When I had a professional massage at home with Urban Massage

One of the best things about living in London - or any big city - is being able to get pretty much anything delivered to your door.

That said, this isn't actually something I do loads. Well, except for with food. Even though a few months ago at the end of a house party at 4am all we wanted was a delivery of chips and literally nowhere would oblige us and I'm not still pissed off about it AT ALL promise.

Anyway.

Last bank holiday Monday I had my first experience of having a professional treatment at home. You've seen the adverts on the tube - there are various companies selling everything from manicures to massages, but the premise is that the experts come to you.

But let me rewind a smidge.

On bank holiday Sunday, we were doing Girls' Night Out (AKA GNO) and I was thoroughly prepared to be a shell of my former self come Monday morning.

Have you ever been out out on a bank holiday Sunday? I find it's extra fun as it's such a novelty. But I digress.

Amazingly, I woke up on Monday morning feeling, well, absolutely fine. It's almost like I'm growing up or something. But I'd decided to book a visit from Urban Massage thinking it would be the perfect relaxing experience if I was feeling a bit delicate.

I was fine, but it was still gloriously relaxing.

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Now I've never had a massage anywhere other than a spa before. You know how it is: relaxing Balinese-style music, stylish minimalist decor, a general zen-like vibe. It's perfect.

But I was sceptical as to whether the same sense of relaxation could be created in my open-plan kitchen/living/dining room, complete with bottle of orange squash, a frying pan on the drying rack and a giant metallic turquoise hula hoop hanging on the wall (don't ask).

Being in London and all, it was the only space in the flat big enough for a massage table. It was a good thing my flatmates were away for the weekend otherwise I'd have had to be like 'Um guys don't come into the living room for an hour because I am going to be naked cool thanks.'

Fortunately, Urban Massage therapists bring everything - all you have to provide is a couple of towels.

Right on time, my masseuse arrives. I feel a bit strange greeting her in loungewear that is barely better than PJs, but I figured it would be silly to change considering all I'm going to do is take my clothes off.

And yes, if you think about it, the concept is totally weird: you let a stranger into your house, remove all your clothes, then lie on a table while they rub oil on to your naked body. Best not to think about it like that.

I welcome my masseuse in and apologise profusely for all the stairs and the lingering curry smell (I'd spent the afternoon making one). I find myself wanting to apologise for the general state of my flat too but I imagine she's seen worse. In fact, I imagine the most interesting part of the job must be seeing so many different homes.

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After the massage table is set up, I'm asked to perform a few simple movements so we can work out where my body is stiff and what I'd like her to work on.

I then choose one of three different oils (I went for lavender).

Next, she leaves the room and I get naked in my living room and just pray the neighbours over the road don't look out of their windows.

She comes back into the room and asks if I have any music. "Oh shit," I think to myself. I have no music. We cannot do this in silence, surely. Fortunately, she has music and simply plays it from her phone.

And then the massage commences. It was hard, but good - I hate a massage that feels about the same as someone lightly wafting a feather over your body.

Apparently I have a really tight neck, which I did not know.

At one point she asks me if I do sport. "I dabble," I say. She says she can tell I exercise. And I am well chuffed (even though she may say that to every client).

At the start of the massage I notice the birds singing outside. Halfway through, I hear the heavens open and as it chucks it down outside, it feels all the more relaxing to be inside having a massage. Through my own stupidity, my phone also buzzes a couple of times so do be sure to put yours on 'do not disturb' mode, pals.

And all too soon, it's over. I re-dress. My delightfully polite masseuse insists on washing up her water glass. She folds up the table and off she goes! And I am left feeling delightfully zen.

My body feels a bit like it's had a workout, but in the best way.

Whilst not as relaxing as being in an actual spa - I did find it harder to switch off - it somehow did feel extra luxurious having a spa treatment come directly to my door. When you think about it that way, it's pretty awesome.

My massage was compliments of Urban Massage but my blog post is completely honest, promise.