I like bodies – you have to in this job – and I wouldn't be human if I said I didn't check clients out when they're on the massage table. I think about their shape, the network of bones, muscles and tendons beneath their skin – and, yes, I think about how attractive their bodies are, too.

The body is greatly underestimated. Generally my clients are a modest lot, presenting themselves for a massage in grey pants and non-matching bra, grateful for the overly formal "towel management" practices we are trained in these days, to keep flashes of flesh to a minimum.

But I have respect for bodies of all shapes and sizes. Fat bodies can be just as beautiful as thin ones – the only problem is that it's trickier to find what you're looking for. Do you really want your massage therapist to guess where your backbone is? Not all fit bodies are easy, either. I have a rugby player who is a mass of impenetrable gristle. Trying to make an impact can reduce me to sweat and tears, and I pray the next client will have bird-like proportions.

I'm constantly surprised by the many qualities I'm assumed to have. To some clients I am a body guru who can cure ailments with a few well-placed hand movements. To others, I'm like a gardener: someone they ring up for quick maintenance.

Sometimes I think about myself as I massage: the hard physical work involved aggravates my bad back. I have a good osteopath, but I'm picky about getting a massage myself. It's hard to find someone I trust.

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