Pampering at a Price

Years ago a friend gave Himself a voucher for an Indian Head Massage for his birthday.

“I went in there to have a haircut and they gave me one of these as well,” he said. “I tell you, it’s better than sex.”

Coming from this particular man, that was saying something. But Himself, being of a suspicious nature when it comes to things alternative, declined the voucher. I don’t know what he thought an Indian Head Massage might do to him (scalp him?) but he viewed it with a mixture of fear and horror.

This year for Christmas Himself gave me a voucher at one of the hotels in Falmouth that has a health spa. Having looked at the brochure I realised that the voucher wasn’t going to cover the price of the cheapest ministration, but I kept quiet about that and booked myself in for an Indian Head Massage. It wasn’t till later that I remembered that endorsement, honest.

So on Saturday I went along. I was knackered and the thought of being pampered was like a dream come true.

Walking into this spa was like entering the health pages of a glossy magazine. Piped music floated forth from invisible speakers, tea lights danced in the soft light, and smells of sandalwood, peppermint, thyme and lavender mingled in the warm air.

I waited, propped on plump pillows, while Anne finished off her previous patient (not her words) and thought how nice it was to do nothing for once.

Then the door to the spa burst open and a young fellow dressed it sports kit (with very muscular legs) strode in followed by two giggling beauty therapists, all carrying a plateful of hot food. The pungent smell of gravy and roast potatoes wafted over in my direction and my stomach gave a large gurgle. Was I going to be fed as well?

Unfortunately the food wasn’t part of my treatment, and the three young ‘uns disappeared into some back room like the witches of Eastwick carrying their mouthwatering plates with them.

Just after that Anne appeared and took me through, and for the next half an hour my shoulders, back and neck were de-stressed. She massaged them with an aromatherapy oil that made me feel almost drugged I was so relaxed. Then she started no the head massage and – well, if you like having your head massaged at the hairdresser, you’ll love this. I could feel every ounce of tension being rung out of me. Wonderful and quite dizzymaking – in the nicest possible way.

Afterwards I was told to get dressed and lie down in the relaxation room where there were the equivalent of sun loungers, water (hot and cold), herbal teas and an abundant supply of magazines.

Heaven. I did say to Himself afterwards that this place was pampering at a price.

‘Of course,’ he said. ‘You’re not going to be pampered in a bus shelter, are you?’

He has a point. So if ever you feel like being pampered, go for an Indian Head Massage. I can see what our friend meant. Almost.