It’s the middle of the afternoon and I’m naked, save for underwear, lying beneath a clean-smelling bath sheet, knees slightly elevated above a rolled towel. I shut my eyes to block the outside world, to abide in bliss’s bubble as completely as possible. The occasional sound of an airplane outside fills my ears. Inside, Dido sings Here With Me from a CD player. But mostly, my head resonates and buzzes – vibrating with comfort and joy. My friend, Louise runs her business (called Divine MassageTherapy), from a purpose-built room in the bottom level of her home. She rakes long, strong fingers through my hair, from the crown of my head to the nape of my neck. This sends squiggles of pleasure swimming down my neck, through my torso, along my legs, to my toe-tips. It’s like the kindest, gentlest electrocution you can imagine: my head is the current’s entry point; my feet provide the exit. Oh, don’t stop, don’t stop… This is my massage mantra. And Louise give...
When you look like your passport photo, it's time to go home. - Erma Bombeck