There have been two treatments that have made me look and feel significantly better over four years of beautifying on your behalves, and I intend to devote the next couple of weeks to them; January being the season for coping strategies. First off, let us once again sing the praises of Beata Aleksandrowicz and the Face Therapy she administers at Pure Massage (£80 per session, £480 for six; 020-7381 8100). Face therapy is Beata’s own invention, a form of massage working with connective tissue, acupuncture points, lymphatic drainage and holding techniques. After six sessions my face had rediscovered the slant and plumpness it had at 18; but Aleksandrowicz also uses the technique for less superficial goals such as correcting palsies. If I were to recommend only one facial treatment then this would be it.
Beata is one of those people who makes you feel better simply by standing next to them. As a consequence, I make it a point of principle to do everything she says. If she told me to jump out of the proverbial window, then jump I would, so convinced would I be that said leap was for my benefit. Thus, when she invited me to attend one of Pure’s Massage Courses, I put aside any qualms I had about the potential Seventies-ness of the event (£80; next course February 12). “It’s such a fundamental skill,” Beata enthused, “perfect for soothing a baby or a partner.” “Or the baby that is your partner,” I grunted, before breaking it to Current Boyfriend that, rather then spending the evening drinking and bickering, we would be hotfooting it to Fulham for a laying-on of hands.
Naturally, we arrived wanting to kill each other, clad in the requisite loose-fitting clothes and with that peculiar embarrassment that comes of going unshod in public. The group comprised a handsome young couple in designer hose, a duo of stiff-backed walkers, a dysfunctional couple clearly about to part (us), and two perky young women happy to work as a pair. Prompted by Beata, we shared our motives for massaging. The women had universally persuaded the men into attending, but the men were those ideal specimens not fey enough to be called “new”, nor mulish enough to be quite old.
It is Beata’s belief that massage should be part of everyday life, not some banal pampering ritual. “Sometimes it is better to touch than to talk,” she explained to fervent masculine nodding. Unlike talk, massage lengthens the muscles, improves circulation, encourages the release of endorphins and stimulates the immune system. Beata caused slight unease with her insistence that, if someone asks you for a massage, then you must never refuse. (What never? Not even when you would rather poke them in both eyes?) And then we got stuck in by exploring each other’s hands and faces with eyes closed; a spectacle that proved too much for local Chelsea supporters who endeavoured to raze Pure Massage to the ground. Meanwhile, gradually, mindfully, we worked our way through the back, arms, hands, feet, head, neck and face.
Three hours later we emerged brandishing manuals, certificates and massage powder, as calmer, better, generally more heart-warming individuals than before. The race was now on to see who could demand the first undeclinable massage.