At the massage parlour

So in my new resolve to be a good boy and do what the quack says I booked an appointment with a local physiotherapist for 10 (ten) sessions of massage on my neck. I was then thrown into confusion because the physiotherapist has two surnames and one was given in the yellow pages but I had written the other  in my diary so when I checked the address - just to be sure - I was plunged into the most profound uncertainty. But reasoning that surely I'd choose the nearest I went along and, thankfully, got the right place.

After some administrative 'ow's yer father I went up the the massage parlour, was told to strip off to the waist and lie on the bench with my nose through the hole. Then the fun began.

kneading.
pulling.
pushing.

It was not at all unpleasant.
"If I fall asleep you will forgive me."
"You will be forgiven, and you will not be the first."

I was told to behave better, to elevate the screen of my computer and wear my stupid glasses, stupid.
OK. I get the message.

We talked about physiotherapy and the health service.
"Long may it continue"
"There's some concerns. 500 000 civil servants is an awful lot"
"It's true. We're a profession libre, so we're ok, but even so."
"Yes, that means a lot of unemployed all of a sudden who don't know how to do anything..... else"

Meanwhile in other news the nurse came on Saturday and gave me my flu jab.
8,80€ and they do it in the comfort of your own home.
If you go to the doctor you have to go to them and it's 23€!

However yesterday I broke out in a nasty case of mini-flu:

aches and pains,
fever,
shivers,
dryness,
longing for death,
constant desire to burst into tears,
hearing the celestial choir,
the kit and the kaboodle.

A tisane of thyme is very good for this - so at 5am I was sat in the kitchen nursing my thyme and feeling comforted.

Off to find my glasses...