Reflexology? What’s all that about?

My friend, Theresa Thompson, has moved to a new treatment room above hair@bespoke on Foxdenton Lane, Chadderton and I’ve booked in for a reflexology treatment.

She meets me just inside the door and leads the way upstairs. It’s the first time I’ve been here and I like it already. The room has a nice aroma, plenty of natural light and a warm cosy feeling.

Before long I’m nestled under a fleecy blanket in a comfy chair, feet wrapped in a soft towel ready for some much needed ‘me time’. I don’t often get the chance to chill out and we chat a little, while she gets organised.After cleansing, Theresa starts to work through a routine that involves applying pressure to my feet, ultimately concentrating on the areas that will bring me the most benefit.

As I settle down, my mind turns to the sounds outside and floating up from the salon below. They seem distant. There’s some background music playing; barely a whisper.

“Is it my feet that are cold or are your hands warm?” I ask her. “No” she says, “I’ve got naturally warm hands. Don’t know why, they just are.”

Before long my mind drifts off again. Now and then I can feel when she’s concentrating on a key pressure point but it’s oddly relaxing. The hour passes in a half dream and before long my feet are wrapped up again in a warm towel and I sit there while she tidies up.

As I slip my shoes on she tell me she’s done “a sweep of your lymphatic system, so drink plenty of water.” I’m baffled but promise to anyway.

So, just what is reflexology? The Association of Reflexology (AOR) define it as:

A complementary therapy based on the theory that different points of the body (not just on the feet but also hands, face and ears) correspond with different areas of the body and …working these points or areas aids relaxation and helps improve wellbeing.Since gaining her initial level 5 diploma, Theresa’s continued to attend further courses to expand her knowledge and expertise.

I’m interested in why she chose this career path. She’s ex-RAF and spent over 20 years in the aviation industry; so it’s very different from anything she’s done before.

“I just started reading about it and was completely fascinated” she tells me. “I like helping people. Getting feedback from clients and realising that I’ve been able to improve someone’s life is the best feeling ever. It makes all the hard work worthwhile.” She’s on a roll

“We concern ourselves so much with looking better on the outside that we don’t attach enough importance to how we are on the inside. Our inner wellbeing needs attention too.”

She’s clear that a good reflexologist will never diagnose or claim to cure. Reflexology is a complementary therapy that works very well alongside conventional medicine and should not be used in place of seeking medical advice. If she can help you though, she’ll try. Take it from me; you’ll be in safe hands.

That’s my foot in the photo. In recent years, she’s helped me personally to ease the symptoms of Crohn’s Disease, improve sleep quality and reduce back pain.

Theresa also volunteers at The Christie Hospital in Oldham where she treats patients and their family members to some Hand Therapy to aid relaxation and sometimes, more importantly, provide a listening ear.

To find out more visit Theresa’s website. It lists the different types of reflexology she practises, how much it costs and how to contact her. Or, you can follow her on Facebook.

And, don’t just take my word for it, click here for testimonials from past clients.

Sleeping Beauty at North West Theatre Arts Company

Don’t know about you but I’ve had withdrawal symptoms since ‘…Celebrity Get Me Out of Here’ finished.

It’s panto season though and where better to go in this wet and windy weather but our very own local theatre on Lightbowne Road, Moston.

North West Theatre Arts Company (NWTAC) don’t do anything by halves, they put their hearts and souls into making your theatre experience one to remember. Last year’s panto was brilliant but does this year’s measure up?

Here’s what to expect.

Pantomime, notwithstanding adult ‘double entendres’, is essentially for children, so the bar sells non-alcoholic and hot drinks plus a range of savouries and sweets. There’s also a variety of souvenir toys on offer. I was tempted to buy one but passed on a psychedelic flashing wand and settled instead for a hot chocolate.

As we filtered in and took up our seats you could sense the excitement of the children. It was infectious and added to the air of expectation.

Curtain up and, in turn, each of the main characters bounced onto the stage and introduced themselves. Straight off Maleficent was magnificent; as scary as the evil witch from Walt Disney’s Snow White (and she scares the wits out of me). Everything about her was awesome from the spooky, gravelly voice to her dark swirling gown and black horns.

Prab Singh, at least they said it was Prab but I’m sure he sported a beard the last time I saw him, played the bauble bedecked Dame, just as funny as. Fairies always have wonderful dresses too. The Lilac Fairy’s was no exception. She delivered her pretty musical prose in feather light tones and in perfect contrast to Maleficent’s raucous groans.

The Dame’s supporting, and may I say dextrous, comedy trio consisted of Trumpy, Pumpy and Silly Billy and had us rolling about in our seats.

At the interval I picked up a conversation between two mums on the row behind that started “I haven’t laughed this much since….”. Unfortunately, I missed the end bit as the usherette came by and I never pass up the chance of an ice-cream.

The courtiers danced their hearts out while Sleeping Beauty and her charming prince sang beautifully. They brought gasps of delight from the little ones in the audience. It warmed my heart and I loved it.

NWTAC’s talent extends to include stunningly bright lavish costumes together with quality props and sets to enhance the visual story telling. Panto is the perfect opportunity for the script writers to bring their own adaptations into the mix and opportunities for audience participation don’t get missed. I won’t spoil the surprises; ad-libs mean every performance is different anyway.

I left feeling happy inside and in the right mood for Christmas. Suffice to say the gap in my life, now that ‘celebrity jungle’ has ended, has been well and truly filled.

Does this year’s panto measure up? Don’t ask me. Buy a ticket and see for yourself.

The show continues on Friday 20th December and twice a day Saturday 21st, Monday 23rd and Tuesday 24th. Tickets are available through Groupon or by calling the box office on 0161 207 1617.

For full details of this and future shows click here for NWTAC’s website or follow them on Facebook.

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Street Life: Holly, Handel and QC Port

For me, Advent meant nativity plays, Father Christmas in his grotto, a church fair and the school Christmas party. But it also had its low points.

When choosing Christmas cards, mum read every single one to find the verse exactly suited to each recipient. I consider the amount of time spent standing at the card counter in Woolworth’s basement was borderline child abuse.

The place to be at Christmas was Lewis’s. In the fifties, the sales floors surrounded an atrium known as the dome. Throughout December it was strung with fabulous decorations that twinkled and swirled above the shoppers. Gazing up, enveloped in the scent from the Bromley lemon soaps, made it seem like wonderland.Queuing for Father Christmas was an annual ritual, but the cardboard and cotton wool grotto was something of a let down after that amazing dome. However, the ‘gift’ of a toy sweet shop, post office, or bus conductor’s set, was some consolation for that interminable wait.

Our girls school was small, but the nativity play we put on was not the usual tea-towel headgear and shaky rendering of Silent Night on the recorder. We pulled out all the stops – three performances on a proper stage, with girls playing male characters transformed by real wigs and beards. My debut role was as a page, but I gave up ‘the’ stage’ in favour of music when I was twelve.

The orchestra’s chief function was to accompany the choir; however the musicians were allowed their own moments of glory. I still recall the thrill of playing The March from Handel’s Judas Maccabaeus, as the 3 kings and their extensive entourage processed down the centre aisle.At home, twisted streamers, paper chains (homemade) and a few balloons constituted our decorations. For the ‘Christmas tree’, picture a piece of dowel stuck into a 6-inch diameter block of wood, painted red. Then imagine stiff, dark green bottle brush ‘branches’ in a shape something like a fir tree. The bare wire ends of the branches were once tipped with artificial berries, but they had long since disappeared. My job was to roll red plasticine into little balls and stick them onto the wire, to avoid anyone’s eye getting poked out.

The notoriously unreliable lights went on first, followed by tinsel, glass globes, chocolate decorations and candles in clip-on holders. My wish for a real Christmas tree came true when I got married, but I still have fond memories of that old bottle brush relic.

My sister and I raced to the doormat to collect the 4 or 5 deliveries of Christmas post per day. Mum’s rule was, cards could be opened and read but our totally uninterested father must be allowed to see them before they were put up on the picture rail. When the last card went up on Christmas Eve, the halls were deemed well and truly decked.

Certain food stuffs only appeared at Christmas. Nuts in their shells, russet apples and tangerines were displayed in the best fruit bowl. A small weekly amount paid into the grocer’s Christmas club provided luxuries such as a large tin of assorted biscuits, crystallised fruits and Roses lime juice. And in case of unexpected visitors, there was a tin of Old Oak ham on stand-by.Alcohol wasn’t routinely found in most homes, but at Christmas we pushed the boat out with a bottle of QC port and a sherry. By the end of the decade, Babycham had made an appearance, and one year we even had advocaat (ugh).

I recall our delight when the Co-op divi stretched to a beautiful, Christmassy country cottage. When the cotton wool snow-covered roof was lifted off, there were small presents and paper hats inside. Possibly it replaced the crackers which, along with festive paper serviettes, were all that distinguished the Christmas table from every other meal time.

With turkey now relatively cheap and plentiful, it’s difficult to imagine that in the fifties, there were families who had never tasted it. Generally our bird was a large capon with plenty of stuffing to make it last out the two day holiday. Fresh cream was unheard of, so pudding was served with hot custard.

Mince pies were baked at home, but the iced Christmas cake came from the local bakery.

On Christmas afternoon, the family gathered for cold meat tea at the grandparents. This was followed by games, with our perennial favourite being roulette. For ‘gaming chips’ we used the pennies and ha’pennies set aside for the gas meter or bus fares. Croupier granddad made sure nobody ever lost more than a few coppers before we were sent off to bed.

The country’s war debts had resulted in an export drive that kept goods in short supply on the home front. It wasn’t until the mid fifties that ‘luxury’ and consumer items began to appear in the shops again.

Thankfully you don’t miss what you’ve never had, so we youngsters were blissfully unaware there was any other way to celebrate Christmas than the one we knew.

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