Occasionally in this jaded life you run into something – or someone – that is not just good but superlative; something not just nice but a complete joy; something that you almost cancelled because you were tired and a bit grumpy but you left it too late to call and so you went along anyway. Then, whoops: before you know it you’re having the time of your life and you’re thinking, wow, I’m really glad I made the effort.

That’s why, this week, when I was supposed to be writing about summer scents I changed my mind and decided to do Una Brennan instead. Una who? Una Brennan: only one of the best facialists I’ve come across in years.

Actually, the best was an eccentric Hungarian lady who emigrated to Australia almost a decade ago. She operated out of her drawing room in a tiny flat in what was then the unfashionable end of South Kensington (what a quaint thought: I don’t imagine there’s an unfashionable loo brush in South Kensington these days). Being a client of hers was a nerve-racking experience. You never knew when your appointment was going to be: you would receive a summons, and if you failed to appear, she would strike you off her books with unbridled fury, only to ring back a few weeks later and demand your presence.

That said, she knew her stuff. Whatever the condition of my skin, her vigorous ministrations would always leave me pink-cheeked, blemish-free and even-toned. She had no truck with modern machinery (although she was fond of her steamer: “I steam, darling. You don’t like, you go.”). With her, it was all about good old-fashioned, hands-on therapy.

Finding someone who is not afraid (or too lazy) to use their hands is now rare in the beauty industry. So many product-affiliated facials rely on new-fangled technology. Not so with Una. The most technical thing in her front room in Bayswater, West London, is a magnifying mirror with a light. The rest is sheer expertise.

We began with a double cleanse (using her favoured range, Skinceuticals). To soften pores, she painted on warm wax, a deliciously comforting experience. She deftly removed imperfections, then moved on to a massage that was outstanding. I asked her where she had trained. A bodybuilding gym in Belfast: she used to stand on a crate to navigate the herculean physiques of her clients.

If the first part of the (90-minute) facial was all about heat, the second was a wake-up call: ice-cold compresses to stimulate blood flow – the facial equivalent of a dip in a plunge-pool. Afterwards, I staggered down the steps of her apartment feeling dazed but with my skin clear, clean and rehydrated. Now that, ladies and gentlemen, is what I call a facial.

Una Brennan: 020-7313 9835

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