I sauntered past the pharmacy at lunchtime and noticed a small, blue sign that read: “Bowen Therapy – enquire within”. My rumbling stomach precluded indulging my curiosity, so I fear I will never find out what is involved in Bowen therapy. Several definitions presented themselves, all involving the only Bowen that I could picture.
At first, I thought it must be a programme of help for people whose Sunday teatimes have never quite recovered from the cancellation of their cherished, darts-based, game show. They can be found wandering forlornly around speedboat showrooms, muttering “Look at what you could have won” to themselves. A normal game of darts holds no interest for them, for they have grown accustomed to the heady exhilaration of a quick-fire general knowledge round.
Alternatively, Jim Bowen may have branched out into alternative healing, developing his own branch of acupuncture. Patients are strapped to a giant, rotating dartboard while a heavy-drinking, chain-smoking, blindfolded ex-professional darts player hurls surgical needles at them. Points are totted up using an abacus, in accordance with the ancient Chinese principles regarding the flow of chi around the body and the law of “You Get Nothing In This Game For Two In A Bed”.
The other option was that it was therapy for Jim Bowen, or people that think they are Jim Bowen. It would probably also cover Ted Rogers, Larry Grayson, Tarby, Kenny Lynch and Dusty Bin. Perhaps even Isla St Clair, at a push.
The truth of the matter is that Bowen Therapy is some sort of Australian-invented massage that sounds like it involves wiggling the flesh gently while removing uncomfortable wodges of cash from the wallet. What do I know, though? I’m not a doctor, and wouldn’t know an “all embracing vibrational energy therapy” if it bit me on the bum.