Natural Elements, Farringdon- Anjelica30 mins: £120
External Link/Members OnlyT: 020 7253 5111
TL;DRA Curate's Egg: a nice venue; a good-looking, likeable therapist; crazy pricing and indifferent service
VenueDirectly across street to the northern, rear entrance to Farringdon station, there's a jolly little bar called Camino, with stools outside where you can perch yourself on a sunny day and be entertained by watching the variety of 'entrance strategies' employed by your fellow punters as they weigh up how to best gain egress to this joint. Cripes, but we're such a funny lot to see.
I was struck by what good nick the reception was in: perhaps it's only recently had a refurb, but it is markedly cleaner and better presented than almost all other shops I've seen in my time. Long may that last.
One of the two smartly dressed receptionists present asked how she could help me - "Half an hour with a European therapist" said I; an unusually short duration for me, but I only wanted to test the lay of the land and perhaps land a brief but satisfying blowie. I handed her £50 for the time and she led me to the room; surprising me when it transpired she was the therapist in question.
The galFace: Sarah Palin's Romanian niece. Bod: Work-experience Assistant Librarian
EventsBeing due to meet a buddy in 35 minutes time at the above-mentioned next door bar, I was conscious of time: the last thing I wanted was to be exiting the parlour just as he arrived. Therefore I departed from my preferred wait-and-see approach, and quickly asked the broad what she offered. "Full Body: £150". I thought I had misheard, and repeated what she'd just told me with an implied question. I can only think that perhaps she'd mistaken me for a tourist; or, with impressive brass, was just going for a moonshot. My initial inclination was to walk her through her own arithmetic, but in the event, I just good-naturedly demurred. About 40 seconds passed before she asked me what I thought a fair price was. I had the upper hand here, brothers, but am ashamed to report that I fumbled it: she mentioned a naked massage for £70, and for reasons I can't now properly explain, I somehow conflated this with her popping on top and slathering herself all over me - and I therefore agreed, even though at £120 all in for 1/2 hour, the poor value was staring me in the face.
Further annoyance; it was implicit that the money should be paid before the great work began. What followed was the runner-up to the limpest, most desultory of limp-handed massages I have experienced: truly hearts-not-in-it stuff. I twice urged her to get cracking on with the naked bit, but she dithered, perhaps as part of the standard delaying procedure. Eventually she did heave her kit off, revealing a pleasant late-twenties pre-mum bod. Scandalously her knickers stayed on, and although I was naturally outraged by this breach of contract, I just couldn't be arsed to see another 3 minutes lost to explaining the definition of the word 'naked' to her.
The massage resumed, and I have to tell you, it was laughable - just the worst sort of Balkan-adjacent low-enthusiasm, no-skill, and high-indifference attitude. Fortunately, I happened to be in an unassailably good mood, and I suppose by way of trying to coax something positive out of the ordeal, or perhaps to spite her laziness, I began flirting with and encouraging her. I ladled in on so excessively thickly that we both ended up cracking a few smiles open, and somehow, between the improved atmosphere and a few cheeky tiddy-gropes, this was enough for me to get over the desired line.
SummaryFar too expensive for a limp-wristed hand-job, even from a prettyish, almost-naked nerdette. Tbh, I should've just gone with no extras for £50 which would've been fine.
ConclusionI may well actually return to the venue in the coming weeks, but only because I'll be in the area with time on my hands and I did enjoy cajoling a smile from her. But on the strength of this showing, I can't recommend that you do the same.
