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'I would have felt self-conscious if I'd had the surgery in England, People would have presumed I'd been beaten up, and didn't want to be gossiped about' Joy.

Joy Martin and her friend Angela are in the mood to shop. It's the third day of their holiday in the medieval Polish city of Wroclaw and the spring weather is unusually mild. In the local supermarket, a stark old-fashioned store bordering the city, they pile cartons of cigarettes and cheap Polish vodka into their trolleys.

Wroclaw is off the usual tourist trail, and Joy and Angela are the centre of attention as they wander around the town visiting shops selling traditional Polish glassware and jewellery, pausing to look at intricate silver necklaces and cheap amber rings.

The locals stare because not only are the two women wearing huge sunglasses, but they also look as though they have spent the last hour in a boxing ring. Their faces are swollen and bruised, and a sideways glance reveals rows of neat black stitches around their eyes.
'A man came up to us and asked why our faces looked like this,' says Joy, a retired divorcee from Blackpool. 'We told him we were the abused wives of a rich Arab sheikh and we were on the run. He believed us.' The truth is more prosaic. Joy, 52, and Angela, 47, have each paid £1,250 for a ten-day, reduced-price package tour to Poland, where they combine sightseeing with plastic surgery. Just two days earlier, they spent the afternoon in a spartan Wroclaw clinic having surgery to remove the bags from underneath their eyes.

They also had the wrinkles between their nose and lips smoothed out, using fat transferred from their stomach and thighs. Joy is dating a man seventeen years younger than her and thinks that surgery is the only way to bridge the age gap, 'The turning-point came when I was in a record shop with my boyfriend and the shop assistant said, "Can't you see your mother wants that record?",' she says. 'We didn't look at each other or say anything at the time, but I was gutted. Before that, the age difference hadn't bothered either of us, but then I started taking a closer look in the mirror.

'I would have felt self-conscious if I'd had the surgery in England. I wouldn't have been able to go out of the house, let alone wander around the shops. People would have presumed I'd been beaten up, and I didn't want to be gossiped about.

' As she speaks, another six women who flew out with Joy and Angela from Manchester are holed up in a guest-house on the outskirts of the city, recovering from similar bargain-basement surgery. They will spend the rest of the week exploring the sights of Wroclaw, including a visit to the opera. The less self-conscious will even venture out to local markets, and in the summer there are trips to the mountains. Joy and Angela are on a repeat visit. They met last year when they had full face-lifts costing £2,300 (including flights and accommodation). This year. shopping wins over sightseeing, and the two veterans confidently show newcomers where to go for the cheapest souvenirs and the biggest choice of vodka, a steal at £2 a litre.

'You can go to the ballet or the opera, or look around the buildings, but Angela and I did all that last year,' says Joy. 'We love the shopping because things are so cheap. Last year, it was a struggle to get on the plane home. I'd bought a dressing-table mirror decorated with carved angels and a matching clock, for £15 each. You'd be talking at least £40 apiece in England. This year, though, I'm just taking home fags and booze. You can get 200 cigarettes for £7.' This year's trip was a spur of the moment decision for both of them. 'I rang Angela a few weeks ago and said, "Fancy going back for more?" says Joy. 'I cashed in some building society shares and I thought, why not? Some people would have bought a new car, but I decided to spend it on looking good. We're already planning next year's trip for laser treatment to the lines on our chins.
On the fourth night the women, by now restless and sick of the hotel food, decide to treat themselves to a night out at an expensive local restaurant. Before leaving their rooms, the four who have had full face-lifts tie headscarves around their bandaged heads, to avoid drawing attention to themselves. Despite the dark interior of the restaurant, the women attract bemused looks from their fellow diners. Angela feels so embarrassed by the attention that she insists on being seated in the corner. Most of the group keep their sunglasses on, and they strain to read the menu, which is written in English.
Halfway through their steak and potatoes (which all but Angela have ordered), two British accountants on business in Wroclaw approach Joy's table. Despite her battered face, she begins to flirt with them. They ask what she's doing in Poland and Joy raises her voice so that her friends can enjoy the answer. 'We're here on a secret government mission,' she says, 'And I can't tell you any more.' Everybody laughs, except Angela, who is mortified. 'She'll get herself into trouble one of these days, that one,' she whispers to the others. The next day over lunch at the group's communal dining table (which is deliberately placed behind a pillar to spare the other guests the sight of so many freshly cut eyelids), Angela and Joy are giving out more advice to the others on post-operative neck drains and the inconvenience of ears that stay numb a full year after surgery.

On the fifth day, when the bruises are turning from mauve to yellow, the women begin to perk up. Alina huffs that everyone is always in far too much of a hurry to recover. 'I had a 36-year-old policewoman who came last year for a breast enlargement and nose job. On the third night after surgery she met a rich Swedish hotelier and spent every night on the town with him in his Ferrari, her nose all plastered up. She could have given herself a terrible injury if she'd knocked her nose but she knew best. She was probably trying out her new breasts. ' But no amount of nagging can hold back the group, and a minibus excursion is hastily arranged to take them around some of the region's many historic sites and some last-minute shopping venues, hairdressing appointments are also made, and the stylists pluck gently at the dried blood encrusted in the women's hair. Joy, still with stitches, submits to the agonising process of having her eyebrows tattooed, and one of the other women finds herself unable to resist an offer by Alina's dentist friend to have all her teeth fixed for £100. With so many interests to satisfy, it is no surprise that Alina is soon moaning about the second week's complex diary.

Five days later and it's time for Joy and Angela to go home. As well as champagne and cigarettes, Joy's hand luggage includes six jars of Polish pickles and a packet of local sausages. They are both pleased with the results of their surgery, though nervous at how their loved ones will react to their bruised faces. 'I can't put anything on my eyes yet because they're still too swollen,' says Joy, 'but my boyfriend is picking me up from the airport, so I've plastered the rest' of my face with make-up. I know I look like I've fought ten rounds with Frank Bruno, but I don't want to terrify him.'