was lovely to see him, it wasn't so lovely to see him tucking in to lobster pasta and liver of the young cow, while I was chewing my biscuits 40 times a mouthful. The waiter thought I was byezoomniy(3).
When we got back to the clinic, Arkady was permitted to have supper with me, but was so appalled at what he was presented with, that he went out to local hotel and had wienerschnitzel and fries instead.
In summary, the Mayr is a peculiar kind of torture, but it's effective, and strangely addictive, and I do always come out thinner, purged and ready to take on the world.
At KX (my gym in London), my personal trainer Dave (from Trinidad) is astonished to see me so slim and raring to go and, for once, compliments me instead of abusing me, as he usually does when I have been away. (He normally greets my arrival back from holiday with shouts of "Look at your fat ass!" or "You're an embarrassment to me, and to yourself!" - (and to think this is London's most fashionable health club!)
That evening, I attended a wonderful fundraising dinner at the V&A, hosted by my beautiful, glamorous and indefatigable friend (and fellow Russian) Yana Peel, in aid of The Design Fund to Benefit the V&A. Also present was another fellow Russian, Natalia Vodianova, and the whole design globe, including John Pawson, Tom Dixon and Patrick Perrin.
The next day, I went to the Fabergé dinner auction at The Royal Courts of Justice, hosted by Mark Shand and Sarah Fabergé. The auction lots, which included one meter-high eggs designed by Marc Quinn and Sir Peter Blake, and a Humpty Dumpty signed by your Grand Duke and Duchess of Cornwall, raised £650,000 for the Elephant Family and Action for Children charities.
Among those present were the lovely Tamara Ecclestone, Nick Candy and Holly Valance, Tom Parker Bowles, Richard and Jackie Caring, Amanda Eliasch and Nicky Haslam. The star lot was a Fabergé egg pendant, modelled on Nicky's original design, the centrepiece of which was a VAST 127 carat emerald, in a setting of gold feathers embellished with diamanty, emeralds, rubies, and moonstones.
As it's nearly Paskha (4), I will not be blogging for perhaps 2 weeks - I have booked Arkady and I into a secret new luxury hotel resort on a private island near the Grenadines, which we have not visited before. It has been recommended by my friend Valentina, who says it is the best thing, and apparently is ideal for taking your husband's mind off business and spending some quality time with you - I can't wait!
Do svidanya! (5)
(5) Bye for now!
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