A visit to the Back Man

Several days ago I woke with a cricked neck, which made me walk along doing a passable imitation of the hunchback of Notre Dame. I quite often wake up with this and find it usually passes, but yesterday I woke up feeling as if someone had driven a core of granite down my neck and along my shoulders. I couldn’t move so it was time for a trip to the chiropractor who, by some intervention of fate, had a space yesterday afternoon.

He gave the offending part a very deep massage which derived me of the power of speech for several minutes, and I lay face down on the couch, while the chirporactor sat at his desk, humming ‘while those muscles relax.’ Muscles were dumbstruck, I think, like me.
I was pondering the pain in my shoulder blades when there was a discreet knock at the door and a voice trilled, ‘Tea!’
‘Ah!’ he said, in a James Bond sort of way. ‘What’s this? And cake? How posh!’
She tittered in a Moneypenny sort of way and retired while I wondered if this was a game they played every day, and whether it was for my benefit or theirs.

He went on to cluck and click my shoulders so that I could move again, though he did say, ‘you’ll feel a bit sore for a few days,’ SORE? My right shoulder feels as if I’ve had an argument with a very tall building and is now sticking out at right angles. I’ve just checked in the mirror, it’s not, but I’m typing very gingerly, as using my right arm is a bit dodgy.

As I turned to leave, he was eyeing the (very small) cake on his desk with an expression often used by Eeyore.
‘I shouldn’t knock it,’ I said, relieved that I didn’t have to eat bright yellow cake.
‘No,’ he said gloomily. ‘I’m just wondering what I’ve got to do to earn this.’
And on that note I decided it was time to leave.