The Sauna
Sometime in January - a typically wet, cold and grey Monday in the midst of a tyrannical London winter, I was about to embark on a quest to the gym. My boyfriend was on a month-long Australian tour - and whilst I was quite frankly freezing my tits-off with every passing day, he was basking in the glory of the Sydney summer, dining at the local seafood market, playing shows and drinking copious amounts of Guinness - so it was a small miracle that I had conjured up enough self-determination to actually leave the house at all.
Having the worst FOMO imaginable, I decided that it was high-time to get my bikini out. Not only was I going to run a 5K, pump some iron and stretch myself into oblivion, I had committed myself to a swim (aka laying next to a freezing cold indoor pool, whilst frantically manifesting some actual sun) and a sauna. How lovely - all those membership fees need to be put to some good wellness use.
After finishing my workout and feeling like Hercules, I descended upon the ‘hammam area’ - to crushing disappointment. My first stop, the steam room, was out of order - the hammam gossip was that this saga had been going on since before Christmas. My second stop, the sauna, can only be described as my most ‘Larry David’ moment to date.
Upon opening the sauna door, I was greeted by a wall of men, the majority of whom were on their phones (sorry, who the hell takes their phone into a sauna), some with cabled headphones - no doubt all obsessively Raya-swiping and brain-rot Insta-scrolling, or circling-back. So aghast were the blokes that I had dared to enter their man-cave, I joked, “Woah, is this the men’s only session?!” - to much disdain. Fortunately, a kind chap sitting in the corner made some space and began chatting away to me… “Oh you’ve upset them now, lol” he whispered - of course, how dare a little orange-haired woman in her bikini invade their sacred man-space. He continued, “do you think it smells in here?” “YES!!” I replied - it did indeed smell absolutely horrendous. A potent cocktail of soggy post-marathon feet and Febreeze - the kind of smell when someone tries to erode a stench with lavender air-freshener, but it merely becomes part of the odour. Well, apparently this saga had been going on for quite some time too. So there I was, bikini-clad, crammed into the corner of this tiny, stinking, sweltering wooden box in West London, with a sea of tech-laden men sneering at me, whilst my new friend and I put the world to rights.
No more than 60 seconds had passed and I could feel another chap on my right angling to get in on the convo. “Oh it’s been stinking in here for MONTHS!” he announced. “Absolute shambles, no idea why I keep paying all this money - and the Service! Don’t even get me started.” Before we knew it, the entire sauna was kicking off after a few new entries joined, sheepishly opening the door with, “Ohhhh, do you think it smells in here?”
What the hell was I still doing in there?! After a few minutes of complaining and participating in some kind of hammam-coup, I had no choice but to evacuate - my dreams of a regular Monday afternoon visit to the sauna in tatters. Needless to say, that was my first and last sauna session of 2025 - I think I’ll just go on holiday next time.