Sunday Telegraph Column: Keep your knickers ON if you want to blissfully drift off.

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Always keep you knickers on. This is one of the rules I’ve learned in my capacity as a person with an (amazingly, not make-believe) job that involves “testing” massages and spa treatments.

Seriously. Even if your masseur or therapist jovially says, “Everything off,” DON’T TAKE EVERYTHING OFF. On occasions when I’ve been fooled into listening to this ridiculous command, I’ve spent what was meant to be a blissful 60 minutes worrying. Worrying about how far that towel is being pulled down. How high that hand is going. Modesty. Indecency. The final straw involved a Lomi Lomi massage and a guy who looked like he would’ve been more at home driving a truck. He had the vibe of a crazy homeless guy, only with slightly less charm. Everything off, he said jovially. (They’re always jovial, even the truckies.) Everything? Yep. And with that ushered in the most spectacularly awkward 90 minutes of my life. So keep the grundies on. The idea of a treatment is to relax. Not to fidget, and panic each time your therapist’s hands go anywhere near your thighs. (Or arms, feet or neck if you get Senor Truckie.)

Another rule: When booking, ask if your therapist will be male or female. This becomes important should you be served up a young man whose particular brand of massage involves straddling your back and kneading your shoulders with what feels like his chin, but one hopes are his elbows. All that heavy breathing, all that oil, those rippling arms… oh sure, it sounds dreamy, but Real Life is not a scene from a Mills and Boon, and his looks and, uh, technique were extraordinarily distracting. I left 25% tenser than when I arrived and in frightful need of a Scotch.

Finally, speak up. How often do you get a massage or a treatment? And you’re prepared to sacrifice this luxury and cost just because you’re too shy to ask for more pressure, or for them to keep their paws off your hair because you have to go to a meeting later, or for a blanket, or to go to the bathroom quickly, or to play another CD because Enya forces you into seizure? No! Think about it: You’re paying for is an hour of uninterrupted peace and a body that feels incredible once you leave. So claim it. And guess what: Your therapist really, really wants you to have a great experience, so don’t waste it by being that dopey kid at their friend’s place who’s minutes from death by dehydration but too shy to ask for a drink. Or by being a schmuck who actually listens to a guy more suited to a CB and a semi who says, ‘Everything off.’

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