Fish supper

When I say fish, I'm not talking about eating fish, I'm talking about fish eating me.  To be precise, I'm talking about a fish spa, which I tried out for the first time last Sunday.  At a fish spa, Doctor fish (species name Garra rufa) nibble away at the dead skin on your feet to leave them lovely and smooth.  Chris and I went along with a new friend, the lovely Ann Marie, a fellow Scot who has recently moved to Singapore. Both of us were fish spa virgins, as was Chris, who was a bit doubtful initially, but we all got into the spirit of the thing once we were there.  The thing about this particular fish spa that we were not expecting was the fact that there were three sizes of fish - little baby doctors (a ticklish nuzzle, quite pleasant once you got over the initial feeling of "What was I thinking?"), then mini doctors, more like a small electric shock, but in a good way, then the consultants, the big swinging dicks of the fish spa world, whose teeth you could feel as they gave your feet a seeing to, and who gave us a nip or two along the way.  Not unpleasant, but we were glad to have had the nuzzling and nibbling first.  The picture below shows the babies giving Ann Marie a ticklish introduction to the world of the piscatorial pedicure.

Each size of fish was in a separate tank, and when you had had enough of one, you moved on to the other.  The three of us stayed together and each time we moved on, Chris attracted the most fish, then me, then Ann Marie.  We couldn't work out why.  Very odd. Would I do it again?  I certainly would and I commend it to all of you who have never experienced it.  It gives a whole new meaning to the words "Fish Supper" (my Scottish friends will know what I mean).