Day 168 - Dog Snog

Highlight of the day: the men were invited to the ladies' pond. It was a raucous affair. There was literal chest-beating, figurative showboating and croissants.  They all changed outside without the tiniest complaint. Families came - mothers, fathers, daughters, sons. There was a sense of giddiness, as if we'd broken into a school at night and were running along dimly-lit corridors, past spook - filled night classrooms. 

No

Cafetiere after cafetiere of coffee relayed out from the kitchen. A dreadlocked Spaniard made a splash with a few people, in awe of his body, his presence and his little knickers. Then he asked for a photo with three of us ("my girlfriends, to show my boyfriend"). Ha ha. 


There was an unusually young demographic for both sexes. Not representative of the normal way of the ponding world. There was a little black dog, Maisy, who enjoyed the attention, but (I am horrified to say) managed to slip in the dog snog tongue while I was stroking her. Bleargh. 

No

And especially after seeing Charlie dog, who looks like the sweetest thing, eating deer droppings in Richmond Park yesterday. Not happy. I am not one of those dog people who lets a dog lick them in the mouth. Much as I love them, that disgusts me. I am at one with this reaction.

Cute, and the baby knows no better, but still no.

All in all, it (the men's visit, not the dog snog) was quite an event, and the highlight, I must say, of my day, which I led steadily downhill from that point. I did do some yoga/stretching, though, and some writing, of sorts (though not of the sort I intended) and I had texts and calls with some good eggs. Hmmm. Only a 2 out of 10 for effort, though. Try harder. Do better. I must.

Day 167 - Chum & chums

Skunk cabbage

I've decided. If I ever get married, we're not going to say 'I do' to each other. No. It's 'That'll do, pig' all the way. I know that narrows my options a bit, but I'm willing to take a chance. When you believe in something...


The sun, a walk in Richmond Park. Good people. A dog. Deer in the distance. Yellow flowers in the water like squat triffids. Azaleas. Camellias. Wikipedia (for the spellings of these plants - I didn't know I didn't know them). Nascent horse chestnut leaves. Furred buds. 

It was much more subdued than this today

This:  http://100poetryforms.wordpress.com/ - my sister Sarah's latest challenge.


Impressive friends performing impressively. Jazz that I liked (that's a bigger deal than you can possibly imagine). Realisations that don't feel comfortable, but that are undoubtedly a Good Thing. 

Day 166 - That'll Do, Pig

Gooood Day. I swam in a beautiful pond. Spoke to lovely people. Fixed a few days' work in the next few weeks. I had what turned out to be a job interview, kind of. I'm definitely very excited about working with this company, and about the kind of work they'd like me to think about doing. Yes. Please.










Then I played all afternoon with Jon & Broadley, Michael & Lady Margaret and my monkey, Noodle. I laughed for most of the afternoon, then ate very nice food, then performed at BAC, talked to more lovely people and came home. What more can I ask of a day? Nothing.

Day 165 - Jesus Fail

Oh, I loved my work today. It was just so much fun. More fun than I expected. More fun, even, than I'd hoped. I didn't start till 1. I was less productive than I intended this morning - I failed to get up and swim, missing my date with Ruth (I'm missing her). I had left my phone at The Hub. Had anyone been at work at 6.01am, they'd have had a wake-up call. As it was, I woke up at 5.50 (or about 20 mins before, but that's when I looked at my watch). All proud, I went back to bed until 6... and slept until 7. Arse. But I didn't beat myself up. I didn't swim, but I had a shower here (very rare) and did some work - still juicy concatenation business.

'Concatenation'

Then off to Canary Wharf (visually lovely - we saw great reflections and sixties decorative designs on the water). I wore smart. I think I was almost planning to be bankered. But no. Forum theatre and corporate roleplay with some really lovely people and a massively up-for-it group. Then 'real-play' - which is a better concept than it is a term. People tell us real situations they're about to have to deal with and they try it out. Now, I could go on about how I hate corporate work (esp. in banks) and how it's not 'real acting', but I don't really believe any of that most of the time. Corporates are made of people and I do like people (except when I'm a grumpy-faced old arse, and then it's fundamentally me that I don't like - I pretend that other people are involved). I like people and I like playing. And I like moments of realisation and change. 


It made me think of Viv Goodings, that job. He said once that when he gets to London after a long time away, to tune back in he goes to Oxford Street (or somewhere equally hectic) and just takes in the bash and bump and jostle of it until he can really love all those people and all that energy... then he goes about his day. That's stayed with me. It pleases me. It was no work to like these people I was doing training with. None at all. They were already lovely. 

Another outstanding Jesus

There was a very good Jesus in Master & Margarita. He saw everyone as good. No bad people, just good ones who were angry or sad or confused or in pain. And he was terribly skinny and folded over, and Spanish. I liked him. In the play, he said that Matthew had been making up stories in his notes - that he'd asked him to destroy the nonsense he'd written and just write what really happened, but he hadn't. Oh, I did like skinny Spanish Jesus. 


Oh, and I also failed by drinking tea and eating soft cookies supplied by the bankers. I promised to be honest. And I had liver and vegetables at 10pm. Fail! No biggie.


After work, I enjoyed spending some time with Sarah Lonton. The event we ended up going to was not to my liking, but it was nice to hang out with her. It wasn't planned, and I missed a phone call I'd promised. I must do that tomorrow. Oh dear. My eyes are roving all around. I must wrap up. A lovely, playful, useful day. Thank you.

Day 164 - Noodling

How good was that? To be arse-honest, I have spent a couple of days feeling a niggle in the pit about tonight. Last week, in a bout of heady glee at the end of the drop2 drop-in (it's always the way), I said that next week was DEFINITELY HAPPENING, and that I'd bring some masks. And then I murfed about in my brains thinking 'oh, can I do it? Will anyone come? Will it be any good? Should I be working instead?'. This last one is particularly pernicious. My mission is for my work to feel like play, not work... or like craft. Today's work, proofing and checking a concatenated game script, felt like solving a good puzzle. How to make the sentences fit, the inflexions buzz so that wherever the word appears in a sentence, it will sound like a human, not like a train announcement. I loved it. It wasn't exactly play, but it was easy even when it was difficult, if you know what I mean. Lovely.


And there's quite a bit of the work I do that feels very much like the old concept of work - toil, labour, drudge, strain - often before and during it. After, it nearly always feels good. Anyway, digressface, I finally got to publicising tonight's drop-in this morning (shameful, really) and I was blessed almost immediately with messages from brilliant men Barry McStay and Damo Warren-Smith saying they were coming. Then Vicki Pipe said yes, and then to add to the juice Clive Moore and Andy Hix came to play. And Noodle. Thanks to Michael Brunström (I bow to you, Meister Stroid), I have a monkey in my care. He was with me, having collected him from a very patient Michael this morning. 


So, after some warm-ups done in the best of spirits, causing guffaws and massive up-for-it-ness, we did scenes with masks, puppets and people. Every one had gold in it. I learnt loads again and I loved it. AND I got to a. experiment with the monkey and b. watch someone who's done it a bit more than me use him too, and let me notice what I liked about his movements and when I found myself broken from the reality. When he was Noodle and when he was a plush monkey with someone's hand up him. All in all, a delightful session, full of juice and very nice people. And I got another taste of what it IS like when work feels like play. When it IS play. When I'm using skills that give me a buzz and a high.




Thank you, Hub warm people... Sarah, Anna, Luke, Andy, Rob, Kirstie and lots more. I felt welcome and warm today. And thank you for good food, a sturdy bike, good friends and my lovely bed. Night, then.


Oooh, and thanks to Wikipedia, I found out that 'noodling', as well as just generally dicking about, is a term for catching catfish with your bare hands... hence this very happy-looking gentleman and his whiskery companion.

Day 163 - Cat on a Stick

Grateful and spent. 


I just got a last-minute £12 ticket to see The Master & Margarita thanks to the lovely Dominique Gerrard. It was so intense, I'm still chewing. Some amazing ensemble theatre and a central performance to bring you to your knees. A puppet cat and a crash test dummy. Best Jesus ever as well, some amazing ideas with space, sound and light. 


Jean was there too (twice in a week - that's just greedy). I looked for her, but couldn't find her. Then, just as we were all leaving, she appeared. 

This man, in particular, was outstanding

Lots of other good things happened today, and my mind is too fluid to think about them. Oddly, though, what comes to mind is the twin buggy I saw the other day on Kentish Town Road. On one side, a sweet boy, about 2 and in the other, with the boy's arm draped gently over it, a puppy the colour of dust. 


Now sleep is on the menu. More gratitude tomorrow, and in my sleep.

Day 162 - an om too far

Bleary-eyed from too much sleep, I lamed out of bed and legged it to the pond in time to swim* and still be not late for Catherine at 11. Kenwood House. Blissfully still relatively calm at that time of day. There was a significant nip until about 1pm, so although fullish, it wasn't by any means mental. We sat for a long time on a bench, just talking. Oh and thank you, Catherine, for such a thoughtful and apt present. Catherine's thinking behind presents is that they should be things you wouldn't buy for yourself. She chose something lovely that no, I wouldn't have, a rich rose face cream. My cheeks are thankful. 

We had such a good wander all around. It's different, the Heath, at weekends. So many people (not such a plus) and even more dogs than usual (every cloud...). I saw a rash of Dobermans and a laughable number of little dogs. There was one going from person to person. It liked Catherine, though she did not entirely reciprocate. Then it went and weed on a man's bag, to the embarrassment of the owner and to our delight. The man said 'he didn't manage to wee on it, though, did he?' in absolute denial, because he blatantly did. The man with the soiled bag was visibly annoyed, but pretty chilled, considering. Considering what? Possibly that we were guffawing in a less than gainly manner. Such children. There was also serious talk of thigh-offs, and discussion about who would win. I reckon it would be quite a match. I still think I'd win.

We had a posh salmon salad lunch that brought me such joy. Seared, it was, in criss-crosses. Moist. Delicious. With enough good salad. Thank you. After it, I felt as one should after a healthy meal. Happily full, not stuffed and with no particular need for anything else (whereas after a pie, a pudding seems like a must, as long as I can stuff it down before the food coma takes a grip). 

So - from tomorrow, back to the January programme - no refined sugar, no caffeine or decaf coffee, no eating after 9pm. I say it here to make a commitment to it. I'll keep the blog full of the facts (or at least I promise to be honest if I've been doing nothing but washing down trifle with one cappuccino after another, at midnight). Tanya Achianale doesn't eat sugar and she has the most beautiful skin I think I've every seen on a person. That's not why I'm doing it, but it could be a plus. God, it's a relief when 

Tomorrow is a busy day. Thank you, Grundel, for making those ideas appear. Very grateful. 

* Maybe it goes without saying that the water was silky cold and welcoming. Ah well, there it is said. 

Day 161 - Rich

What beautiful bliss this morning. Such sun. Such light. Although I was late, Ruth was still at the pond when I arrived, taking photos that will become art. She's a talented artist. She's done some beautiful pondy things before, but as she says, more offer themselves up wherever you look on days like this. I changed outside, to get the most out of the light. The heron flew in at the lower pond and lurked with grace. The water held me like a beloved child. Every step of today's trip was a gift. And at the end of it, Maisie, a dark little dog, all soft. 


Breakfast with Ruth, and the chance to delve my hands into rich compost. We filled her recycling box, now redundant of that purpose, with all kinds of soil to grow vegetables in. You can't beat the feeling, and smell, of rich, ready compost. All the sourness of its rotting has disappeared. It smells full of goodness. 


Down at the South Bank by 10.30 ish to take part in Guy Atkins' Save Our Placards event. Protest placards from last year, all saved as part of an art and politics project, brought out again and walked by handfuls of volunteers at spaced out intervals. Not a protest march, then. The opposite, kind of. A very low key, soft-edged display of the banners. A reminder. Particularly poignant, though, were the NHS banners. It reminds me to be more active before the event. The sun shone, though. I saw Eugenia - about time too - lovely to catch up; Guy, who is always a pleasure; a lovely man whose name I forgot almost instantly - we had an excellent second yomp around the course (Hungerford Bridge to Blackfriars, a loop on both sides of the river). He suggested a fabulous yoga teacher for me, reminded me how fascinated I was with complexity theory, threw up the Santa Fe Institute and all sorts of other things for me to find out more about. He was bright. I thanked him for the gifts. 


Then off to The Cut to meet wonderful Pond Jean, such a sparkly-eyed lady. She's in her eighties and that's so hard to believe. With Tessa and Anastasia, her friends, we ate garlic-laced Turkish food and gleefully drank tap water. Then we went to the theatre to see After Miss Julie. Very intense indeed, it was. A budgie got its head cut off. And it was a real budgie in the cage, then a stuffed one when it got "killed". Despite excellent performances by everyone involved, three quarters of the audience (me included) was obsessed with the damned budgie. We sat right at the front and saw it from about a foot away, so we reassured many concerned animal lovers that the blood-spurting budgie they'd seen decapitated was not the one from the cage. Where did it go, though? Whereever it went, it was very slick. Nobody saw it. It's Jean's birthday on Tuesday. Aha! And today (I'm surprised I didn't cry), she was celebrating her wedding anniversary to her late husband. 63 years ago today, she said, I'd just got married. Wow. Hands, mouth and all. Wow.


Back home, work (a little) and another dose of blog wisdom from a very interesting man: http://www.lindsredding.com/2012/03/11/a-overdue-lesson-in-perspective/ 
So very true. Yes, Yes, Yes. Lindsay Redding, I do agree.

I feel rich with variety and friendships today. I am humbly grateful. 

Day 160 - Overripe

Like this, but in a British pond.

I am grateful, daily, daily. I really am. 


Hazy promises of a beautiful day this morning. A thickness to the air. Gentle reflections of water on tree trunks, moving at different paces in different parts of the pond. New shoots. Green reeds among the beige dead grasses of the winter. 


In the men's pond, a man doing headstands on a surfboard. I saw him do three. I stopped and watched. What a show-off, but what balance! I'd have watched for longer, but I had a call to get to (postponed by the time I got home, but no harm done). A new company wanting role-play and facilitation in other languages. Good, good. I need to find a way of packing a transit case.


Inspiring talk with Amanda Dormon - writer of many kinds, very funny woman and all round excellent egg. I felt all possible after our meeting. She's doing good things. I was reminded to be grateful for so many good women in my life. A few good men too, of course, but so, so many more women. Impressive, strong, soft, lovely women who enrich my life with their each one-ness and individual take on things. 

Like this, but in a cafe.

Primrose Hill - a LOT of dog action (better, Sandison? Better?). A pack of them. I petted one and its owner said 'which one's yours?' She looked a little wary when I said 'none of them'. It's how it goes. I miss them, though, so when they're there and willing, you know. It's not weird. I'm a dog-owner without a dog, that's all. I think that dog was a pointer. Tall, s/he was, and lean, with markings like a cow. Outside a cafe, shaggy thing that looked like the Weimaraner/Poodle cross I looked up on the internet the other day. Big hazel eyes and urchinness. Willing to be petted. A great tall thing on the top of Primrose Hill that loped and waited (as did his owner) while I had a ... a moment. Then I patted him and off he went. And a sweet, cock-eared little girl mongrel under a table. Wary, soft-eyed, curious. I liked her. 

Like this, but smaller.

A second-hand chicken. Possibly not the right term. Marked down, for cooking today. I bought it. It has been roasted and has a number of meals written on its bony carcass. Fricasee, curry (with sultanas!), soup. A second-hand book about love. A conversation about second-hand cheese, but no such thing. 


On the way up to Ruth's, a line of tiny Batmen, four of them, in fact, each complete with mask, cape and six-pack/sticky-outy chest. None of them more than three feet high. They all walked like they were the real Batman. Their mothers humoured them. A lone tiny Spiderman, no mask. Pajama-y thanks to that. Bless that little boy. Now I scour my brains, there were fairies too, but I didn't register them. My memory tells me that I had a Spiderman suit, but I suspect it was just very wishful thinking. Never the fairy, always the superhero, as the old adage goes. Speaks reams.

Just like this.

Lovely time with Ruth, doing practical things (involving cables, manuals and little wire ties) and drinking tea. I get to see her three days running. Yesterday at the Hockney, today and tomorrow, for breakfast. And then this. Thanks to facebook and Mr Steve Wheeler. A Russian beatboxer. YESSSS!












http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tpfTKTvaN3E&feature=related (skip to 1.40 mins)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vyC5xGLbgxw&feature=endscreen&NR=1


Thanks, Kate, for the book you lent me, which is bearing such ripe fruit. Almost fermented, so long they've been sitting on shelves in humid thought cellars, not being brought out till they're past their best. It's amazing what an airing will do, though. We. Shall. See. 

Day 159 - Gifts in Many Forms

Weeping openly into a book, moved by its bold style and its sense of faith. Full of admiration for its author. Thank you, Dominique, for the recommendation.


Two very pleasing dog moments. A pair of muscle-bound bull terrier type dogs bowling each other over and playing like boisterous boys. The were both boisterous boys, in fact. One of them was beige like a cushion. Both of them smiled. Just before that, a posh lady playing ball with two butter-wouldn't-melt spaniels. The especially eager one in the red bandana made excited squeaking sounds whenever she was about to throw the ball, then bombed after it. Altogether, a very refined affair, until the other dog had a poo and bandana boy dived in and munched it up before the lady could get there. It wasn't so much the scatological groo of it as the surprise and the incongruence of such a pretty dog doing a gross thing so matter-of-factly. I laughed. 


A pigeon-boy puffing and bowing to a non-plussed lady pigeon. I saw a man look on with normal London pigeon disgust and I wanted to say 'No, look at what he's doing - this is really beautiful!'. I didn't. I sat on that. I was touched.


Unexpected gift - walking from Oxford Street to Piccadilly, I passed the door of St. George's Church. I felt an urge and went in, only to find a full orchestra rehearsing in there. Well, chatting, at first, but then rehearsing. I stayed for 20 minutes or so. Their music was beautiful. The concert was A Dance to the Music of Time. I was excited and planned to go, but I've just clicked that it was tonight, not next Thursday as I thought. I'm very grateful for the beauty of what I heard today. The Orpheus Foundation. That's who was behind it. Thank you. 

Thank you, Ruth, for the gift of a pass to go and see the Hockney exhibition with you (and lovely Chris). It was very impressive. Lordy, that man is prolifc! He must be making art every moment he's awake! I especially liked some of the darker landscapes, very early, a painting about Switzerland and some iPad-generated flowers. Throughout the exhibition, the colours were dancing. There were lots of slow, hypnotic films too. I could have stayed longer there. Lovely to see Ruth, as always, and to see her doing something that she loves. 


I am grateful also to her for her encouragement and motivation to get to the pond early. I missed that this morning, and my day ached for it. Tomorrow. I'll be there. Now sleep.

Day 158 - Serial Flitter

It's the same rats. The ones I see at the top of the path that leads to the pond (Millfield Lane turned track). This morning, I saw them from a distance, so I stopped and watched. I think they're a couple. 


This morning's gift, on the way up Highgate West Hill, a shed roof that's always thick with moss, now dusted with pink blossoms from the tree above. Lovely people in the changing rooms when I arrived to swim (Ruth, Mary Bike-Politics, Jo), but once again, the pond was mine alone. Not a soul even thought about coming. I dragged it out a bit. I dallied. Yesterday's sun was nowhere to be seen, but there was a seriousness about the water today that pleased me; a calm.


A morning conference call for a job next week that turned out to be delightful. Not supposed to be fun, that sort of thing, but the human contact does me the world of good, it really does. I laughed. Possibly more than was necessary. Sarah Lonton was on that call. She always adds seasoning to a conversation. Good spice. Pleasing weaving today: Sarah Lonton and Rob Grundel. A truly jazz link-up. May it be smooth and head-bobby in the best of ways. 


Two jobs today, if not actually materialising, then mooted. And a chat with Jack - such a pleasure. Tomorrow is decision-time. Do it. Make some. Grow some, girl. Not sure where I'd put them, to be honest. 


Crouch End Library claims to be the creative hub of the community. I think they're right. Creative Writing every Wednesday (little did I know) and all sorts of other things. I failed to find a saxophonist, but it was just one afternoon. There's time. And I didn't even venture into Budgen's. 


Thank you for a blessed cancellation. Simone is a very skilled osteopath. My back is a rebellious teenager. It's lashing out. It's hunkering down with a skulk on. It's refusing to budge. Probably all it needs is a bit of love, but it's buggered if it's going to accept it. I am grateful for an agreement that means the months when I have earnt very little, she is happy to give me a consessionary rate for her magic, and the months I earn more healthily, I fly that flag and offer up the full rate. 


Thanks to Max for another Die Antwoord vid. To Jacky Wood for this:

http://redscharlach.tumblr.com/post/19565284869/otters-who-look-like-benedict-cumberbatch-a

As she says herself - how can the internet be bad when it produces things like this?

And this article, which I didn't get to - to much else going on:  http://tinyurl.com/7orfr3b

I spend so much time flitting that I'm never quite sure where I am. Get a grip. Honestly. Do it. 

Day 157 - I'd Do Me

My little sister is a working poet. How good is that? She has been commissioned to write some poems AND she runs workshops in poetry writing in schools and stuff. Very proud of her, I am. Go, Our Face. Do what you love. The universe rejoices. Get in!


Yesterday, a chance meeting in the yoga class. There were a lot of people. 25 or so. One of them was a lovely woman I'd been on a workshop with before Christmas. Funny, clever,  Mexican. We said hello. Perhaps we'll meet up soon. I've emailed. Another yoga class today. Eunice taught this. It was gentler. More followable. No chakra stuff, but lots of downward dogs. 


I had a massive go on a quickly upside-down Rottweiler today. Someone begging outside Sainsbury's had him. He was on his back when I saw him. Then I asked if I could pet him and he flipped back up a little faster than expected. Once, on Baker Street, I petted a homeless man's dog without asking - a tiny terrier - and it nearly bit my hand off. He told me i should always ask, as the dog's job is to protect him, so what was I thinking. I definitely (and unwisely) kind of went in for the touch on this Rottweiler without really checking, but it all turned out peachy. It was rolling around with its legs in the air within five seconds. I bought him some food and I think that was a very clear example of altruism for selfish purposes. I am often to be found wandering wistfully down the dogfood aisle. No wist today, just biscuits. Dry dog food. Job done.


I'm grateful to Max for being so lovely about Berlin, and so patient. I'm not able to tell him yet if I'll be coming to do the mask show or not, because I don't know if I can afford the trip to Berlin and it's dependent on the work being confirmed - should happen in the next couple of days, once I've managed to speak to everyone involved. 


And for a brilliant drop-in, I am humbly grateful. That's just ACE. Five people came. We played. They rocked. Thank you, thank you, thank you, playing people. Thank you Crunchy Frog Collective. Thank you, this opportunity to do something I love doing. 


Oh, and thank you for this. Again. http://foodonmydog.tumblr.com/


And this... As I'd googled images of Our Face (aka Sarah Thomasin) I thought I'd google my own name and see what came up. Well, there's this gentlman, Mr Jude Claybourne. Is it okay to fancy myself? It is if I am slick, handsome and hot as all hell. 


And finally, please, PLEASE check this out. It's one of the best videos I've seen in ages (thank you, Rob Grundel) and pleases me massively. Look out for some of the best faces anyone's made in long time, some brilliant crazy dancing, perfect sofa bouncing and a man beating a stuffed lion with a baseball bat.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=461C8TO5ARU&feature=related


Enjoy.

Day 156 - Yoga Yoga Yoga

Yoga. Today. Not once. Not twice. Three times. Bugger me! An early morning bit of 'self-practice', meaning I did it on my own; a free session at The Hub with a lady from Stockholm; the first of 20 days of 'free pass' at a yoga centre in Islington. I'm not in the country for all of those 20 days. I calculated about 15, and that I'd still make the most of it (given that one class is £15 and the 20 days' unlimited is £20, it's a no-brainer, really). I overheard someone else who'd just joined chatting with the receptionist and it sounds like there might be some flexibility with that. It's always worth a try. 


I had to do something. I've missed the yoga so much that this morning, I set off with yoga kit in my bag. If I hadn't found an alternative, I'd be back to sex yoga cult people. I was ACHING to go back, actually, and this first session, though quite good, was marked in its difference. It was fast, flowy, dynamic. All good, but when it's your first time and you have little idea of what they're talking about, it's not ideal. There wasn't so much as a mention of a chakra. Ha... if I spend all my time comparing it with the school I've just come from, I'm not going to do very well, am I? I miss the spiritual side of it. It was more like an exercise class, this one, and less calm. There were oms, don't get me wrong. And even a tiny harpsichord thingy that the lady played. There was talk of 'staying present'. No spiritual talking, though, and no questions about first-timers, injuries, experience either. Just straight into it. All newcomers have to fill in a form that promises they won't sue for injuries, whether they were caused by injuries or not. I filled in my form, but didn't sign. Not sure where we stand.


I am deeply, deeply grateful for 12 years without the alcohol that had got too much back then. 12 years today. Bloody hell. Normally I buy myself a thing. I feel so much better about this day as a day to celebrate than I do about my birthday. On birthdays, there's an expectation. On this semi-secret day, there's none. I do prefer celebrating an ongoing achievement than a random happening. I think mothers have more to celebrate on their children's birthdays. Pushing one of them out IS an achievement. I didn't buy myself a thing, but I did say yes to this yoga trial. Drinking alcohol was a path I wanted to get off. Luckily, I got off it before it got really gnarly. Yoga's a path I want to get on. I feel like I've let it go such a long time, and now is the time. Let's do it.



A beautiful little gift this morning: the trees on the Heath, drenched in sunlight. Behind them, wherever there were shadows, the frost still stayed. Not just where the shadows fell, though - the frost stayed all around that area, so each tree had a naked trunk with sunlight bouncing off, and a proper, full white winter tree behind. Lovely, lovely. And robins. Two robins flew very close today. Ruth had a chat with one in her garden the other day. It seemed quite engaged. These did not chatting, just a little bit of flitting. I found myself smiling. 

Day 155 - Sandison's Ma

Light like that is precious. It filled the room. The heaviness of two quilts and a blanket is a pleasure. And on a Sunday morning, at someone else's house, even I am not going to berate myself for digging deeper and going back to sleep for a bit.


The conversation of good, intelligent, inspiring friends. To be blessed with that is a lucky thing, and I"m surrounded by it. Not only did I have another dose of Sarah Lonton (that's the benefit of staying over - you have a sleep and then you get some more), but I also had a second dose this week of Sandison. When I left Hasbro, I felt bereft of that girl. I'd seen her face most days for about three years. Now she's left too, I got to see her on Thursday and again today. And to top it off, today I GOT TO MEET HER MA! This woman is a legend. I have heard stories of her for all of those years. I have witnessed through stories a mother/daughter relationship that I admire and that gives me wonder. It was an absolute pleasure to meet her. I liked her very much. Well done all round.

Have yourself a Viking

As I was already in the Museum of London (that's where we met, before they went to the Dickens), I did a quick whizz round. I discovered that I haven't found my passion in that museum. I'm a sucker for a stuffed animal, an anatomical diagram or some weird study of sleep or a disease. Natural History, Science Museum, Wellcome Collection? Yes. But since Yorvik (which did have canned smells and Vikings - impressive when you're ten) and The London Dungeon (also ten - a photo of my head on a stick was the best thing that had ever happened to me), I haven't loved the 'how we used to live' kind of museum (if that's what you can call the LD). I did like the vox pop things at the Museum of London, though, and some of the films. I sat and watched the whole lot of clips of Londoners talking. I loved the 1960s people especially.

It was not this good. But my mat is purple.

I am newly hennaed. Plus. I did a whole yoga routine. Plus. My cobra had improved. Surprising plus. I fell asleep on the floor in the relaxation. Awkward-necked minus. Now I'm in my bed, scheming. How quickly can I do tomorrow's planning, to avoid having to make any decisions when my brain is all contrary in the morning? Let's find out.