Am I the only person who can’t relax during a massage?

Job hunting. Dreaming of my dream job. An overflowing inbox. Dealing with recruitment consultants who have 'a really fantastic role for you!!!’. Based in Slough.

It's enough to give a girl a pain in the neck. Add being barged into by a very big man running for a train at Victoria Station resulting in a loud CRACK in said neck and there was only one solution - massage.

I love Herbal Express near Russell Square tube and highly recommend it if time is not on your side, your wallet is light and scented candles are not listed as an essential requirement on your massage criteria (but relaxing music is desirable). My therapist was a petite lady with a friendly smile and very strong hands. I laid on my front, wriggled my head around in the hole in the massage bed and let out a big sigh. Finally, time to stop.

For the next 30 minutes I was pummelled and kneaded and stretched. The tension in my shoulders was stroked away and the crick in my neck disappeared. My back was finally starting to feel looser. So why on this great earth couldn’t I relax and shut up the incessant voice in my head? Must get birthday card for Friday. Argh, is it normal to get pins and needles all down my left arm – what does that mean?! Help! Ooo, wonder who just texted me? Hmm, have we run out of bleach? Will definitely update CV tonight. I just couldn’t stop my inner nattering.

Not forgetting the weird phobia I have of my spine being touched. Admittedly, not helpful for my therapist but it’s my equivalent of nails-down-blackboard; utterly nausea-inducing. She carefully, but excruciatingly, touched every single vertebra in my back and I tried carefully not to throw up. The momentary relief I felt as she finally left my poor spine alone quickly turned into panic as she moved down to my legs . My hamstrings and calves are painfully tight from running, which is my own fault for not stretching properly, but still I had to bite my lip from shouting ‘OH MY GOD PLEASE DO NOT TOUCH MY CALVES’. Instead I whimpered a little bit and tried not to make any more weird noises from the hole or leap off the bed.

It was only when she started to add very gentle pressure to the bones of my skull, manipulating my cranial bones and giving me a delicious head massage that finally the voice stopped and I felt as light as a feather lying on the bed. I could literally feel the tension melting away as quickly as the minutes were flying by. Must. Not. Fall. Asleeeeeeeep.

An irritating buzzing sound told my therapist and me that the 30 minutes was up and so I was left to get changed. I peeled myself off the bed and quickly glanced in the mirror - a bright red face, sticky-up hair and dilated pupils looked back at me. A very definite mark had formed around my face from the head-hole that showed no signs of vanishing. I was desperately thirsty and had an overwhelming urge to wee. Yet, despite this I was absolutely calm, feeling harmonious and at peace. My body felt aligned instead of the usual wonky.

In my dreamlike state it felt very rude indeed to be spat out onto the busy London road and everything felt too loud, too bright. On the tube, I hid behind my Evening Standard and tried to look normal as the man opposite looked quizzically at my head-hole mark. I was not looking forward to the possible after-effects that night of the toxins leaving my body – tears, wicked headache etc. But, right that minute everything felt a whole lot lighter. I had full mobility in my neck! The niggling pain in my lower back that constantly follows me around like an unwanted stalker had momentarily subsided.

So the moral of this tale is don’t waste the massage. Try and relax. Ignore the chatter and put the shopping list to one side, it’ll be over before you know it. No doubt tomorrow if I take another ‘Natalie, I’ve got the most amazing job for you!!!’ call from one of the agencies, I'll be wishing I had my head down that hole with all my cares being stroked away...