I don’t like colonics. Never have. Took my first one purely in the name of research because I figured I couldn’t slate something I’d never tried.
‘You’ll love it,’ said my pal Sam. ‘You’ll feel great afterwards, all clean and glowing and energetic.’
So I duly went and had the crap taken out of me by somebody in Mayfair, if I recall, and it was deeply unpleasant and I felt like…well, crap afterwards.
But it’s an intrinsic part of the detox process here at Ti Sana so…when in Rome… (or rather when not far from Milan). But still, I asked, why? And Erica, who owns the place, said that it’s just the most effective way to irrigate the colon. But, I said, why does the colon need irrigating in the first place? Surely, if you eat the right stuff – enough fibre and so on – your colon will cleanse and irrigate itself quite happily alone. And what about all the beneficial bacteria that you’re flushing away? She replied that those get replaced. Which always seems a bit bonkers to me – why take something away only to put it back? And then again, the other thing that bothers me is the whole ‘squeaky clean’ aspect. You know, a lot of people become addicted to colonics, enemas, wotnot – because they don’t like the idea of going round with a colon full of shit inside them. But hey, that’s what we are, right? That’s the divine joke, the great leveler.
We may be gorgeous as anything on the outside but inside, we’re all shit. J
Anyhow. Erica promised that their system was different. That I’d love it. Hey, it even had a nice name: The Angel of Water. And, who knows, maybe there's something in me that baulks at letting go, at letting it all...hang out. Maybe it's psychological shit.
So there we were, Lizzie and I, sitting in the medical spa reception, looking sideways at one another.
‘I’m really not sure about this,’ said Lizzie.
‘Me neither,’ said I.
'I've never had one before,' said Lizzie.
'Not even an enema?' She shook her head. 'A suppository?' She shook her head dolefully. 'I've never had anything stuck up my bum.'
Before we could bolt, Virginia came out and said briskly, ‘Right then. You (pointing at me) don’t like colonics and you (pointing at Lizzie) have never had one. So let’s go!’
We looked alarmed. ‘Together?’ We said, pretty much in tandem.
But no. Turns out this is all very discrete. You have your own room and your very own Angel of Water – a kind of giant couch-cum-lavatory. ‘The rectal nozzle is completely new…look,’ said Virginia, unwrapping a plastic package and waving the thing around. Well, there’s a relief…anyone for a second-hand rectal nozzle?
She plugged it in. No! Not to my arse! To the relevant pipe on the machine. Then she stuck some lube on the other end and said, 'All you have to do is sit yourself down and slide it in.’
The rest of the instructions kinda passed me by really so, when she left the room, I sort of fumbled around and hoped for the best.
To be honest, it was a bit like a gynae exam – feet not quite up in stirrups but not far off, with unspeakable things going on down below. The water started and a few minutes passed. Ow…ouch…ahhhh…eeee….aaaghhhhhhhhh. Hellfire, this was torture. I felt like my guts were on fire. Shit, shit, shit. Except…
I pushed the panic button and Virginia appeared, all calm reassurance. ‘Everything okay?’
Of course not! I screamed – to myself (so British). ‘Should it really hurt this much?’ I said, to Virginia, my face contorted.
‘Have you evacuated?’
‘No. Not yet.’
She smiled. She SMILED, for pity's sake. And told me to just ‘let it all go.’
Holy cow. It’s the weirdest feeling; basically sitting on a couch having a crap every so often. And, what’s more, you get to watch it cos they kindly position a mirror so you can see what’s coming out through the tube. Ruddy hell, it was like human geology, going back through the strata. I could shit you a rainbow – no kidding. It was fascinating…to a point and then it just got a bit boring. Plinky plonk music and the permanent swish swish swish of the water. The same old crap basically.
Virginia came in every so often to check on progress, constituting another point of etiquette one never thinks about in normal life. Do you just carry on merrily crapping when someone’s in the same room? Or do you politely pause?
Anyhow, eventually it was over and I removed my nozzle with great relief and had a shower.
‘You enjoyed it, yes?’ Virginia beamed.
‘Er…’ Let’s not push it, huh?
A bit later I met Lizzie and we swapped notes. Yup, she liked it as little as I did. Yes, she’d held it in every time Virginia came in (so it’s not just me, but maybe it’s just British?). No, she didn’t have multi-coloured crap, including day-glo green. That was all mine.
So, there you have it. The Angel of Water… fully explained…nothing held back. No bullshit.
How do I feel? Well, to be truthful, right now I feel like seven shades of...yeah, you got it. But tomorrow? I'll keep you posted.