A Tale of Bliss and Horror

At the beginning of this cat sitting assignment, Mrs Ludbrook (whose cat’s I am minding here in Bali) gave me one bit of advice. She wrote down the number of Nyoman the Masseur. Nyoman was summoned on day two, and has been a frequent visitor to our Villa ever since.

So much so, I have now developed a new addiction that rivals my Ballet Flat habit. Massage.
Nyoman is a 5th generational Balinese Massage Healer. She is without doubt a bloody genius. When she first massaged me, I was as stiff as Nicole Kidman’s acting. She worked her way down my spine and got to my gluteus maximus area, otherwise known as my ass. Now if you have ever been pregnant and had sciatica issues, you will know the pain I felt when she massaged my ass.
I cried out “FAAARRRRK”.
Nyoman said “You hold all your tension in this area.” as of course I replied with “Is that why it is so big?” But Nyoman said it was big because of the food. Thanks Nyoman. I decided then and there that that would be the last massage she ever did on me.
But something happened in that hour. I was taken to Blissland, Population 1. I do not know how, why, when or anything, except for sheer tranquility. So I decided to forgive her fattist remark and scheduled another appointment for a few days time.
Weeks have now passed, and I am in a full scale addiction. If I said I was having daily massages I would not be too far wrong. But something happened yesterday which was both shameful and horrific.
A long time ago a wrote about a similar event that occurred while I was at the gym.
Nyoman was unavailable for normal massage duties but I needed my fix. So she sent a friend Wayan, who although was good, was no substitute. Anyway, she was pummelling away when I started to panic. I could feel a fart coming on. I did not know what to do. I was scared to move in case it slipped out. So I did what any of you would do, I tried to let it out in small intervals. This backfired on me as it took on a life of it’s own and escaped my body with a big “Ta Da!”.
I almost died, but Wayan was a true professional and did not miss a beat. The only indication she gave of the fart’s existence was when she slightly flared her nostrils when the odour hit them.
The massage ended without any further incidents. I paid her and she went on her way. I told Dad what had happened and of course he replied “Better an empty house then bad tenants.”
I hoped that Wayan would not call Nyoman and tell her of the filthy stinking Aussie. But Nyoman is back again this afternoon so I can continue to follow my bliss. Here’s hoping all the tenants have packed up and moved out for at least the next hour.