“..Why real men don’t like spas..”
“..Ill-fitting gowns, whale songs and lavender candles… no wonder many men struggle with the spa experience
It’s the incessant, cod-monastic whispering I can’t stand.
“If you’d like to come through … would you mind turning over … is that pressure OK for you?”
What? What? Speak up, woman, for heaven’s sake!
This is not a church; it’s a treatment room.
We are the only two people in the room.
Nobody will complain if you adjust the volume from snooker commentator to, say, cocktail waitress, will they?
Why is it that the average spa’s music system playlist is firmly stuck in the bad early-1990s..?
..during that preposterous “new age” period after the acid-house boom..but before the upscale scented candle boom?
Why do we always get massaged to the bleating, aural kapok of Enya and Enigma and those ubiquitous, Peruvian sodding panpipes?
Why don’t they see that it’s a man lying face down on the upholstered slab and give us some Elgar, Beethoven, Chopin or Ryuichi Sakamoto?
Why not a selection of Bowie’s instrumentals from his Low/Heroes period?
Why not William Orbit or Kraftwerk?
Why not the sound of newborn babies gurgling, the soporific white noise of an unattended hotel telly..
..or Scarlett Johansson softly reciting passages from Proust?
Then there’s the overwhelming feeling of disappointment and pointlessness that comes when you get a masseur who doesn’t work your soft bits hard enough.
You know this from the very first touch when his/her pressure is akin to a tentative stroke of a friend’s new puppy.
Great, you think.
Now I am going to have to lie here for the next hour, with no trousers on, basted like a Christmas turkey, bloody Enya simpering away in my ear..
..while some failed hairdresser rhythmically tickles away at my flabby parts..
..as if petting a consumptive hamster..”
go to source/story>>Why real men don’t like spas - Times Online