Saturday, 8 November 2008

Strip please

There are times when life just gets in the way of everything. There are also times when everything in life just gets a little odd.

Like Wednesday for example.

I'm not one to spurt toxic rantings so you probably don't know that some guy in the gym fucked my shoulder up for me. This has nothing to do with it.

I go to my Doc on Wednesday who refers me to an osteopath and I says to the Doc, "but Doc - and osteo's for the back Doc", but the Doc insists it's the right thing.

So on Wednesday evening I pitch up at the College of Osteo-something just behind Finchley Road in North West London.

(Again re-proving my theory that all the world you could ever need is contained in London, between Swiss Cottage and West Hampstead tube stations.)

Basically, they're all final year students who're desperate for people to practice on and this evening I am their guinea pig.

Miss Pringle is a large professor and tutor dressed in what seems to be a very large starched napkin.

She explains to me what is going to happen and then utters the dreaded words. "Please strip down to your underwear."

They're simple black Debenhams briefs, thank god. I don't know what's worse in this situation; aussieBums or ones with holes in them.

Then, three students - all young woman - take it in turns to push my shoulder, twist my arms around, put me in a headlock, make me stand against the wall, pull my shoulders back again, punch me in the spine and thrust their elbows into my ribs.

As they do it, Miss Pringle bellows like the drill sergeant in Full Metal Jacket; "now Miss Lovemore - have you checked the anterior fibulous deltoid?" Or whatever.

We finally learn that I have a something that, in Latin, sounds impressive.

The upshot is that on seven more occasions I am going to have to spend at least an hour and a half standing around in my underpants as four woman take it in turn to treat me rough.

That's not the distressing bit. What upsets me the most is that for the next six weeks any upper body training is out.

I figure this is my moment to attain the best legs in the whole of the gym. Legs and cardio for the next six weeks.

Finally, at the end of our session Miss Pringle emits a shimmer of light into the consulting room.

"I must be honest that it's good to have you which is why I'd like you to come back so often. We generally only get middle-aged to elderly people so it's nice for the girls to be able to practice on someone who is nicely developed."

A kind compliment wrapped in selfish motive. God the British are so good at it.

6 comments:

Victor said...

I think I would rather get the class with the male students in it.

fleetmonkey said...

I know what they mean about the osteopaths normal age range. My Mum lives opposite a private practice - you can sometimes glimpse people sat in their dressing gowns prestripped waiting to go in. I will admit a small thrill the occaisional time its a fit younger lad.

I had "the pleasure" of using an osteopath a few years back although a bit more specialist. I was getting some head aches that couldnt be explained - so saw a cranial osteopath who moves face bones about as well as the rest.
She was a large Australian lady - who looked somewhat like Miriam from Miriams Wedding. The best part was the back crack akin to a hug from a boa constrictor - apparently it releases endorphins.

Steven said...

That's nothing.

Try doing it naked on a table.

dickophile said...

she wants you.

Bobby Cox said...

Victor: Yes... that would have made it far easier you know...although maybe not actually.

Fleets: A back crack - that sounds like something that they do at the waxing salon. I may ask Miss Pringle if I can have something like that - at the moment they do this arm pull thing that really fucking hurts...and I don't even get a dressing gown. I just curtain to stand behind.

Steven: Which table what? You didn't do it on the table did you?

Dicks: Badly.

Timmy said...

I would prefer male students touching me. :-) And way to go on the compliment!