For any remaining naysayers who believe that CBD oil is a bathroom cabinet addition reserved only for semi-reformed teenage stoners, let us direct you to The Drug Store. The name, of course, is purposefully blunt, but the pure white-walled Marylebone shop is more like a dermatologist from the future than your brother’s mate Stevo’s musty flat.
I head downstairs to a space where they’ve installed a spa bed for their recently-introduced CBD facials. The brilliant white room and strip lighting might not have the most immediately relaxing vibe, but my therapist soon starts cleansing and moisturising, and I shut my eyes for the next hour anyway. The CBD element comes in the form of an infused face mask, which smells faintly cannabis-y. While the mask does its work, my neck, shoulders and face are massaged into blissful submission.
Maybe it’s the oil, maybe it’s the whole package, but by the time something smelling vaguely of Jaffa Cakes is rubbed into my newly supple cheeks (anyone got the munchies?), I definitely feel pretty spaced-out. Emerging back into packed central London is a bit of a shock to the system, but hey - at least my skin is feeling perky.
