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At a backyard barbecue last night I spotted a friend I hadn't seen for a while, so I went over to say hello. He was leaning against a ragged old trampoline, talking to a girl I know only slightly. I made some casual opening remark, he responded, and the girl said, "Give me a cuddle."

I was taken aback, but who am I to argue? I gave her a hug, and that seemed to make her happy.

I leaned against the trampoline and my friend and I traded a few more comments, but then I suddenly felt a very gentle pressure on my shoulders.

"Poppy," I said, for that was the girl's name, "Are you giving me a massage?"

"Yes," she replied.

"But aren't you supposed to, like, squeeze or something?"

"I'm rubbing," she protested.

It wasn't very strong rubbing. In fact it was a very Zen massage, just the lightest pressure, like two butterflies alighting on my shoulders.

"She's balancing your energy levels," my friend said, with a straight face. He's a physiotherapist, and could probably give me a massage that would turn my muscles to jelly. Instead I was getting the dainty touch of Poppy, which, while not unpleasant, didn't seem to be achieving all that much.

Oh well. I suppose you can't expect a really top-notch massage from a three year old.