can honk as hard and as noisily as you like. No one freaked out, and I got sympathetic
I’ve-been-there
glances from women as they left and entered the cubicles.
They didn’t want to intrude.
It’s not as bad as it seems. You’ll get over him.
That’s what they were thinking.
But it
was
as bad as it seems, and ‘him’ was my Angry Friend, so they were so very ( wrong wrong wrong )
.
Five minutes later I emerged and strode out, doing my superhero walk, as if I was Wonder Woman, and I sat down on my stool and took a big manly swig, finishing my filthy horrible tomato juice, and said, ‘You see?’
Niall sighed. ‘Sorry. It’s more obvious now.’
‘Get lost! What’s more obvious?’
‘You favour your right side. Your shoulders are an inch higher than they should be. Nerve pain begets muscle pain. Muscle pain distorts the body. You carry on ignoring it and you’re going to spend the next decade curled up like a woodlouse.’
‘Charming.’
‘Sorry to be blunt. Seriously. I see people with bad posture due to pain all the time.’
‘I thought I was able to hide it.’
‘Maybe you thought that. Trouble was, all that effort and you were doomed to fail, because the body you’re working on is already twisted out of shape,’ he said. ‘That’s how chronic neuropathic pain cripples so many people, and it doesn’t have to happen. If you get a sharp pain, like a burn or a punch in the head, the muscles react. You tense up. If you suffer from pain twenty-four-seven, they’re tensing up all the time.’ He held his big hands apart and pushed them together until they locked around each other. ‘They contract, and when they do that, they twist you out of shape.’
‘Oh great,’ I said, gloomily. ‘It’s bad enough feeling like this, but now I’m going to end up like some scrunched up mutant, limping along the pavements with my head tucked under my arm.’
Niall laughed. ‘No, you won’t end up like that. You don’t seem like the kind of woman to let that happen.’
I blushed.
This well-toned version of Niall Stewart is young enough to be my son
, I thought.
‘You need a good massage.’
‘I’ve just had a massage.’
‘Not the ones they give at the gym. That’s just tickling the muscles. You need a good deep-tissue massage,’ he said.
‘Really?’ I smiled, and this time it was his turn to blush.
‘Seriously, I can do a lot for you. Just say yes, twenty minutes on a table with me, and you will feel the difference.’
‘That’s what’s all the boys say,’ I said. And this time we both blushed together.
What have I got to lose?
I thought.
Twenty minutes later, and Niall was driving me to a swanky hotel in Holland Park. He explained it had a huge well-equipped spa centre, and – it just so happened – he worked there at weekends as a trainer and masseur. There were rooms we could use, if we picked the right time of day. And – it also just so happened – after lunch was one of those right times.
We went into the foyer and I sat on big ugly chairs while Niall went to reception. He explained he had to get them to ring downstairs and check if any rooms were available. There were, and soon we were in a dimly lit chamber dominated by a long low table, fuzzy with steam and filled with the heady smell of lavender.
This has got to be the most elaborate chat-up line in history
, I thought.
I emerged from the changing rooms, hugging a thick fluffy dressing gown against my body. Niall was standing by the table, and he gestured me over.
‘Step into my office,’ he grinned.
I carefully pressed the gown against my private bits.
‘Now, I have to examine you. I need you to remove the dressing gown.’
‘Yeah, right.’
‘Seriously, I do.’
‘Seriously… you don’t.’
‘I need to have a proper look at your posture, so I know where to concentrate.’
‘I’m sure you’ll need no help knowing where to concentrate.’
‘Fine.’ He threw his hands up in surrender.
I’ve-been-there
glances from women as they left and entered the cubicles.
They didn’t want to intrude.
It’s not as bad as it seems. You’ll get over him.
That’s what they were thinking.
But it
was
as bad as it seems, and ‘him’ was my Angry Friend, so they were so very ( wrong wrong wrong )
.
Five minutes later I emerged and strode out, doing my superhero walk, as if I was Wonder Woman, and I sat down on my stool and took a big manly swig, finishing my filthy horrible tomato juice, and said, ‘You see?’
Niall sighed. ‘Sorry. It’s more obvious now.’
‘Get lost! What’s more obvious?’
‘You favour your right side. Your shoulders are an inch higher than they should be. Nerve pain begets muscle pain. Muscle pain distorts the body. You carry on ignoring it and you’re going to spend the next decade curled up like a woodlouse.’
‘Charming.’
‘Sorry to be blunt. Seriously. I see people with bad posture due to pain all the time.’
‘I thought I was able to hide it.’
‘Maybe you thought that. Trouble was, all that effort and you were doomed to fail, because the body you’re working on is already twisted out of shape,’ he said. ‘That’s how chronic neuropathic pain cripples so many people, and it doesn’t have to happen. If you get a sharp pain, like a burn or a punch in the head, the muscles react. You tense up. If you suffer from pain twenty-four-seven, they’re tensing up all the time.’ He held his big hands apart and pushed them together until they locked around each other. ‘They contract, and when they do that, they twist you out of shape.’
‘Oh great,’ I said, gloomily. ‘It’s bad enough feeling like this, but now I’m going to end up like some scrunched up mutant, limping along the pavements with my head tucked under my arm.’
Niall laughed. ‘No, you won’t end up like that. You don’t seem like the kind of woman to let that happen.’
I blushed.
This well-toned version of Niall Stewart is young enough to be my son
, I thought.
‘You need a good massage.’
‘I’ve just had a massage.’
‘Not the ones they give at the gym. That’s just tickling the muscles. You need a good deep-tissue massage,’ he said.
‘Really?’ I smiled, and this time it was his turn to blush.
‘Seriously, I can do a lot for you. Just say yes, twenty minutes on a table with me, and you will feel the difference.’
‘That’s what’s all the boys say,’ I said. And this time we both blushed together.
What have I got to lose?
I thought.
Twenty minutes later, and Niall was driving me to a swanky hotel in Holland Park. He explained it had a huge well-equipped spa centre, and – it just so happened – he worked there at weekends as a trainer and masseur. There were rooms we could use, if we picked the right time of day. And – it also just so happened – after lunch was one of those right times.
We went into the foyer and I sat on big ugly chairs while Niall went to reception. He explained he had to get them to ring downstairs and check if any rooms were available. There were, and soon we were in a dimly lit chamber dominated by a long low table, fuzzy with steam and filled with the heady smell of lavender.
This has got to be the most elaborate chat-up line in history
, I thought.
I emerged from the changing rooms, hugging a thick fluffy dressing gown against my body. Niall was standing by the table, and he gestured me over.
‘Step into my office,’ he grinned.
I carefully pressed the gown against my private bits.
‘Now, I have to examine you. I need you to remove the dressing gown.’
‘Yeah, right.’
‘Seriously, I do.’
‘Seriously… you don’t.’
‘I need to have a proper look at your posture, so I know where to concentrate.’
‘I’m sure you’ll need no help knowing where to concentrate.’
‘Fine.’ He threw his hands up in surrender.
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