A piece of my heart just died.

Attracted by the beautiful, peaceful face of Buddha resting on the reception desk, and the wonderful smell of essential oils wafting out of the open door, (and a desperate need for a professional massage to loosen up my traps), I popped in the new spa, between my place and the gym, for a price list.

Sleazy, weasly (completely non – spa type hombre) sitting inside, ‘explained’ there was no treatment menu to take away as it was ‘solo para hombres’. Poor Buddha.

Which is fine. It is after all, the oldest profession in the World.  Only I can’t help thinking he’d wasted a lot of time and money on the spa trappings, if that’s all it is.

Surely all you need is an intriguing, permanently locked door, frosted windows, a neon light and a very small picture of the silhouette of a naked lady, somewhere on the front.  In fact you could probably dispense with the light and the picture. Men can sniff these places out, with the ability of a bloodhound. And I am almost certain they’re not in the slightest bit interested in how fluffy the colour-coordinated towels are.  Call me a cynic.

Maybe these would have been more appropriate on the front desk……