With the state of the world at the moment it’s no wonder we are all craving a bit of time away from it.

The environment is ruined, our political leaders have as much direction as a drunk man urinating into a Dyson Hand Dryer. Instagram is full of validation junkies, Facebook is prying into our private lives and Twitter is dominated by idiots who can’t stop arguing, unaware that they may as well be screaming into their own duvets for all the good it’s doing.

We all feel the urge to escape and that is even more powerful if you have children.

I see parents every weekend in comedy clubs, I can spot them a mile off. This isn’t just a night out for these guys, this is everything, this has been in the google calendar since January. They’ve been drinking since half four and they’ll be still going at 4am, kebab in one hand and using the other to do Jagerbombs off the top of the bin.

I have a friend and he has five kids, its brutal. He’s now been insulating his loft for a year and a half. I don’t think he’ll ever finish it. I bet he has his dinner up there, puts a perimeter of open Stanley Knives all round him to stop the kids from coming up. I like to think he has an iPad stowed away behind a roof tile and he just whiles away the hours, tucked up in the insulation watching an entire season of Line of Duty. The loft is the highest point in the house too, the only way he could be any further away from his family was if he sat on the chimney pot next to the Sky dish. Its like he’s left but he’s still there too.

I have two children and I will regularly tell my wife Jemma that I am going to put the bin out, then I just go and stand behind my own shed, for about 45 minutes. It’s the only thing I’ve got now. I make a proper night of it. I’ve got beers chilling in the waterbutt, a buffet laid out on the trampoline, I even take the baby monitor, just so I can hear her struggling with both kids. This is obviously all a joke by the way, I wouldn’t do that. Its only got a 150M range, it doesn’t work.

A Spa Day is often a popular way of unwinding in this hectic world.

For my 40^th birthday, my wife decided to treat us both to one. I’d never been to one before. The last time I went to a Spa was to pick up the Daily Mirror, a Lottery Ticket and a Drifter (the chocolate bar, not a homeless man) so this was all new to me.

On the way there I did consider starting a big row in the car, just so we’d get our money’s worth. Well there’s no point in taking your car in for a valet if it’s already clean is there?

Imagine that, both of us walking into the reception, just yelling at each other, drowning out the sound of “The best of pan pipe moods volume 2”

“You’re an idiot, I hate you, honestly who hides behind a shed!”

“Hi it’s Mr and Mrs Bennett we are here for the pamper day, good luck unravelling this tension with some cucumber and a hot flannel”

I couldn’t believe what I saw when we pulled into the grounds of the hotel.

There were just people wondering around in their dressing gowns and slippers, it looked like visiting time in a psychiatric hospital.

I thought, “she’s had me sectioned for my birthday”. I half expected to turn around and see her just speeding out the gates.

It was like One flew over the cuckoo’s nest. People were walking arm in arm, presumably being taken back to the ward for an afternoon dose of Prosecco.

We queued up in silence at the buffet, holding out our tiny plates. I swear at one point I saw one lady just dribbling into the coleslaw, all zoned out after four hours of Reiki.

I spent all day in my dressing gown, I thought, this is what it must be like to be unemployed!

Come on, be honest, it’s one in the afternoon and you’re sat in your dressing gown watching Homes under The Hammer and eating honey nut loops, you’re not the CEO of Google, you’re either unemployed, or a comedian!

It’s amazing how quickly you become comfortable with being half naked in front of complete strangers. I don’t like answering the door to the postman if I’m not dressed but there I was lying half naked on a wicker sofa, with Roger and Marjorie from the Cotswolds, helping them with the times crossword.

At one point I totally forgot where I was, Jemma leaned in, “I you enjoying it here?” I said “I am” “Well take your hands out of your pants then”

My little working-class face was in awe, I felt like I’d climbed the social ladder. I particularly enjoyed sneering at the all the Groupon people, especially at that moment when they’ve realised, they’ve effectively paid £50 for a posh swim.

I sat and ate a three-course meal in my dressing gown too. I spilt some Gravy on the front, which made for a tense afternoon. Everywhere I went I felt the need to explain it to people.

“It’s gravy, honest, I’m just clumsy, please get back in the hot tub, I wasn’t the 2 o’clock colonic, please it’s gravy, look taste it, its gravy!”

I decided I wanted a massage; I’d never had one before. As soon as I got in there though, I instantly regretted it.

The masseuse was a Glaswegian woman, called Jaqui and let me tell you, that is was as threatening as it sounds. That is not the accent for that job!

I have never been so scared in my entire life. When I got in the room, she was stood there with her clipboard, wearing a black tunic, which I swear had blood stains on.

Then she spoke:

“Ya alright Mr Bennett, my names Jaqui, I’m your masseuse for the next hour. Why don’t you get yerself on ma bed, put your face in the hole, roll down those wee shorts, close your eyes and just relax….”

I just nodded and did what she said, I thought as long as I do what she says, I’ll stand a chance of seeing the kids again.

I remembered the first rule of any hostage situation, always keep the captor talking:

“Sorry Jaqui, I’m a bit nervous, this is my first time, I don’t normally pay for it”

“Pay for what?” Jaqui said.

“A massage, my wife normally does it, but you can’t beat getting a pro to do it can you…..erm, professional I mean….erm”

“Don’t be nervous Mr Bennett, you ain’t got nothing I haven’t already seen before”

I thought, “Christ, she’s hacked my phone too!”

“So, before we start is there anything you’d like to tell me?”

I said nothing, I might be a lot of things but I’m no grass.

Jacqui was a small woman but my god she was strong. She massaged me like I owed her money.

She really went for it.

“How’s that pressure for yer?”

“Lovely Jaqui, it’s a little bit close to the windpipe though!”

It was so tense; the room was silent. I’m staring at the floor; my face is wedged in the hole and all I could hear was my own heartbeat and a slapping noise, as Jaqui pushed around my own back fat.

She offered me a range of oils to choose from, ones to soothe, ones to invigorate and ones to stimulate the muscles. “What’s that one on the end?” I said, “That’s no for you, that’s Crisp ‘n’ Dry, that’s ma shopping”

I just picked one, I didn’t care; because at that point I was doing what most men do in a massage situation, because things, unplanned things, had started to happen.

One muscle had been stimulated a bit more than all the rest.

If you are a female a massage is nothing but relaxation, you drift off into a zen like state of bliss. Men aren’t wired that way. For us, all it becomes is a struggle, an hour-long battle to hold in that fart and hold down that erection. The fact is, we don’t like being fiddled with unless its going to lead somewhere.

I’m now biting on the towel, my butt cheeks have gone numb, I’m trying to distract myself by looking at Jaqui’s toes. Trying to imagine there my own mothers’ toes. I even did the full “this little piggy went to market routine”, but nothing was working.

Then Jaqui said the one sentence I didn’t want to hear, the one that made me wish I’d have stayed in the hot-tub or stayed in the lounge with Roger and Marjorie:

“Right Mr Bennett, its time to flip you over”

I was panicking now, I was just thinking, “FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, NOT NOW JACQUI!!!, I will take your eye out here, I will knock the glasses from your face, I’m primed like a plate dispenser!”

When I met up with Jemma later, she asked me how it went. “Not bad I said, I think I prefer it when you do it though. Next time I’ll stick to the pedicures”