I've got massage fear. No, really I do. The tops of my shoulders are heavy with an immovable phallanx of stress; I'm hunched like an octogenarian on a mobility cart and not even the most extravagant duck-down pillow is capable of abating it. But there's some odd obstruction in the way of my booking in for a good back pummelling. Besides one pretty sterling massage in Miami recently, I have never quite hit my massage groove. Perhaps I am far too British for it.

My massage awkwardness set off a lively debate in the Never Underdressed office, that of how excrutiatingly awkward massages can actually be for Brits. And not just massages, but all spa-birthed treatments. Is it just us? Read our confessions from the massage table below and share yours in the comments section underneath. Remember, we're in this together...

Ursula Lake, fashion director

'The most memorable massage of my life - and I've had a few - was in Portugal in a five star hotel, near my family home. I had booked an 'invigorating' massage. It all started quite normally: a perfectly nice massage with good pressure and then came the slaps! Quite hard, quick slaps across my bottom - just my bottom - for about five minutes these slaps went on. Being British I just lay there and said nothing as my bottom got increasingly sore. Then, I was flipped over and the female massuse then vigorously rubbed by boobs for another five minutes. Again, I said nothing but really struggled not to laugh. I won't be booking that massage again.' 

"Being British, I just lay there and said nothing as my bottom got increasingly sore" - Ursula Lake

Carrie Tyler, editor

'The scene was idyllic. I was shooting in the Maldives in a heavenly 5* hotel and in our downtime – there was a lot of downtime – we were given a complimentary massage each. I mean really, if anyone ever tells you that shooting on location in the sun is hard, don’t buy it. I was given the ritual robing and leaf tea, deposited in the chamber of relaxation and awaited my therapist. ‘You don’t mind if your therapist is male do you?’ said the taker-of-details. 'God no, I’m totally free and easy about all that stuff', I said, and really quite believed it. And as the naked man with the loin cloth started to rub oil along the backs of my calves I was overwhelmed by my own progressiveness. That was until he I felt him straddle my backside to start on my upper shoulders. It really is very hard to maintain nonchalance when you can feel the dong, dong, dong, of a lightly-covered penis against your bottom. Soon enough he had moved position but I found I couldn’t get in to it after that.'

"as the naked man with the loin cloth started to rub oil along the backs of my calves, I was overwhelmed by my own progressiveness" - Carrie Tyler

Joanna McGarry, beauty director

'We are close, my sister Lucy and I, but not y'know, weird close. In fact, this was our first holiday together as a duo. Ensconced in the most obscenely extravagant Moroccan hotel, we both booked in for a Hammam-style massage one afternoon and thought, 'ah, that's cute', when we noticed that we'd be in the same room together, like a couples massage of sorts. That was, until two furious-looking burly women - possibly sisters also - marched into the concrete slab of a room and gestured as us to strip down.

Why they provided us with paper knickers, I have no idea because the women instantly tugged at their sides until they too were on the floor. Still standing, we were covered head to toe in brown mud that smelt like liquourice and then jerked onto the tables and aggressively rubbed for an hour. It felt oddly undignified, like an uncut scene from Caligula. Still, it kept the laughs coming for the duration of the holiday.'

"It felt oddly undignified, like an uncut scene from Caligula" - Joanna McGarry

Harriet Walker, fashion features director

'I had a massage in India that remains one of the best and most awkward I’ve ever had. The masseuse’s technique was brilliant – incredibly relaxing but not too wishy-washy either. All the knots were pummelled away and when I left, my muscles and skin felt and looked better than they had in ages. It’s what happened in between the pummelling and the ethereal glow. Which is that the masseuse had a no holds barred policy when it came to privacy – and privates. They (it?) were massaged along with everything else – too briefly to kick up a fuss but far too long for it to have been an accident. I may have been physically loosened up by the end but I felt pretty English and uptight during.'

"the masseuse had a no holds barred policy when it came to privacy – and privates" - Harriet Walker

Bella Binns, freelance beauty writer

‘Half way through a six-month trip around India and Nepal and mine and my boyfriend’s shoulders were suffering from severe backpack fatigue. We had settled for a few nights in a small Rajasthan town called Pushkar (famous for its laid back vibe and proliferation of shops selling patchwork garments) and here, we decided, it was time to indulge in a massage. Together. I know, I know, but when you’re travelling it seems like a romantic notion and in India, a women being massaged by a man is quite the taboo, so I felt better having Andy there.

And so it was that we found ourselves being bundled into a box room with two grubby, prison-esque beds and a pair of burly brothers, Ajab and Ashar, who proceeded to oil us up like a pair of freshly unwrapped kippers. What ensued can only be described as a series of loud, bone shattering cracks as they set about using their full body weight to snap our vertabrae back into place. The fact that our ‘beds’ were only two feet apart made it all the more bizarre as I caught a glimpse of Ajab mounting Andy’s back to deliver one of his almightiest Sumo style thwacks. We left the room dazed and confused with a sort of shame from the dirty bed sheets and general grubbiness of the whole affair. Mind you, our backs had never felt better.’

"Ajab and Ashar proceeded to oil us up like a pair of silky kippers" - Bella Binns

Lynn Enright, staff writer 

'I have a really strong memory of the first time I ever got a Brazilian wax. I was visiting a friend in LA around eight years ago and she took me to the salon she went to so I could get as bald as any of the locals. The staff were much more brusque than I was used to in beauty salons at home, and the Russian woman who administered my wax was, well she was pretty rude. This was before hot wax so it was done with old-fashioned strips (so painful) and the whole process just seemed so involved. I hadn’t anticipated so much touching and parting and all that kind of thing. It just felt really odd to have somebody being so mean and gruff around the most private part of my body.

Still though that’s preferable to the really chatty beauty therapists I’ve encountered. You know the therapists who sort of appraise your vulva as they go, saying things like ‘The thing is sweetie, even though your pubic hair is dark, it’s not that thick.’ I mean what am I supposed to say to that? ‘Thanks’? Or ‘I guess so…’? Really, I think the ideal attitude for a beauty therapist carrying out a Brazilian is friendly business-like, some genial chat before the process starts and then just an energised mute wax.'

"It just felt really odd to have somebody being so mean and gruff around the most private part of my body" - Lynn Enright