Rabbit rabbit and the case for a pain in the neck!

Travel - such a commonplace thing considering most of us do this in some form or other over the course of our lives. I was with the family awaiting departure from Kings Cross for the long journey towards Edinburgh, making ourselves comfortable having found our seats straight away because hubby is a stickler for organisation and had reserved our seats ahead of the journey, when I felt the familiar pain in the back of my neck.  The pain in my neck has been building over time. It’s one of those things you can only blame a walrus for. Not husbands/wives, boyfriends/girlfriends, evil pillows or killer mattresses – walrus! And there were plenty of those on the train: people faffing around with bags lamenting the lack of seats (because they never thought to book ahead even though it’s free of charge) digging around for their sandwiches (the French contingent were obviously hungry) instead of sitting down to allow other passengers through, persons of dubious intelligence (mostly speaking babelfish) leaning over you shoving their groins into your face as they placed their Tesco bags, jackets and various other luggage items over in the storage area above your head and looking benignly at those of us seated travellers like we were from another planet. Overhead compartments are a design fault with the potential to cause international incidents in my opinion. Then there is the scramble for spare seats, that moment when the train sets off and the panic sets in; that poignant moment where you are rudely reminded that had you organised your trip ahead of the allotted day this ludicrous game of musical chairs wouldn’t have happened. One would think that these people’s only experience of rail travel was with Thomas the Tank Engine.

Isn’t it amazing the random thoughts that flit into your mind when you stare out of the window of a moving train? Ignoring the kerfuffle on board I got to thinking about stuff: career, life, DIY, sandwiches, sex...erm...

Anyway, the pain in my neck was a genuine physical problem aside from the travelling zombies in my midst who were really getting on my nerves. The grumpy woman within was in full mode.  I woke up feeling out of sorts and I’m a cranky old soul when pain gets in the way of normal routine.  I am finally convinced that I need the sadistic ministrations of an osteopath. I have been putting it off for a while and it’s high time I took the advice I used to give all my clients and had a series of treatments to align my spine and get my muscles and ligaments back in order. I am done with the prissy massages that only serve to de-stress and relax you. I need a full blown, scream- out- loud session of the most excruciating twisting and bending of muscles and bone that even a contortionist would wince at. As a massage therapist myself I know what I’m talking about. I may not practice at the moment but I did for several years prior to motherhood. I’m a bone-fide qualified aromatherapist.  

My first experience of massage therapy outside of my own practice was with a chiropractor during my pregnancy. The chiropractor was brilliant, using the right amount of pressure and manipulation over six sessions to get my pelvis and sciatic nerve properly aligned and out of trouble. The commute was doing its evils by the time I was about six months gone – trains again – and I would usually pause for several minutes when I got off just before the pain subsided and I could hobble off to my blessed employment.  For any disbelieving souls out there who think this treatment is nothing more than mumbo-jumbo let me tell you, that I was a cured person after being pulled in all directions. It may have simulated a similar effect as the rack ever did during the dark ages - I was quite prepared to sell my mother after a few sessions - but in the end I was healed. All those evangelists had nothing on me. I was healed! I could feel my leg again – praise the lord!

My second experience with a chiropractor was frustrating at best. The same practice, only this time another was in the place of my original lady. So to go through the whole process of a case history again I went through the usual questions and got to stand semi naked in front of this man to see how my posture quite literally stood up. Then the ever so gentle hands started kneading and prodding the muscles. After about ten minutes of this prissy handling I wanted to shout at him to get cracking (literally) and start doing the job PROPERLY. I wasn’t looking for a bloody beauty treatment I was looking for therapy. I was asked to lie on the couch (sounds sordid doesn’t it? Believe me it’s the worst foreplay imaginable) and then my neck was twisted and pulled ever so gently. Not only was I beginning to realise my money was about to be badly spent but this guy just wouldn’t shut-up during the session. I was face down, praying he would iron out my taut muscles and work my ligaments. Not treat my ears to his inane drivel about Scandinavian berserkers and Spanish bull-runs, with comments thrown in about how Spaniards ‘sure like their meat’...I simply told him that I was a vegetarian just to wind him up and he then went into some other  boring subject I forgot to listen to.  I did give him a second and third opportunity and I admit the final crack on my spine after the sessions were over did verify he had been doing his job. But my poor ears couldn’t handle his incessant chatter. I could never work out if that was his way of putting me at ease. I didn’t need it as my view is quite clinical when it comes to treating people. By that I mean we do not look at you sexually. I may have disappointed one or two clients in the past, but that is the crux of it. We are not there to judge, compare or discriminate. We are there to treat you as holisticly as possible, or at least that is the way I was taught and the way my philosophy works. Suffice to say, I never went back. He wasn’t the therapist for me. He wasn't a bad chiropractor or negative in any way. He just wasn't for me. I always say to people that aside from a qualified therapist, they must choose somebody they feel totally comfortable and confident with. We all require different things and sometimes we are not suited to all treatments or therapists. Go with your instincts and choose what fits your needs the most.

The train pulled in at Waverley Station after a four hour journey.  Once again the passengers, having woken up from their lethargy after stuffing their faces with enough crisps and sandwiches to feed several school coach parties, began with the fidgeting and overhead faffing. Bottoms and groins were again dangerously close to my head, only this time my nose was twitching with distaste - thoughts of showers and baths foremost in my mind. The mad dash to the doors was as much a relief to me as an irritation. I am always amused at the pushy nature of human-beings when they want something as though being first is going to earn them a golden ticket to nirvana. Everybody else is just perfunctory to their agenda.

             
         And so the pain in my neck persists. All the stress of DIY, repairs and restoration have taken their toll in the last few weeks and then Edinburgh...what a haven. A Scottish jewel of a city, so full of character I was afraid to blink for fear of missing something extraordinary.  Putting up with the travel zombies was worth it just to experience Edinburgh. I have every intention of returning in future. As for that Scottish lilt when the Scots speak (think Sean Connery), I think I felt my knees give way when that accent was directed my way. If it wasn’t for the weather I think I could quite happily reside there. It has everything I could possibly hope for in a city. I feasted upon it and it quelled my hunger:  history in abundance, vibrant and beautiful.  I would hope that Edinburgh would welcome my wee Sassenach frame, complete with twisted neck and commuting snobbery, back into its embracing warmth with a whiskey in hand and a lone piper’s lilting refrain as his kilt catches the breeze and airs his Grey Friars bobby for all to see.