A very stripey pigeon

I have a Plan.

There’s a woo practitioner at the end of my road.

Let me start again; There used to be a pub at the end of my road called The Junction, which had been a pub for well over a hundred years. It closed down in 2009 and about a year later it re-opened as a massage establisment – Not in the way that you’re thinking, I mean it did sports massage and deep-tissue work and light physiotherapy and things like that. I went along for a back massage once after a nasty shoulder injury, and spent a cheerful half-hour having my muscles Hitachied into submission and then kneaded like uncooperative terracotta. I came out feeling like a new man, or at least like all of my pain had been centrifuged out and was now sloshing around in a jar in what used to be the keg cellar (what do they do with all that pain?)

Fast forward a few more years, and a sign went up – Acupuncture, free 15-minute consultations and trial session. And then chiropraxy, osteopathy, reiki, reflexology, aromatherapy, Swiss reflex technique, Thai yogic massage… Oh, my. Claiming to treat chronic conditions, arthritis, headaches, stress and pain.

But one part of the sign interested me. Free consultations. Free ones. That were free, and would cost no money, and which claimed to be able to diagnose what was wrong with someone, and then to treat them with one of the above. And that are free, and within fifty yards of my house.

This, you must understand, is an irresistable lure to a chronically-ill troll and sceptic. Obviously, I won’t let anyone chiropract or osteop me (EDS body parts are easy to accidentally unscrew, and hard to put back together) but finding out what an untrained wooster makes of a rare and horrible condition, and crucially seeing if they’re going to claim to be able to treat it, is going to be fun. Also, I perversely enjoy being used as a human pincushion, so that’s a win-win.

It’s Sunday today, so I might pop in for a quick chat tomorrow. With my dictaphone.


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