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Health Spa


My View - Wednesday November 15th
 2017

Yorkshiremen don't belong in health spas. And when I say Yorkshiremen, I mean my husband. Enforced relaxation just doesn't sit right with someone who's not massive on eye contact and feels his privacy has been invaded if you text him after 7pm. He was in a bit of a quandary however,  because, although jacuzzis aren't his thing, the leisure club passes came free with our two-night booking in a log cabin near Skegness. So being from Yorkshire, he thought if it's for nowt, it's probably worth a shot. 

Honestly, I don't think I've laughed so much in ages as I looked on from my vantage point of the central tepidarium. Sam felt it necessary to "have a go" on everything, so the baggy trunks and brilliant white legs made their way cautiously around the hot tub and hydro pool, sauna, steam room and ice blast. At one point, he even dipped his big toe in the foot spa. But it wasn't for him. This is a guy who gets pleasure from standing in the driving sleet to cheer on Bradford City, in November. Given the choice of a therapeutic couple's massage with essential oils or an hour's peace on the sofa, having a think, then our well-worn DFS would win every time. 

So you can imagine how pleased he was to open a birthday card from his brother recently, enclosing a token for a reiki session. "Is it like yoga then?" he asked me. "Is it that one with the tiny bells? Or the thing where they stick a candle in your ear?". We decided to consult YouTube and watched a video called "What Happens in a Reiki Session". Doreen, the client, explained she had pain in her calf, so the healer began by hovering her non-dominant hand four inches above Doreen's head.  

Sam didn't need to watch anymore before deciding that his chakra was just fine and that I should have the birthday treat instead. He wanted me to enjoy the experience, then relay the details in order to pretend to his brother that he'd been. Now usually, I'm quite open to a bit of light collusion, but on this occasion I really didn't fancy it, not least because I'm exceptionally ticklish. Just the thought of an index finger being centimetres away from my armpit makes my ears twitch. And a stranger accidentally brushing a thumb past my instep is enough to send my aura into orbit. 

So what's this Yorkshireman to do? He could always watch the rest of Doreen's video to pick up some pointers on the kind of things you're meant to say or feel. Or he could re-gift it to a friend with an up-coming birthday in the hope they'll describe the encounter afterwards. But I think we both know there's only one option. He's going to have to break out the baggy shorts again and just get on with it.   
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