I live in a town at the bottom of mainland Australia, near the bottom of the world, so on travelling anywhere nearer to the top, like England, the body clock suffers a terrible divergent tick. Jet lag is as inevitable as my outrageous post holiday Amex bill. But last year I found an antidote. It’s in the English countryside where mist floats like angels, willows curtsy to the river and ducks waddle faster than our peaceful strolls. Our hotel, a twenty-minute drive from Heathrow, sits on the banks of the middle-Thames’, Windsor. There’s tourism in the region but we ignore it all for two days, replacing the clouds of jet lag with luxurious napping, relaxed dining and meanders through lush hotel gardens.
Clock re-set and we’re ready to hit London!
Do you have a cure for jet lag?