Day 365: Geneva

Back after a break. I've missed this practice. It does my soul good.

It didn't have my name, but it was good.

One thing stands out: an almost-perfect moon, full and fat and bright, seen out of the aeroplane window. There was cloud. If I hadn't been in the sky myself, I wouldn't have had the pleasure of it. And being met by a man with a sign at the airport, a man who took us to his prepaid taxi and drove us to our destination just so. I've never done that before. I was slightly ungainly in my glee.

I'm pleased to... oh... I was just about to be pleased to announce something, but I've forgotten what it was. From this, I conclude that it was probably something that was 'quite good' rather than 'absolutely brilliant', or I'd have remembered. Good that I was pleased, though, and pleased enough to consider an announcement.

A text saying just this: PUT THAT BANANA DOWN! made me do a snort on the train. Thanks, Daniel. 

I love a good synapse, me.

Good bit of face time with the tiny curly one in stormy Melbourne. She also does my soul good. That's why she is mentioned on here such a lot. 

Finally, a hotel room with a bath and separate shower, a good firm bed, a view onto a lake* and very lovely staff has to be a plus. Off to try out all of those things (I already had a go on the staff, so not them). I'll let you know.

* I can't see said view. It's dark. Just knowing it's there makes me feel special, though.

Day 364: Scotland

Where I was

Thank you for such an easy, pleasing trip to visit my sister and her family. My nephew and niece were very different delights. They both pleased me massively. He is clever and sweet and funny – poet, artist, musician, science boffin. She is headstrong and giggly and hilarious – a real performer and still only two, so her specific tastes and preferences are still to be discovered.

My sister seemed at ease and Si was as he always is. I like him a lot. Anna’s very good indeed with her kids. Not that it’s up to me to say that, but it’s what I think. She’s firm, kind and calm. She has huge amounts of patience and is always loving. They both praise their children constantly, especially for what they’ve done, so ‘well done for xyz’ or ‘you did xyz really well (+ specifics about how)’ rather than ‘you’re a good girl/boy for doing xyz’. It shows.

Just because I can.

And then I went to see lovely, lovely Jess and Danny at my flat. They are just so very nice. I had a huge go on their dog and she even let me sing a little bit into her forehead (a rare treat, apparently, as she doesn’t usually let people put their heads near her head). I do have work to do there, but I’m so happy that they are the people living in it and that they’re so happy there. They have filled it with plants and made it look loved. They have given the dog a room of her own. They all welcomed me warmly. I left feeling buzzy, even though my next move is to call in a roofer/plumber to fix damp in the kitchen, which may cost quite a lot of money. Now THAT’s a result. 

Day 363: Bish Bash Bosh and Little Beaver

Thanks for free capoeira with Hub people, who go to Palestine and other places doing it with kids in war zones. And for a book about beetroots, in German. Delightful! I grew my first beetroots in California, but I think I was present for biodynamic beetroot-growing in Germany when I was 18 - I just wasn't allowed to work on the actual farm because I was a girl, so I didn't get to mucky my hands in lovely beetroot mud. I did get to clean out the stables, though, when I insisted I would NOT work a full day in the kitchens just because of my genital arrangement. They may have thought of that as a punishment, but I loved it. I still would have rather been digging holes and hoiking hay-bales onto tractors, though.

Rob was a pleasure this lunchtime. As ever. We talked Matthew 22 and art and passion. 
Lovely Nikki, Kirstie, K's friend Simon, Anna, Tarek, Tarek's very pretty (girl)friend? whose name I don't know, Christina, Cameron, Luke. It was all smiles today at The Hub. I didn't get much done, but I enjoyed it. 

A regal-looking Bosh

Thanks to brilliant Pond Mel. She never ceases to surprise and entertain me. We went for dinner at The Star, near her place. There was live music. Two Swedish girls with voices worth worshipping and a penchant for Damien Riceish emotional gloom. I really wanted to hear them sing Happy Talk or Bad Romance - just do to something else with those undeniably brilliant throats. The blonde girl had very strong and pleasing features. The dark-haired, smaller one, who did the lead vocals, looked like the only sound she could possibly make would be a mousely squeak, so petite and delicate she looked, but she sang with deep and moving tones. 

Not usually this meek, Beaver

Like Weimaraner girl dogs. Their bark is way deeper than their pretty faces suggest it would be. Always made me laugh, that. Sweet Caoimhe would bark like a burly man and Doberman Oisín, who was built like a wall and looked like Damien (Omen stylee), would whine through his nose like a girl. I remember him ripping the life out of a yellow pepper. Most aggressive thing he'd done in a long time, that was. Sweet, sweet peach, that dog.

Even to this day, dogless now for years, I still ache with gratitude for the time I spent with those creatures. Leaping about it long grass, getting giddy. Losing Little Beaver in the canal and dragging her out. She was totally chilled with the whole experience. He would have freaked. Finding pictures of Bosh with a t-shirt on. Howling with the pair of them, or singing into the girl-dog's forehead, making her wag and whine. I loved them. Thanks, Dermot, for letting me have your dogs. 

Day 362: I Done A Spell

Thank God for Nikki Allen - in so many ways. Number one, today, was that she got me to the pond, simply by being where she was. She was at the Hub. That got my sorry arse out of my room and onto my bike and ultimately, to the pond. 

And oh, the pond. When I arrived, the sky was grey and there was a lightish drizzle. It was relatively warm. I stuck my head into the changing rooms but there were so many women in there, I went back outside. I changed, went back in for hot water in my gloves and socks and by the time I got out, the rain was proper heavy. There was one lady left in the pond, but she was on her way out, giggling a bit. 

I got in... the rain was busy and frantic. All the drops different sizes. Bubbles on the surface and a little bit of wind. It was confusing to my head. I swam and laughed. I brought myself back to being present with the water and the environment when I offed and upped and dreamt. And then... I noticed loads and loads of leaves leaping off the trees at one end of the pond. The ducks had gathered and posted their heads along their backs, nuzzled into wings. The wind was coming. From the far end of the pond, a cloud of leaves appeared, like starlings at dusk. They dipped and dived above the water. 

I widened my gaze and saw the trees at the far end of the pond thrashing and leaning, their leaves lifting and spinning in huge curls across the water. The surface was almost covered in bronze and beech. It felt like they were spinning around me, in the eye of the storm. The rain was still pounding. It was magical. One of the lifeguards came out and said 'Have you done a spell in the pond?'. I said yes, of course. Maybe, maybe, maybe I had.

So wet by the time I got to Islington, I was soaked. Still am, in fact. The wind makes me giddy, though, so I was a bit laughy. Even more so when I got there and met Nikki and her lovely friend Doug. We laughed and laughed, mostly at the word 'pony'. And lots of other things. It's great, isn't it, to laugh until your face hurts and you can't make a proper noise or really breathe. That's very good. I like it. My soul like it. My face? Well, it's all part of becoming a good old wrinklechops with proper smile lines, isn't it? 


So good just to catch up with her too. Very nice indeed. Lucky bastard (me).

Day 361: And Then...

Oh, what lovely people! Today I got to pretend to be a German Executive Assistant and play with Brad, who was pretending to be an English COO. It was the most fun ever. And I hung out with Suzy, Andrew and Helen too, and laugh a lot, and get paid. 

And improv with Libby and Charis, very good indeed. I'd recommend it. Oh yes.

And before that, a run on the just achingly beautiful Heath. Great beds of fallen beech leaves, and wind taking leaves off the trees and dancing them down around us as we run.  Longer than I've been before. Better. I enjoyed it, and although I took some breaks, I did also do some hills without stopping. I did feel clearer. 

And then there was that cheesecake. 

Day 360: Dogs in Lund-Jumpers

Too delicate to be our heroine

 Today, I am mostly grateful for: Dogs dressed as Sarah Lund off of The Killing.

This is what happens when you watch two hours of a Danish thriller on a Saturday night and think about it too much and then think a little bit about Victoria Sandison too, because she's just moved to Melbourne and you're missing her a bit. 

This is what happens when you have work to do that does not necessarily inspire you at all (although as always, there's a sense of satisfaction once it's done).

Too cutesy

This is what happens when passions collide (not in a romantic way, you understand - just dogs in clothes meets the Killing, with fireworks). This is the result of too much time alone. I really, really need a boyfriend. Either to distract me from this shit or to make it even more fun. Either is good. 

I also had a lovely time on the Heath with Mel. A walk, a cup of tea, a run, a swim. A cycle home. Some breakfast, some work, some dithering. And then... over to Ruth's to say hello to people I'm related to, Jo and David and their kids, Lucy, Issy and William. We worked this out... hang on... if Ruth is my first cousin once removed, and David is her nephew, then David is my second cousin and D&J's kids are my second cousins once removed. Or something.

Too butch. Suitably pissed off, though.

Anyway, I covered the little one in ModRoc, with just his nostrils for a gap. His parents gave their permission, of course, as did he. His sisters helped. We laid him on the floor with clingfilm on his head, vaseline on his face (and eyelashes) and an oversized Waterstone's shirt on (I knew that would be useful at some point). 

At one point his mum said 'You look... dead.' I wasn't quite sure what to say, but she was kind of right. It is a bit ghostly seeing a face like that, and because the face itself doesn't move, not even with the breath, it is a bit unnerving. His sisters were quick to point out that his belly was moving. He did a little thumbs up too.

It always goes too far, doesn't it? 

He was very chilled, really. He's only eight. He was up for the experience, even though he was a little scared at the start. I tried to make it really easy for him to choose to do it or not to do it, no judgement. He went for it in the end. 

He lay there for a while, once we'd finished, eyes, mouth, whole face covered except those nostrils (Note - always get the subject to breathe through the nose a bit BEFORE you seal off the mouth) and then scrunched up his face. It came off a treat. We sealed his nose (the face cast one, not his actual nose) and filled it with plaster and they took home a spare version of his face. They'll have to wait till tomorrow to peel off the negative. I think they had fun. Either that or they will be marked for life. Aaah, it's all good. 

Don't fuck with me.

Before that, the whole family had found masks - full masks, half masks, papier maché, plastic - and put them on. Ruth too. That was fun. We didn't do any mask work (yeah, like I'm going to get a bunch of family I've met hardly ever and try and force them to do trance mask!) but they did have a good old play, and if I had to nail my purpose at gunpoint, without having any time to dither and get it right, I'd probably say 'get people playing' or something along those lines. Sometimes, techniques can go and eat themselves. Play is the thing.

Twattish, yet kind of intense. These, I like.

Day 359: Playin with the Ladies

Played all day today with some brilliant people. Led by my lovely friend Clare Kerrison (who has the same watch as me - but thank god, that's not all I admire her for - there are SO many other things), we were Charis, Libby, Pamela, Lindsay, Michelle and Kate (and me and Clare, obvs). We played. Yes, the focus of the day was about some of the choices we make when playing in mixed groups, and about some common choices that are made for us or around us. And it was on good improv.

I had a really nice time. Clare made a lovely atmosphere happen where there was so much permission to play, take our time, fail, enjoy ourselves and really engage with each other. I loved the games and the scenes. Brilliant. 

Then home for yesterday's risotto and TWO episodes of The Killing III. I'm back in love with Sarah Lund again, and with the story. I already caught myself making guesses and picking up little clues. Oh, I DO like that show. I really do. Bed now. Run tomorrow. Eeeek. 

Day 358: Iiiiiiiin Your Own Time

Among the things that have pleased me today is this: I watched a TED talk called 'The future of lying'. It's here, if you're interested:
http://www.ted.com/talks/jeff_hancock_3_types_of_digital_lies.html
I usually switch off after the talk and skip the advert, but I have some work to do that I'm avoiding like a total lam-o, so I let it run. It was about the power of small businesses. It was semi-poetic, not necessarily in a good way ("Main Street found its might again, and Main Street found its fight again... and we, the locals, found delight again" - said with vim, tempted to capitalise) and it was very tuned in to making it emotional, as in: "That's the power of all of us". More vim.

I watched all and bought in a bit more, despite the cheese, until right the end, when I discovered that the ad was for none other than cut-throat credit card cunts, American Express! I love to have a snort at their expense. American Express is the BANE of small businesses and puts many of them.. oooh... OUT OF BUSINESS. When I worked for them (French Complaints, straight after graduating - it made my face hurt in a bad way) they would do anything at all for anyone with a lot of money, but if you didn't have much, whether you were an individual cardholder or a small business, they would send an army of temps to screw you up the bum, film it and show it at your wedding. Fuckers!

I was really annoyed that such a soul-eater of a company should have got in there with an ad on TED. I was fuming... until, as it ended, I looked at the final tableau, the very last shot of the ad: the American Express logo sitting in the middle of the screen, under the title: The future of lying. Thank you, thank you, thank you, whoever sold them that slot. Thank you. You have done your job beautifully. I salute you.

RIDE that procrastinatey wave, bitch

Just so you get a picture, here are some of the things I did to put off getting down to doing this work - even reading the bloody materials to do it. Strap in. Some of them are embarrassing: I made a cup of tea; I went for a run; I thought about things; I made a cup of tea; I went to the toilet; I went for a run (now THAT is procrastination, where I'm concerned - that's usually a thing I put off until it's too late! - ah well... every cloud. I really enjoyed it, running up and down and up and down some steps in front of Alexandra Palace as fog closed in again and the whole sky tried to rain, but didn't quite. I ogled autumness. I watched leaves fall. I stretched. This is all part of the Run Procrastinate). 

I went to pick up a letter from my mum that I wasn't sure I really wanted to read; I hung out with Ruth for a bit - but that was particularly nice in itself as I haven't seen her for a few days, so not really valid on this list, and we laughed and looked at art stuff and a monkey, so that was nice. If any part of it is food for the list, then its timing might be; I had a cup of tea; I went to the supermarket (oh, that old chestnut, familiar beeps and smells, hoarding instinct, providing, comforting); I came home and unpacked; I cooked, though I wasn't hungry yet - a risotto - time-consuming; I made a cup of tea; I had a wee; I read the letter and enjoyed it; I found, and inflated, my roll-up Vango 'Trek Short' thermarest thingy; I lay on said thermarest "to see if it works" (it does); I made a cup of tea; I had a wee; I drank some water; guess what - another little wee; I rolled out wallpaper on the floor and wrote onto it things that feel like flow state, in the interest of inviting more of them into my daily life. 

Mr Auden

I read parts of the book, ordered ages ago, that came in the post - Gratefulness, the Heart of Prayer by Brother David Steindl-Rast - an old favourite of mine. I think I have a copy in someone's loft, but I felt it was time to dig in and read it again. Another thing that's lovely, and only really ever happens with second-hand books, is that it arrived, in pristine condition, with some of those tiny sellotapy post-its marking three favourite passages. I made the assumption they were favourites rather than 'Oh God, I HATE this bit' tags. I read them. The second made me cry. I'll paste it here (oh yes, back to the list, I typed it out). 

Brother

It's a poem that I wrote out by hand, in clumsy Italic script, for my Great Uncle Philip near the end of his life. He was very religious and liked to pray. I remember finding things I thought he'd like - prayers, poems, bits of text and other things - and writing them out all big. Then I put them in a book so he could read them. A very patient boyfriend hung out, a little bored, while I did it. We were in Yorkshire. It was pretty. I still have that book somewhere. It looks like a child's school project, but it was done with love. This is one of the passages I wrote out for Philip, straight from the other copy of this book: 

(I could…)

Find reasons fast enough

To face the sky and roar

In anger and despair

At what is going on,

Demanding that it name

Whoever is to blame:

The sky would only wait

Till all my breath was gone

And then reiterate

As if I wasn’t there

That singular command

I do not understand,

Bless what there is for being,

Which has to be obeyed, for

What else am I made for,

Agreeing or disagreeing?

From Precious Five by WH Auden

Thanks, Rob. You've got me into Colchin with its leggy stalks. Not for everything, not for the blog, but for this piece, fuck yeah! 

I had the pleasure and privilege of doing a coaching session today. I learnt a lot and I felt very lucky to be able to do it. I'm also grateful to Stephen Gilligan (fuck, this is starting to sound like an acceptance speech) for the things he taught me, and Sarah Sansom, my mum, Victoria 'Tiny Pikey' Sandison for all playing massive parts in helping me be there. Ooh, I wonder how she's doing. She must be in Melbourne by now. 

If I had a dog, we'd have done bitey hand

Back again to the list: I have searched for zafus, neti pots, white yoga pants and self-storage for my stuff; I have repeatedly checked an online dating site 'just in case'; I have looked through a load of old documents. I've had a cup of tea - no more wees as yet; I've read news articles I'm not interested in - one about someone who wasn't even supposed to be playing running on and stopping a goal from happening but the rules of the game meant... blah blah blahhh. If I can't sleep later, I might watch that again. I've shaken my fist at the media for doing the 'Dave Lee Travis/Savile enquiry' coup... when they know he hasn't been arrested for molesting children, but it'll get more readers if you have to dig into the article to find that out. I don't know what he may have done, but whatever it is, that's a cheap trick, media. Stop it. Stop it now. 

Progress?

I am grateful, now, that it is midnight. I'm going to bed to read my book. Goodnight.

PS - it's amazing how creative you can get when you're not doing facebook. Half of that resourcefulness focused on the work and I'd have it all wrapped up by now.

Day 357: Cooking Up A Storm

Perhaps I am at the lip of the pot. Or perhaps I'm stagnant water in the bottom of the cup. Perhaps I'm about to be kicked over and spilt. I think maybe I need to edge myself into somebody's path, or just throw myself at the sides until we tip. Maybe I could evaporate. Too slow. Maybe I could call in condensation, or put myself in to the path of a river or a cloud. A storm. Mmmm.

There was fog this morning. I cycled up over Alexandra Palace, centrepoint of beautiful views. I could only just make out the building. The trees were in soft focus. I was grateful for my lights. Coming back, just before dusk, it had all burnt off and the panorama was fully exposed. Beautiful, both. 

Isn't it funny how memory is. Good things happen all the time, but when you're focused on the things that aren't as you want them to be, you pick up all kinds of matching information. There are studies on this. In the same way, when you focus on the things that please you, so many others willingly present themselves and say 'oh, look at me, I'm like that.' Whatever you think of the 'Law of Attraction' in its formal embodiment, this makes sense. 

Experience isn't what IS, it's what we perceive. Our reality is made by the way we take it in. That's why history and news and facts are such tricksy creatures. There is weight in this. How can you choose? Some things, you KNOW. Don't you? Some things you are sure of. But what about the insignificant little bits of memory that get wrapped up in other stuff and misplaced or misremembered. Sometimes, I play the game of trying to remember what I'm wearing without looking. Sometimes, I manage it. If I touch, the texture tells me. Sometimes I revert to remembering putting them on. Often I'm right. Sometimes, I'm wrong. 

There have been stories in the news recently, haven't there, where this could be significant. And yet... And yet... The obvious case has little doubt what was happening... just many people too scared or too... something... to do anything about it. But each of those now-adults has memories. Some who were already adults at the time - witnesses or passive bystanders, worriers, carriers - each of them has memories too. And all of those memories will be informed by the filters of the person perceiving them. I'm not saying that there's no such thing as truth. Or am I? There are truths. We believe our own stories readily. Sometimes, that's a good thing and sometimes not so helpful. 

I'm grateful, often, that there is more than one way of seeing a truth. Mine's not always the best. 

Day 356: Crunch

With yesterday on my mind, I partially expected today to be a bit grim. It was good, though. I got lots more done than I thought I would, workwise, AND I swam, AND I done a yoga class. Not 'the right' yoga class (as in not Sivananda) but it was good. Iyengar. Less challenging than the Sivananda class. Not sure why, because a lot of it was quite strong. 

I must pick up a mile-ticker for my bike at some point. I reckon I average about ten miles a day, with a fairly regular uppage of that If I have a couple of places to go. I managed that today, plus swim and yoga. I'd be thinner if I ate better food and ran. Then I'd be thinner. Not better. Just less of me. 

Thanks to Simply Business Ian, who persevered. God, I'd have bought his insurance just to pay for his time! He did get me insured for a really not that much amount, public liability -wise. Protects me from people falling over, mostly. Good, though. People are quite likely to fall over doing some of my sessions. 

I remember when a man fell over doing blind running on an acting course we were doing. Well, he did shut his eyes and do a full-on sprint at a wall of people! It was massively comic - he was reasonably short and ran into their arms with his neck, pretty much. Upped and fell on his arse. And his elbow.  Less funny when he spent two days in hospital, on morphine. He'd landed on the point of his elbow with most of his weight. He'd shattered it. Shards had flown off. Grooooo... Horrible. I'm sure he didn't even think about sueing, but I suppose he could have. He was out of action for ages! Oh, and I'm insured as a yoga teacher. Already. I'm not one yet. That's positive thinking for you. 

I'm grateful for two suggestions of dog-sitting in 24 hours - one in Barcleona, one in Sussex. I'd do the Barcelona, only it's at a fairly hectic time and it'll cost me a hundred quid. If they offer to pay that, I might do it. A miniature schnauzer and one that I've forgotten because it's not a breed I'm particularly interested in. Little white fluffy thing with almost no face. Schnauzers are just funny even if they don't do anything, though, because of what they look like. Bring them on. I love them. The second offer, in Sussex, I will do. It'd be looking after Betty. I haven't even met her yet, but I'm sure she's a peach. I haven't met the schnauzer yet either, obvs. It lives in Spain. Catalunya.

I got a very polite email from my friend and colleague in Spain today saying that there'd been a general strike in Spain today, so she'd get back to me tomorrow. I like that even freelancers strike. That's good.
There's still lots and lots to do. Better get some sleep, then. And do a trance. Night