Thai massage was more like torture

When I arrive at the Thai Square Spa in London’s Covent Garden, it’s not what I’m expecting. Indeed, I appear to have walked into a restaurant-shop hybrid. Thankfully, the spa is located underneath the shop and there’s no sight — or smell — of anything remotely noodley. It’s very tranquil. I’m here for a two-hour Thai massage, something I’ve never experienced, but which I hope will be two hours of blissful relaxation. I’m led into a changing room and given some paper-light pyjamas to wear. Then, I’m escorted through to the treatment room, which I shall refer to as the torture chamber from now on. Because, my goodness, it hurt. At first, the stretching as the therapist pulled my limbs nearly out of their sockets was rather liberating — I could feel knots being released and muscles regaining their shape. But then she started using her feet. Have you ever had a person stand on your inner thigh while you lie on your back? No? It’s not my idea of soothing. This teeny tiny Thai masseur contorted me into positions I didn’t even manage when I was a gymnast at junior school. Don’t get me wrong, Thai massage must have its fans and I’m sure the therapist was well-qualified and performed a perfect massage. For anyone who likes being manhandled for two hours while wearing pyjamas, it must be blissful. But it just wasn’t for me. Next time, I’m booking a facial.