A nice idea, but the pan pipes still needle me

About 15 years ago, my mum's face went all wonky down one side. I remember noticing it while peering over a box of Frosties at the breakfast table one morning. "I think you've had a stroke mum," I mumbled. "You should probably go down the doctor's or something." So she did.

"The good news is, your insolent son's diagnosis was incorrect," said the doctor. "The bad news is, you have a rare affliction of the nervous system for which there is no cure. You will probably look like the Emperor out of Star Wars for the rest of your life. Hey ho! Next!" Mum would probably have cried had her tear ducts not been paralysed.

As a final throw of the dice, she went to see an acupuncturist. After just three sessions under the needles, her face went back to normal. Ever since then, I've been a secret advocate of the ancient Chinese art of needle-based jiggery pokery. But I never plucked up the courage to undergo treatment myself - until last week.

"Look doc, spare me the spiritual flim-flam," I told the needle-wielder as I lay on his treatment table. "I've not been sleeping properly, my foot hurts and I think I've got a cold coming. Do what you must, just keep the needles away from my privates and switch off that pan-pipe music, it's making me anxious."

A few jabs to the wrists and ankles later and I felt like a million bucks. At only 40 quid an hour, I reckon it's a credit-crunching alternative to Class A drugs. Next week, I'm going to bung him an extra tenner and see if he'll teach me how to levitate.