Nuns on the run.

You don't want nurseries; you don't want chari-dee; you want nuns. So nuns you shall have!

OK. It went like this. 2 weeks ago I left my Elf in the care of her father for a weekend and went on a retreat to a convent in a place called St Loup, about half an hour from here by train. I would link to it, just to show how beautiful it was (and because I highly recommend the experience), but unsuprisingly I don't think the sisters have advanced quite that far into the digital age. The place was very simple, with decor unchanged from the '50s: no warty influence of Ikea anywhere to be seen. The beds were small and the plumbing was ancient, and there were little specially-marked hooks for things like 'sink cloth' and 'bath scourer': if cleanliness is next to godliness, then nowhere is this more true than Switzerland.

I chose the 'personal' rather than 'guided' retreat option, which meant that aside from brushing past each other in corridors, I only really got to hang out with the nuns at meal times: 0800, 1200 and 1800 - kick-off being as the clock struck. There was also a meeting once a day to sing a song or two and read the Bible. Hitherto, I have had no close encounters with nuns: I have no Catholic upbringing (even these ones weren't Catholics), and I know some nuns can be creepy and downright evil like that film "The Magdalene Sisters." But these ones were pretty impressive. The average age was about 75 (apart from one exception who was younger than me), and had they not been wearing habits, you'dve thought you were in a retirement village. (They raved about Eastbourne when I told them I was English.) They also had some funny old lady habits (no pun here) like mainlining cup after cup of very strong tea. What is it about the elderly and tea? The hours I have spent in hospitals badgering old people to drink water instead.

I digress. What really impressed me about these women is that most of them had entered convent life when they were in their early twenties, and 50 years on, there was a lot of chatting and laughing and easy affection between them. I wonder (and hope) if Rob and I will be like that in 50 years. They also combined a passion for the Gospel with being quick with a put-down - but in a way that was truthful, not hurtful. You also got the impression that they had seen a lot of life: the convent is attached to a hospital where most of them worked before retiring, so it has hardly been a cloistered existence.

There is also something definitely 'other' and a bit fascinating about nuns, too. I had to hold myself back from launching into a raft of probing, personal questions ("Why are you a nun?" "Did you ever regret the life you chose?""Does the outfit itch?" etc) I asked one if she enjoyed life in the convent: "Don't be daft! I wouldn't have stayed if it was that bad" she cackled. "But like marriage, sometimes you choose to stay faithful."

The dynamics between fellow retreaters can be a bit strange, too. Part of the point of the retreat is to spend time alone, so you feel a bit hesitant about engaging in the usual social chatter ("So what soul-wrenching personal crisis brings you here?") but at the same time you don't want to be rude.

I guess the question remains 'did it do what it says on the tin?' - the retreat, I mean, nuns aside. On my tin it said something like 'pray and worship God; say sorry; accept grace in Christ; have faith renewed; think about the future.' And the answer is yes, it did, apart from the last part, the bit about the future which is (ironically), the reason I chose to do a retreat in the first place. I didn't get round to it, because I ran out of time - enjoyably so.

And the nuns - well, they were great. I find it sad that it's obviously not a popular career choice these days and that in less than 30 years, there will be no nuns left. Apart from one, who will be a sprightly 57 or so.