I did something yesterday (not sure what) that has made my lower back a bit stiff. Not ideal when tomorrow we’re heading off on a very long car journey. Fortunately it was early yoga again this morning and that always helps stretch me out. Michael joined me this morning (somewhat reluctantly). He does enjoy yoga when he does it, but it just reminds him how knackered and inflexible he feels when he can’t stretch and flex like others can. I think the yoga class leader could see that my back was stiff as he did lots of moves that were good for loosening the lower back.

Yoga was followed by breakfast and then at 11am I’d booked us both a massage in the on-site Ayurveda centre. I thought this would also be good for my back and a nice treat on our last day here. As we wandered over to get our massage I was a little anxious about the possibility of being massaged by women. Don’t get me wrong, I do like women, but it’s been a very long time since the female hand has been laid on my body – and that was not a good experience. Several years ago, one of our ex-neighbours, a slightly nuts Swedish women by the name of Anna invited us to a fancy dress party. I went as someone from the band Dexys Midnight Runners. Later in the evening, after she had dunk far too much alcohol, Anna quite unexpectedly slipped her hand inside the back of my dungarees and started to fondle my bottom, which was most unwelcome. The memory of this encounter has left me with mild post traumatic stress (PTSD) and the thought of a female masseur was slightly triggering.

Thankfully my fears were not realised, as after a quick questionnaire with a doctor to check my blood pressure, cholesterol, toilet movements etc were all ok, I was introduced to a young boy (he was probably a young man, but he looked like a young boy to me!) who showed me into the massage room. There was massage table, a side table with oils and towels, a separate bathroom and a rope strung across the room from one side to another. I wondered what an earth the rope was for, fortunately I didn’t get to find out.

When I’d booked the massage I asked what I should wear. I was told to just wear normal clothes and that a loin cloth would be provided for me to wear during the massage. I had visions of a nice cotton cloth similar to the sort worn by Ghandi, I was miss-sold! The boy instructed me to undress completely and then pulled out what could only be described as an oversized disposable face mask. He proceeded to wrap the string around my waist tieing it behind, the fabric part dangling in front. Then reaching between my legs he pulled the fabric up and tucked it into the string around my waist. Think cheap sumo wrestler outfit. As a slightly oversized teenager, some of the kids at school used to call me Sumo (a distortion of Symo, while also playing on my chubbiness). If only they could see me now – looking like a poor man’s sumo wrestler!

The boy invited me to sit on a stool where he began with the head massage. Oil was applied and his fingers started to whiz around my scalp, my neck and my ears – it reminded me of when I go to the hairdressers. I love having my hair done, it sort of sends me into a relaxed trance. After about ten minutes that part was done. Next he put a metal bowl on the floor by my feel and one by one lifted them into the bowl. He poured water over them from a metal jug, then with what at first I thought was a stone – turned out to be a slice of lime (yes my eyes really are that bad!), he rubbed one foot at a time with the lime then rinsed with the water before patting them dry with a towel.

Next it was time to lay on the massage table, first face down. For this part we were joined by a second male masseur with a bright smile and gapped teeth. A very sensible safeguarding precaution I thought. The string holding the ‘loin cloth’ was untied and the fabric part rested on the table. Then warm oil was poured from a small metal watering can all over my body. The two masseurs then started to work the oil into my body. Blimey, they were speedy and very coordinated. I thought, if this was a Charleston on Strictly they’d get 10, 10, 10, 10. It also vaguely reminded me of taking a car through a car-wash, the brushes whizzing and whacking each side. Not that they were very harsh, in fact it was a lovely relaxing sensation. After a good workout on the back half, the loin cloth was retired and I was asked to turn over onto my back.

A similar process of applying the oil was carried out followed by two pairs of hands basting me up like a good roast potatoe (non-vegans can imagine your own alternative). All was well until one of them started on my tits. It felt like he was a contestant on bake off rolling two dough buns into shape. The spirit of Frankie Howard washed over me as I could feel laughter buildings – titter ye not! For those not of a certain age, Frankie Howard was British comedian during the 1950s-1980s – he famously made lots of risqué double entendres in his stories then would feinen shocked innocence when the audience laughed at them – he was hilarious. Anyway, I bit hard on my lip to suppress a laugh, which was quite a struggle, I though ‘think if something serious’. My brother Andrew’s red face came into my head – No! That was worse, quickly before I spurted out a guffaw I thought of the dogs. Phew, the laugh was suppressed and the tits were left to rise! At the end of the front massage there was a gentle slapping of the body from head to toe – also quite similar to knocking the air out of dough.

The final stage was the head massage. The boy applied small drops of cold oil onto my face. They smelt slightly scented, like Body Shop Mornigea body wash. He proceeded to gently massage all my face, around the eyes, nose, mouth, cheeks, chin, the full works. Then that was it, I was done. I did wonder for a moment how I was going to get from the massage bench to the bathroom without looking like some B-list celebrity on dancing on ice. Thankfully they’d thought of that. Before I stood up the boy wiped down my feet removing the excess oil, then advised me to tread gently to the bathroom where I could wash the oil off.

Fully dressed and very relaxed I was escorted back to the reception area where I was reunited with Michael who’d been sent off to a separate room for his massage. The young boy applied a bindi to each of our foreheads and we were invited to sit and drink some sweet herbal tea before departing (too sweet for Michael, he’s sweet enough!). 

Looking out the window I asked about the potted labelled plants and whether they had herbal significance. I was informed that yes, they each performed a different function and that there were 100 potted plants around the Ayurveda centre that formed a herbal garden, which was used regularly in the different treatments. Tea consumed, I signed the bill and we left feeling very relaxed.