This time I am at the health-spa having my cuticles attended to and procuring a pedicure for Jetta.
'Also,' says the garrulous beautician as she works. 'You will never guess. We are favoured by a visit from celebrity today.'
'Unglaublich,' I say without much interest. 'Some dreary town councillor or rising star of the banking industry, no doubt,' I say with a wink at Jetta.
'No, no,' says the busybody as she plies her trade, 'This is a big American rock star who wears iconic black clothing and trademark dark glasses. His name is Roy...Orbital? Orbheissen? Rasmussen? Something of that nature.'
It takes a second or two for the penny to drop. 'Black clothes and dark glasses you say. I implore you to think carefully. Could the man's name conceivably be Roy Orbison? This is a matter of extreme urgency to me.'
'Yes! That was it exactly! Fancy, he is in the next room waiting for me to give him a sea-weed wrap.'
I rise from the chair. 'I find I have to go out for a moment. You will please remain here and attend to Jetta. I have decided you will give her a shell-wax. I will be locking the door after I leave to ensure your compliance.'
I adjourn smartly to the next cubicle. Roy Orbison is lying on a massage table naked save for a strategically-placed towel. Some soothing unguent has been applied to his face and slices of cucumber have been placed over his trademark dark glasses.
'Good day,' I say. 'Are you relaxed.'
'I am highly relaxed but expect to be more so following my seaweed wrap,' says Roy.
'Regrettably I find we have run out of seaweed following a maritime disaster in which various contaminants were released destroying the world supply of sargasso for generations to come,' I say smoothly. 'Instead I urge you to try our new cling-film wrap. The health-giving properties of this miracle substance cannot be overstated.'
'Cling-film?' Roy cannot see me but tries to peer round the cucumber slices occluding his glasses. 'Don't I know your voice?'
'I am an eminent doctor and am to be trusted implicitly.'
'Ah,' says Roy. 'Then you may commence.'
'Speaking as a doctor, that is a wise decision.'
I start from the feet and work my way up. It is strange for him to be naked as I wrap him but I suppose it would be too suspicious were I to ask him to put his trademark black clothes back on. I am like an Egyptian priest enshrouding his Pharaoh. Soon, Roy Orbison is wrapped up in Clingfilm. I let out a soft mew of content and mutely acknowledge that all things work for the best in this world.
'You are completely wrapped in cling-film,' I tell him. 'To get the full benefits you must remain so for several hours or until someone comes and finds us. To keep you company I will stay in the room and breathe heavily.'
'That is kind of you.'
There follows several hours of almost unbearable bliss. Presently a masseuse comes and looks at us quizzically.
'We are closing now. Have you seen Frieda?'
'Yes, I locked her in the room next door.'
'Ah. Why is that man in clingfilm?'
I permit the woman to unwrap Roy as it is not in my nature to do so.
'You know,' I say, 'If you were to remain wrapped in cling-film forever I estimate it could extend your lifespan by a thousand years.'
'I will bear that in mind,' says Roy.
And it wouldn't do my health any harm either, I almost add!
More tales of Roy in Clingfilm