Without wishing to turn this into a medical journal, I am currently undergoing a course of inhalation treatments at the spa. Our local town is famous for its foul, hot, sulphurous waters which bubble up in lots of different places. The water is said to be very good, if drunk, for one's digestion, but it is also used to create steam which is dispensed to those with respiratory or sinus problems. I get the latter in the winter so I booked my series of sessions. The place is very, um, Germanic and 1960s, acres of white tiling, spotlessly clean, few decorations and staffed by frau-like female attendants* who brook no buggering around. The poor shot above, taken at great personal risk, gives a glimpse of one of the row of sinks where the inhalers sit, faced by a slightly vulgar nozzle out of which the steam jets. The view upon entering, particularly when it is full, is terrifying, with rows of old bleeders sitting rigid at their sinks, the women in hairnets, eyes tightly shut, their mouths wide-open in a ghastly blow-up doll rictus as they take the steam orally. Factor in the constant hissing, the clouds of steam and the background aroma of sulphur and it's a sort of healthy hell.
I always leave feeling a little light-headed after all that sulphury steam and on the first flight of stairs on the way out invariably miss my footing and nearly twist my ankle when confronted with the above.*Oh nursey, nursey, I've been naughty, haven't I nursey?
12 comments:
For just a nano-second, I did think it was a window and not a poster. But I then remembered what the view had been like in the Aireville Pool and Leisure Centre....which in turn reminded me that I had a mountain of ironing to complete. *sigh*
Do I recognise the back of that head in your grabbed shot. A certain singer of the area renouned for his nifty footwork in village squares after midnight? Canto, canto, canto.......
Hang on, hang on. I've been in tiled cubicles with pictures like that on the wall, and it wasn't for respiratory problems I can tell you.
No, the fuzzy-haired one ain't Giulio. He'd be in the private cubicle with the belter that works there for the 'special' customers.
...but did it leave you short of breath though, Peter?
Not so much short of breath AFA, more just gently relaxed and my eyes crossed.
Three Timothy Taylor's Landlords last night Ron, and a quick Greenall's before bo-bo's time.
Cripes! Are you paying good money to be subjected to this humiliation? The place looks like a mortuary.
Vinomaker and I had better start work on that CalGrappa really soon...a more fun approach to clearing ones sinuses.
Nice Pinot Grigiot last night Ron, with a Liberation Ale as a starter.
Hmmm, Liberation Ale sounds nice. Who brews that then?
Over at the Country Residence last night. Fireworks in the garden. No match for Lewes I'm afraid, but two bottles of Pedigree to fire up on, then a couple of glasses of Prosecco with the Squeeze to wash down the hot dogs.
I think I've gone on about Liberation, but it's the one with a poppy on the label and brewed by Thwaites. Tonight was a GinFest started at Bonkers Cottage with Bombay Sapphire. With something called baclava which I thought was a post war schoolboy's woollen headgear.
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