Mean Streets And Back Rubs

My week off continues to be evenful; this morning I was awoken at 4.40am by a high-speed police chase going past my flat. Or at least as high a speed as can be safely attempted on our winding back streets with parked cars on both sides. Firstly I heard the screeching & revving of the getaway vehicle (motorbike, presumably) going past at probably too fast a speed (well, you have to be quick if you want to escape, don't you?), followed by the sound of the sirens of 2 police cars and a van. By now I had managed to stagger to the window to watch them go past, the presumed bike now well away up front. And that was that. But still rather exciting for this area, I think I can cope with that sort of thing if it only happens once in ten years.

So after all that excitement I obviously needed a bit of relaxation. And after months of walking past on occasion and promising I'd treat myself one day, I finally had one of those walk-in back rubs upstairs at Selfridges. The masseur looked like the sort of bloke who wouldn't be able to punch his way out of a paper bag, but he could certainly press, push and pummel with the best of them. Because I went for the half-hour Full Monty back rub, I also got my arms seen to - not sure why but he seemed to know what he was doing (as one would hope). A great way of spending half an hour, even if I did end up with a line across my forehead where it had pressed into the headrest.