Day 272: Back 13th August

Ha... bit late and a bit early for a blog, and it's a quick one. It'll have to last nearly two weeks, though, as I'm effectively in a massive internet lacuna (can you even say that?) for the next two weeks. This evening, I fly to Brisbane to do my personal development fantasty fest. It's only six days, but with the travel, the settling in and the getting home, it bumps up to two weeks away. It's a little bit mental, but I'm excited.


Before I go, with Susan Harrison in mind, I just wanted to say that a gentleman I met yesterday (caretaker of the school we were using for The Challenge) pulled up his top and showed me his massive heart surgery scar. He was 50, about to turn 51. 


He looked late thirties at most - rich, healthy, dark skin, bright eyes, strong physique. He was very chatty and told me all about the school, his diet and even his bike. Then about his heart surgery (they have to break your sternum down the middle, apparently, to reach your heart). It was huge indeed, right from almost the collarbone to well below the diaphragm. Ow. He was lovely. And very open.





Speaking of Susan Harrison, she's doing an Edinburgh show called Folken Britain. If you're up there, I can only recommend her hugely. She's always a pleasure to watch. Go. Go! And to see Abandoman, where Robs Grundel and Broderick will be strutting their stuff. Oh yeah!


And look at this:  
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UcmoRy444MY&feature=player_embedded
This lady really made me laugh. 


There's so much to tell. So many good things, people, stuff I should have said, and didn't. But I really must get on. Goodbye, sweet peaches. I'll miss you. 

Day 271: What Are You Staring At?

The lady said to her friend: 'I won't be free then - I have to go home and toast the cat'. And her friend didn't flinch or laugh or anything. It was like she'd said 'I can't meet you at  3, I have to pick up the kids.' So of course, I asked, expecting her to laugh at me and say she'd said 'post the hat' or something equally explicable. But no, she had said what I heard her say. Her beloved cat had been put down four years before and on his anniversary every year, she gathers her friends and they toast him, with champagne, not marshmallow sticks and a bonfire. Apparently, it's quite a do, and much less sombre than it could be. Glad we cleared that one up, then. 


Yesterday was good because of good people, smooth transport (despite it being the first day of the Olympics) and the prospect of a lovely lie-in. The day before (oh,  I can't get away with lying, me) was really mixed - very very good, a little bit hard in places, blissful in others. I really liked the Olympic opening ceremony. I've never bothered to watch one before. Go, political Boyle... the NHS dance was brilliant, as were lots of other bits. I never expected any of it to be moving. I had a little weep, once or twice. 
I had a nice dose of Steve Wheeler after a blissful dose of the pond on Friday evening. Just a gentle bit of heath and talk time. Nice. Good on you, Mr W. Good stuff. I love that place, too. Even if I'm a little bit gently pensive, it's a soothing spot.


Been back there today, with my beloved Pudding. A walk mostly in the dry - a wander from Spaniards whatsit end to Hampstead Heath station bit, with only a flurry of rain at the very end as we got up to the top of Parliament Hill. We had chance to have a proper talk. Walking does good, just generally. To my bones, to my mind, to everything, really. And such a good friend. Oh, yes. 

I've been less productive than I wanted to be today, but I'm getting to the stage of packing. I'll be on a plane to Australia (via Abu Dhabi) this time on Tuesday. Wow. That's quite big, isn't it. And goodness, there's a lot to do before that!  Better get some sleep, then. 

Day 270: toast the cat

Not cool, not clever, not fair, but...

Three days. Three days! 


The first day, I was tired, tired, tired and happy. I'd spent a challenging day with teenagers, then spent the evening with delicious people and a dog. Emily Cuphead Wilkinson, a good-enough-to-eat girl, all heart and laughing and cleverness. We found each other first and chatted gently until a mint choc chip ice cream and a coffee (me) and a Fentimans ginger beer (her) turned up in our hands. Then we found lovely Kat - that means that in one week, we've pretty much doubled our meetings ever and about a millioned our time spent together. She's a brilliant one too. I love her art and her conversation, her secret Danishness and her general open-faced warmth and humour. And hiding behind us was a stealth Steve Wheeler, all lovely and playful, connecty and cool, a good egg of ostrich proportions. 

Never toast a cat like this

Isla got her fill, with all of us willing (aching) to throw sticks, play 'I Want That Stick More Than You Do... No I don't... Oh, Yes, I Do Again Now'. A lot. We all enjoyed the dog and each other. It was laid back and entertaining. Emily and Kat both made me laugh a lot. Steve did some delightful rolling. I could have watched for hours! Everyone, I think, had easy moments with each other as well as group chats. 


Later, we loped off up Stroud Green Road to find the vegetarian Indian restaurant. The combination of dog company and no outdoor tables, we had to get a takeaway. No harm done - it was gorgeous. We ate it in the dark, on the Parkland Walk. Isla showed her true colours and barked the jowls off anyone or anything turning up out of the dark unannounced. 

Toast the cat. Remind me to talk about that. 


Lovely group today. My gratitude was as fulsome as my voice is croaky (pretty very croaky).


Thursday involved working and laughing and working and laughing and working and laughing with Victoria Sandison. We got lots done. It was to good for the level of ords I can muster in m y head. I wil write more. Right now, I just need to be fast, fast asleep. Thank you. Thank you. Ruth\? YOu!. Thank you.  

Day 269: Foldy Roll

fol de rol

I am a fuckwit. It's for definite. This morning, giddy with my phone recuperation antics of the previous day, I got to St Pancras early and bought my train ticket. Then I went to Pret, but found I needed cash, so went to the cashpoint. It wasn't until I was putting my card away that I noticed that I HADN'T PICKED UP MY BLOODY TICKETS, like a twat, so I rushed back to the machines (which I'd had to queue for) to find them sitting there all untouched, looking like they hadn't even been gently ignored, but more that nobody had yet used that machine. That was nearly 5 minutes' worth of dithering and there they still were. I'm very lucky indeed, which is terribly useful, given - as previously mentioned - what a fuckwit I am. Grateful for all of that. 

foldy roll

This morning was 'long' as the people in my group would have said. Our Queen Bee was in a bad mood and refused to do anything. It was hot. The fan only just worked. They had loads to do and none of them wanted to. I decided to stop a game because they were SO not up for it. I called lunch early, just to stop the morning being true any more. That, and a couple of chats, seemed to make some difference, if not much. The stuff the groups came up with was brilliant and at some point all of them got over their bored/hot/annoyed faces and did brilliantly with the kids we were visiting.  They'll do brilliantly tomorrow, I believe, though possibly not without some sulky arseness first. 


Then a trundle around hot London, walking from Kings Cross to Covent Garden (via Tottenham Court Road, for no particularly good reason) and a show with air conditioning, lovely people and no major hiccups. It was ok. I was flying the flag for panicky odd shit coming out of my mouth, but that is just a sign that I need to play more, I think, and get my stage feet back on. It's all good. I am currently learning teenage feet, among other types, so let's get more used to that. I'm also getting some really excellent trainer/facilitator hours under my belt. That's great news. And I have free reign.


Thanks to Malcolm, the bus driver. He's covered in tattoos. He's very friendly. He told me about his granddaughter, born at 25 weeks, a year old this week and almost walking. He also saved me half his can of pop, and dropped me off right at Chatham station, saving me at least an hour and twenty whole pence on the journey home. Nice one, Malcolm. Hope I see you again. 

foldy roll

I noticed an old trigger getting pushed today. Well, I noticed it yesterday too. More so today. A very statussy Programme Manager who seems to work on the basis of how important people are (especially him), but not to be very experienced, so not really to have things that much in hand. 


I feel cross, often, but I also feel a bit sorry. All that would be made easier if he wasn't pulling rank. Maybe he's not. Maybe it's my trigger that's telling me he is. I'm not that good with big authority figures, especially male ones, and especially where it seems to me that it's not backed up with respectful behaviour. Maybe I can work on that. I'm grateful that I got to ask for what I wanted (that if he or the other leader need to come into the group with something, they first ask if it's a good moment rather than talking over whatever's happening) and that, after a bit of explanation from someone else, he understood and accepted that. 

I'm grateful for the fact that I THINK that I didn't wake Ruth when I turned on the computer, and that I got through to Australia easily about my pre-work. And that, although it's late, good things await me in the morning. Very good things. I hope to be lain in wait for by friends. That made me think of the 'I'm a troll' song - before today's internet nasties connotations. Google imaging that, I found it written as 'I'm a troll, foldy roll'. I LOVE it. Who would have thought of a foldy roll? Not me, but now it's there, it's the only kind of roll that will do. Good. Times. 

Day 268: Chicken and Gun Hands

Get this! I lost my phone this morning, and it's one of the coolest things that happened to me all day. I was chatting to lovely Immo, Media Practitioner in Gillingham, on the train. South African, seven feet tall, with a peacefulness about him. Big, calm eyes with long lashes. Like a cow, but in a South African way. Gazelles have long eyelashes, but he's not like one of those. We realised, anyway, that it was time to get off, so we did. I felt my phone gone before the doors had even closed, and if I'd been alone I'd no doubt have leapt back on, but I held off and checked my bag first, then got Immo to call me, and the fact was confirmed. The phone was on the train.

Nobody steals one of these

Thanks for the suggestion to go back to the station and ask. I got there to find nobody there, but a gentleman also waiting for a train asked me if he could help. He was lovely. I'd say in his sixties, still working at the university. He'd had quite a hard time recently, having found a beloved neighbour - the only other bachelor in the street - who had died at home. He was taking care of things for this man's family, and was grieving for a good friend, but still fitting everything in. 


He explained that the train he was waiting for should be the very train I'd left my phone on. As the station was not staffed, waiting for it seemed like the best option, so we did. The same guards were on the train. They didn't even sniff when we asked if we could look for the phone. They held the train without complaint. My new friend found it, shouted "HERE IT IS!" all triumphant and thrust it into my hand as he pushed the button and ushered me off the train. Best thing ever. I had a lovely morning losing my phone, and felt much luckier and 'besser drauf' than if I never had. 

Another gentle group today. Different dynamic again, but still very manageable and friendly. I'm enjoying the 'individual tasks' game we're playing. There are some meaty characters in there and it'd be great to get them really bringing the group forward. And then I came home. Got in by 6.30 to find Ruth with a chicken almost roasted, lots of time for chat and a lovely meal - easy time together. Very nice indeed. Bigly valued. 



Other things made me laugh today, lots of them. Right now, my mind is blank and my eyes are big. Good chat with the Grundel, from Italy. Things afoot. Games to be played. 'Work' to be done...

Day 267: Dog, Heath and Friend Fix

Once again, I was blessed with a very nice day. Allowed (by me) to sleep long. What a big bit of bliss. I'm tired now, but oh, it was nice. I was dreaming quite extensively. There was a map and a treasure hunt. There were clues leading us to different places and discoveries. I don't know who 'us' was. 


Next stop (after tea and chat with Ruth), the Heath with Katharina and Isla, sweet faces, both. We chatted and did sticks, ate ice cream and drank coffee and walked and walked. We saw dragonflies - flitty blue ones and fat bronze-coloured ones hanging in the air. Altogether a very, very lovely morning. 


A smooth, silky swim followed. For the first time in my experience, the pond was pretty full. There were ladies everywhere to be seen, many of the much older ones serenely flouting the 'no nude sunbathing' signs. 


And then? A hugely pleasing and very successful trip to Shepnerd's Bush for a rich chat, a laugh and a work call. So, so, so good. AND I cycled all the way back. Took an hour and five, more or less. That's not bad. I got my old mac back, so I can take it on holiday.


Oh, and thanks for the job. Massively appreciated. All, all, all good. 


And then there was this: 
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Badly-Stuffed-Animals/325523944124623

YES!

Day 266: I Pretty Myself

Well, that Clare Kerrison is pretty good, isn’t she?

You can’t complain about a day like today. I wasn’t working. It’s a long time since I’ve had the kind of job where I’m actually glad that I don’t have to go to work. In this job with The Challenge, especially the first day of each three day shift, I experience a certain degree of trepidation (or dread). Having said that, my sessions have got better and I have learnt more and more as we’ve gone on. So here I am, typing, adjusting my mental representations of the job. Nevertheless, it is always nice to have a day or two off.

Today, I did my washing at the launderette. Because the news was full of the balmy day today was set to be, I brought it back and hung it out to get all fresh-airy in the day, and dry. It’s a small triumph to have achieved that before 9.15 this morning, but a triumph nevertheless. And now it’s dry and crisp and a bit outdoors-smelling. Result.

 

After that, off to a Meisner day, which I enjoyed very much indeed. Springboard. Dominique Gibbs. Taster day. It was a very good thing and I loved it. So nice to play. We did the basics and although we’re learning a lot, it does, by its very nature, take a long time. So it was lovely when Dom got an old hand in at the end of the day to come and play too. They did a repetition exercise together to finish and it was a delight. Perfectly timed. It gave me a taste for more, even more so than the day itself. That experience of being in the flow and in the moment like that, even if only for flashes (in my case). It was very satisfying to see them play. I want to play like that too, please.

A bus deposited me at Liverpool Street in perfect time to meet Lovely Kerrsion. We drank coffee and talked until our mouths fell off. We have the same watch, you see. That’s why we get on so well. We had a lot to say to each other… We had a lot of ideas. She sparked my imagination about all kinds of things. We have set ourselves to scheming and I’m awfully glad we have. She had to leave to get to the theatre to see Propeller do Shakespeare at the Hampstead Theatre. They are the source of the most moving, dynamic and entirely crushing Taming of the Shrew I’ve ever seen.

On the train on the way home, I was transfixed by a lady’s toenails. They were bright red with lightning on them. Her fingernails were the same. I had to comment, so I did. It took a couple of times to get the message across, but finally she made out my intention. She beamed. She’d just had them done (as soon as she said, I could smell that nail bar smell). She is going on holiday tomorrow, this beautiful lady, to Ghana, for a month. What she’s done, in her words, is ‘pretty myself’ for the trip. I LOVE that. What a great thing to say. She was very nice. Once I commented on her nails, another woman across the aisle did too, and we all marveled at them for a bit. I enjoyed that. I also enjoyed seeing the rucksack of another passenger marked. ‘Annual Liver Conference’. I’m sure they were talking about cirrhosis research, but in my head, they were celebrating all the ways of making liver (e.g. with bacon, with onion, in a pie, on toast). Or just celebrating livers for the sake of it. Either way, it’s mint.

I had a quiet evening at home, full of meat and sweetcorn, followed by the arrival of Ruth. What a joy that was too. We managed to talk for a good hour at least, though we were both very tired. She’s home now, and hopefully fast asleep already. I shall follow suit. It’s good, good, good to have her back, though. Very good. 

Day 265: See What Happens?

Triumph! It's not even LATE!


I smelt jasmine flowers this morning, or maybe it was jasmine this afternoon on the Parkland Walk and this morning's flowers were those sweet citrussy things that are prevalent at the moment. Just at the top, three open-faced clematis flowers, big and dusky pink. In Enfield, that was. Totally. 


A nice late start today. The kids were due to be late (though in the end they were about an hour earlier than last week). They were relatively fresh. Only one or two were so tired they were hard to handle and I experimented with not handling them at all and just ignoring that. It seemed to work and within half an hour everyone was doing something. They were the easiest, politest and most creative group I've worked with so far. Their showcase was less slick, more risky and generally more entertaining. They were very funny.


I made a mistake today, unintentionally, and ended up with one person not taking part in the performance. During the run-through, I approached him and one other person just as they were doing their first run-through, took hold of their shoulders gently and turned them to face the audience (rather than talking to each other with their backs to the crowd). I'd done this a couple of times before. This time, it really backfired. The person in question felt that this was a sign that they'd messed up and would continue to do so, and refused to have any further part in the presentation. The performance was less good for not having that person in it, but it was the right decision and they got to make it themselves. I learnt something, again. I won't do that again. I'm learning all the time. It's good. I hope. It's good. 

Both images from http://seewhathappensblog.com

Today was a momentous day, of sorts, which passed, on the momented front, without fanfare. A man went to court. He should have been put in that situation a number years ago. Now he has. I have no idea of the outcome, but it's good that it happened. Thank you. Thank you. 


I was busy at the time. I was encouraging teenagers to come up with random shit to do on stage, and goodness, they fulfilled THAT brief with aplomb. There were costumes, for the first time. We had a whole game show and a boy with a cardigan on and talc in his hair pretending to be an old lady. Only trouble was, we put so much talc in that he was steaming every time he took a step. We had raps. We had songs. We were doing a presentation for the business and enterprise stream. Get IN! That's what I want to see. Oh yeah! They had fun with it. It was great. 


At the end, they sang 'Hey Jude' to me, in a circle. It was such a sweet, lovely experience. They let me go wild to the Paul McCartney  rocking out bit and not a single one of them joined in that bit, rendering me, once again, a twat. It's okay, though. It did the trick. I am just so deeply grateful for this lot. They were a refreshing blast, the lot of them. Really. Goodwill abounded. Yes.


I'm grateful to be doing this with two hours to go until midnight. My intention is to be in my bed ready to sleep by 11. How likely? I dunno, but more likely than if i started writing this at 12.15, like I have the past few nights. I have the urge to write more creative stuff. Come on then, love. Just do it!

Day 264: Beautiful Faces

Not only must I be full of thank to Victoria Sandison for confirming that I DO need a visa to go to Australia, but I must thank the Austrailian Embassy robot for granting it within about an hour and a half. That's good, isn't it?


And thank you, thank you, thank you for a gentle group of teens this time around. Very grateful indeed for that, I really am. And for Pudding, who was such a pleasure today. And for Kat - we keep missing each other. 


Oh... I found this - it's an article I must have written a couple of years ago. I've been in a residential home today, talking to people with the most amazing faces - eyes that don't work any more, open around the edges and watering constantly, but full of spark and fire and canniness. 

Agnes & Walter *

I met for the second time an old gentleman whose wife visits him every day, holds his hand and chats to him. He's frail and makes distressed sounds, sometimes, but if you ask for a handshake, you get a grip that's firm like a bouncer's. He's always had a firm handshake, she says, and gazes lovingly at his elongated face, full of lines, looking into his eyes and seeing who he used to be as well as who he is now, squeezes that strong hand and strokes his hair. He gives a little smile too, mostly with his eyes. They're both beautiful...  And they're the same people as they were, only older. Botox, my arse. How about love? 


And on that note, that old bit of text: 

The level of wrath I felt reading a londonpaper article on Botox, or ‘B’, as it was whimsically referred to by its bland-faced author at every opportunity, surprised even me. It wasn’t so much its advocacy of the use of the stuff in itself, but the suggestion that it could be some kind of panacea for everything from frown lines to relationship break-ups, corporate stress and an ‘intense relationship with alcohol’ that left me a little bit livid.

Just like most women (and men), I don’t always look my best. There are times working too hard, crying for hours over a failed relationship or over-indulging in my vice of choice takes its toll, but – and forgive me for being obtuse here – how is an eyebrowful of Botox going to make those things better?

What is this obsession with looking like everyone else? Most of the people we aspire to ressemble don’t even look like that themselves. They’re airbrushed to high heaven. They’re not real. And you can be sure that if the majority of the population could look like them, the some other look would be to die for and the whole thing would start again. A faceful of ‘B’ might stretch your face, but it does not make you a better person. And some people take it to extremes. Mariah Carey is pushing 40 but still looks like she’s barely legal. That’s not something to aspire to, it’s an embarrassment! ‘Stop denying yourself, Mariah!’ I want to shout, ‘You’ve aged, you’ve grown up, you’ve moved on… enjoy it!’ I’m not sure she’d listen.

Which is more interesting, a face that looks like a painted balloon stretched over a shoe-horn or a time-worn, weathery, characterful face, riddled with stories; a face that’s embraced every emotion there is to feel; a face that has spent uninhibited hours cleaving the furrows of agony and ecstasy?

There’s more to beauty than a physical norm. For me, it’s the story behind the face and the spark behind the eyes. Eyes full of mischief or passion or peace; eyes that offer something and are full of life – seen in the faces of people who embrace who they are, wrinkles and all.

Bugger Botox, let’s grow old with glee. Let’s revel in our facial folds and extra jowls. I plan to grow a big, soft, downy old-lady face full of broken veins and smile lines so deep, you could hide food in them (and I probably will); a face like an old storm that I’ll use to terrorise children with gay abandon; a face with firework eyes and without apology, that says ‘My life’s been a scream – come and hear how!’ 


* If you ever get the chance, check out Agnes & Walter - a beautiful dance piece with one couple in two generations. It's outstanding. Moved me beyond tears, delighted me, and made me hopeful.

Day 263: Chipolata in a Wok

Oh, hello, lady

Who the fuck would put sausages in a stir-fry? Who the fuck would eat it? I would, that's who. Check ME out and my horrible fusion cuisine ways. 


Outdoor bred chipolatas, on offer; garlic and ginger, beansprouts, peppers, kale, spinach, carrots, green beans and more sweetcorn than is sensible, piped up with hot pepper sauce and a sachet of oyster-likey surprise. Oh. My. God. I nearly didn't stop. And I'll be having it cold for the next three days. I am rough as old trainers, me, but happy with it.

Some other fucker would too

I had one of the best meetings I've ever had today, with Rob. Productive, funny, playful, focused. Some of it on the tube. Some of it in a park. Most of it in a booth in Tinder Box near the Angel. That, in itself, is a massive achievement. I had to stake out the people in it already (in as subtle a way as I could muster) to get that. 

Check out the background booths

There's something immensely satisfying about those booths. These last few days have been a massive YES to my mantra of the last few years, that 'my work feels like play'. Does it? Yes, it does. Yes, it does indeed. For that, and for all the delicious moments today has held, I throw up my (big) hands, Tony Robbins stylee, in thanks. 

Day 262: Laughter, Tears and Archway Road

I've heard it said that you know you're doing the right thing for a living when what you're doing feels flowing and easy, challenging but fun. This evening felt just like that and I'm all fluid with gratitude about it. Wonderful. Thank you. 

I love that I got away with it being called Pitch Ninja, and that people seemed to enjoy the stupidy bits as much as the more serious bits. More, probably. People also gave stuff a go and wanted more information after the case. I suddenly feel that this could really go somewhere and be something that I love to do and that I feel is really worthwhile doing. 

Archway Road delighted me again. I love it. I'm not quite sure why. It's steep in parts, but never painfully steep. It's long, but varied enough to be interesting. And then you get to Muswell Hill Road and there's that glorious descent. I don't usually love going downhill, but there's something about that stretch that makes me feel a little bit invincible and ready to flow. There's a satisfying last push (yesterday some teenage boys watched me come up that bit. They shouted 'You can go faster than that!'. I said 'I could, but I won't', which was true, and seemed to please them). I went up it faster today, very sweaty and very happy.

Some happy news when I got home made me cry, both with joy for them and with an ache for that to be some news that I'll have too, at some point. I want that. This made me cry too: http://www.stumbleupon.com/su/1EjpZU/:i6!Cpxd4:bff7Ypqa/www.buzzfeed.com/expresident/pictures-that-will-restore-your-faith-in-humanity/

It's not the first time I've seen it. I know it's cheesy. Nevertheless, it had that effect. 

I also realise how nice it would be to be sharing some of this wonderful stuff with someone who is genuine and lovely, excited about the same things and.. oh, you know. All of that. 

This cheers me up, though. There's no proper video, which is probably a good thing! 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6WRuKDRWetg

I love Die Antwoord. They please me in so many ways. Some of their songs are so deeply offensive, I just don't get it. Love it, though. Love it. 

Thanks for the tips, Esther Lilley Harvey. I will try new ways of working with The Challenge and these teenage wonders who are so talented, and out of whom i am not yet getting the best. 

May emotions keep coming, work keep being amazing and Archway Road: don't you go changing!

Day 261: Fantasy Ice Cram

Heron on a rope*

Pretty fucking grateful I got to work on time (I left later than planned, cycling a new route) and that I was safe and - in an almost first time ever for a new route - didn't get lost or shout at unnamed street corners, berating them for their irritating lack of signage. 


Lordy, I found my work hard today. I struggled a bit. I AM learning how to do this job better, but I'm feeling how much I'm lacking. I need to be relentlessly positive. I need to take things less personally, or learn to deal with them/address them more fluidly. I need to praise the good when the difficult stuff is happening and all the time. I do praise it, but not all the time. I felt myself tight and difficult today. As last time, I was terribly proud of what they pulled out of the bag in their presentation, and how good they all are. I need to find a way of us all getting there with more entertainment, less stress and just more flow. It's blocky at the moment and that's not how I want it to be. Very very grateful, though, for all of it - the bits that did go well and the bits that didn't, and all the things I'm learning, albeit somewhat by trial and error. 


After work, I cycled back from Brent Cross via the Heath for a swim. I stopped at an ice cream van to get water - I realised I'd had very little to drink allll day and I was parched. I'm avoiding sugar, but maaaaaaan, that Mr Whippy had to be had. And what a spectacular ice cream it was. 


You know when you're little and you fantasise about an ice cream that's bigger than your face, or about a neverending ice cream that just goes on and on and on. This gentleman - Gussy The Ice Cream Man - delivered just that. He switched on his van again especially, and gave me a monster of a creamy, white Mr Whippy cone. I say cone - you could hardly see the cone part It was a miracle of physics that the ice cream managed to stay on top of it. It was huge and hanging over the edges. It was laughable. It had a tiny flake and dribbles of sweet, thick strawberry ice cream sauce. I was so over-excited by it, I almost wanted to shut my mouth and just stab it at my face like I used to when eating ice creams as a little girl. I thought the more you got all over you, the more you'd enjoyed it. And I LOVE ice cream. Thank you, Gussy. You absolutely made my day - and you made a childhood dream come true. 


He also told me all about this: http://www.gussytheicecreamman.com/ 
His daughter illustrated these books - the first when she was ten - and it looks like she wrote the first one herself too - maybe even the others. It was a family affair and it was very pleasing. I promised to look him up and I did. Have a look. Next time I have the opportunity to buy a gift for someone in this age group, I will be going to see Gussy. 


Beautiful, beautiful skies from Muswelll Hill. Stunning. And such cool and soothing water. I miss the pond and all the things it afforded me - a community - a daily connection with Ruth - a fixed routine and the acquaintances that go with it. I intend to go back. I live it enough to love it.I love it. It's great. I swam very close to a heron standing on an invisible rope (like a Jesus heron, walking on water). If that's not a showstopper, then I don't know what is!


* There are a surprising number of pictures that come up when you google 'heron on a rope'. This is my favourite. Still waiting for the heron. 

Day 260: Full

Today has been rewarding, exhausting, playful, workful and just generally full. I've felt very happy and very sad. I've seen beautiful skies, got soaked in lovely, heavy rain, got dry and then wet again, smelt hebe flowers, one after the other (I almost couldn't stop).


I've talked banter with two women in a Rochester cafe, spent most of the day with teenagers, talked to a man who was 100 (looked about 70!), called a man a liar (him), been called a liar (by him), spoken to a lady in her nineties who told me her stories and frustrations over a fag in the garden, 


I've not eaten enough (early) and eaten too much (late). I've had a musical-note-shaped hole punched into my train ticket, nearly choked on wasabi (coughed for about 2 minutes), managed to get wasabi up my nose, spent about two hours on trains, an hour on a minbus, cycled and walked. I got dropped off by the minibus driver, who had remembered where I needed to go from and did a detour to drop me first - superstar man.


I felt all sorts of different things. I am strapping in, in the gentlest of ways, for a night full of rich and wonderful dreams. 

Day 259: Yaaahhhh

There is a reason

I had one of those moments this morning where I almost caught myself clapping while I was doing work. I'm identifying situations that feel good. A lot of them involve a lot of pressure. I'm an absolute sucker for exams. I love them. And no, I'm never sure that I know my stuff - I probably didn't revise very throughly - but one thing I do know is that if it's in there at all, an exam is exactly the environment that will bring it out. 


So there I was, sitting in Starbucks, putting the final touches to the draft and working out how to present it. See, I've been working on this for weeks, but it isn't until it's very close that I find the words/the actual framework that I need. If  hadn't been in Starbucks, I'd have got up and wiggled. I think I had a bit of a shimmy when I went to the bathroom. And even with my general irritability today (my internal dialogue is HILARIOUS - if this person was out in the real world, you'd have to have her put down for the safety of others), I managed to be compassionate and quite jovial when a not-so-small boy had a screaming tantrum - the way he switched it on and off like a hairdryer told me that he wasn't as deeply distressed as his banshee screeches might profess - and a terribly ill-equipped au pair (I think - and I think it might have been her first day - or at least only her first week) tried to placate him. That kid managed to clear the cafe, pretty much, but I was fine. Admittedly, I did have foreign rappers shouthing 'muthafukka' into the middle of my brains, so maybe it wasn't such a leap. 

Same reason... just not yet

So, before the meeting all this glee was caused by, I managed to fit in a dose of Sarah Lonton - a very nice dose indeed, it was. We sat in the sun. This morning was like a caricature of summer. It was bright, beautiful, blue-skied and buoyant. I felt joyful because of that, too. Just lovely. We walked a bit and stumbled across some teenage jazz on the bandstand just up from Embankment. Very nice. Then we went our ways to our respective exciting meetings. It was  a terribly pleasing interlude. 


I managed, too, to speak to both Esther Lilley and Helen Cardwell today. And all that after a faceful of Vic yesterday. How lucky am I? 


So yes, - good meeting. Stuff to do, but fun, fabulous stuff which I'll enjoy. 


Later, lunch, work and rain. A chat with a few hubbers about how we all like the rain, and to be rained on. I proved myself on the way home. I genuinely really enjoyed getting wet. I then enjoyed it even more, outside, soaking from the ride, on compost and slug duty in Ruth's garden. Almost the best part of the day, that. I was calm and entertained. 
Partly by this:  
http://www.ted.com/talks/jane_mcgonigal_the_game_that_can_give_you_10_extra_years_of_life.html

There you go... click the link

 There's more sense to this blog and many of the things that come of it than you'd think. You can be a childlike hippy. It's okay! It's actually good for you! Works for me, anyway. That's all I ask. But what if this really works. I can believe it. All these are reasons why I do impro and other forms of playing. And why I write this. And why, from tomorrow, I'll make it my mission to get my brains on it a bit more, and to touch people (in agreeable ways) like there's no tomorrow. 


Now I'm a bit more organised and - ooh! - really bloody tired again. 


Yaahhhhhhh.