I wish that I knew less about rotator cuffs…

I have, over the years, had minimal interaction with medical professionals. That is possibly because I’m not the most active of people, spending my working days behind a desk for the most part, have little appetite for participation in extreme sports (or any sports, really) and my hobbies are generally not those likely to risk personal injury. But, accidents do happen, and my fall before Christmas sits neatly within the category of unexpected misfortune.

And so, yesterday afternoon, I placed myself in the hands of a physiotherapist, as suggested by Ros. Joanne was very friendly, but extremely professional and, having run a series of tests on my wounded shoulder, diagnosed a grade 2 tear of one of the rotator cuff tendons. In other words, it’s not a minor injury, but it will, with a little care, mend itself over time without the need for anything invasive. Given the pressures on the NHS, that’s probably a very good thing.

I’ve been sent a set of three very simple exercises, designed to keep the shoulder from deteriorating and to stretch but not break the set of four tendons that make up the rotator cuff. I’ll try and do those, as the alternatives don’t sound like fun.

It is, as I’ve already noted, a reminder that I’m not as young as I was, although it does demonstrate that I’m still pretty robust, given the possibilities. And, thanks to Ros, I eat pretty well, get more exercise than many of my contemporaries and am in, if not great shape, then good enough shape to do virtually anything I need to do. That isn’t to be sneezed at.

And so, I have weeks of making like an orangutan to do - that’s one of the exercises - and there might be the odd painkiller taken from time to time. But that’s a price worth paying to get me back into good working order so, if you’ll excuse me…

The perils of spa treatments, as explained by a bureaucrat...

Nakedness, the province of the buff and lithe, and those who intend to defy convention. Not necessarily for me then, you might think and, for the most part, you'd be right. After all, I like the human species, and too much exposure to this rather out of shape (albeit less so currently) bureaucrat is unlikely to add much to the sum of human art.

However, I do like my spas, and have over the years taken advantage of them for emergency, and not so emergency, pampering opportunities. The catch is that they're all different. Today, I turn my mind to the bit that causes more hassle than any other, i.e. what is it that you wear in the spa?

I've just come back from German-speaking Switzerland, having taken a bit of a rest cure. For a slightly repressed Brit, the presence of a 'naked zone' in the spa was something of a surprise. But that came as nothing when I suddenly realised that you're not only expected to be naked, but that there was no separate facility by gender. Yes, you're expected to be naked with other people, potentially of a different gender. Strangers, no less!

Over the years, I've found that the Germanic and Scandinavian countries tend to the view that wearing swimwear in the sauna, for example, is unhygienic. You are, after all, supposed to sweat, not something that goes well with clothing of any sort. For your massage treatment, nakedness is de rigeur - your masseur/masseuse is trained in draping, whereby most of you is covered by a towel whilst they work on the bit that is exposed. And they've probably seen most things over the years...

Once you've got used to it, you can relax and go with the flow, although I acknowledge that it isn't for everyone. But the experience is meant to be enjoyable, right?

In Britain, the idea that you might be naked in anything other than a changing room environment is looked upon with something akin to horror - it's that repressed thing again. What it does mean is that you need to pack swimwear for the UK, and for other Anglo-Saxon countries. And as for other countries, well, it depends on the influences locally. I've been offered tiny paper underwear in New Zealand and Poland (not designed for the more portly figure, let me tell you).

And so I've learned to ask the simple question when enquiring about a spa, "textile or non-textile?". It does tend to save a lot of embarrassment in the long run, and you can pack accordingly...