Day 502: Incalculably Lucky

So today, while dicking around on facebook, I saw a video that I loved (thanks, Rob C). I mean, it's cute animals and shit, but seriously, it's just delightful. There are so many bits that I like, but nothing quite tops the orangutan's total commitment at 1m04. In addition to all those loved up bro bits. I wish I could do that almost as much as I wish I could do a totally convincing lurchy toddler walk. Both would be spectacular.

I finally watched Tim Minchin's address to his old university all the way through. I don't have proper internet, so streaming and Skype can be an absolute pain. I watched it in the library. I liked it very much. Among other things that were clever and apt, he said this: 

"You are lucky to be here. You were incalculably lucky to be born, and incredibly lucky to be brought up by a nice family that helped you get educated and encouraged you to go to Uni. Or if you were born into a horrible family, that’s unlucky and you have my sympathy… but you were still lucky: lucky that you happened to be made of the sort of DNA that made the sort of brain which – when placed in a horrible childhood environment – would make decisions that meant you ended up, eventually, graduating Uni. Well done you, for dragging yourself up by the shoelaces, but you were lucky. You didn’t create the bit of you that dragged you up. They’re not even your shoelaces.

Actual Glee

I suppose I worked hard to achieve whatever dubious achievements I’ve achieved … but I didn’t make the bit of me that works hard, any more than I made the bit of me that ate too many burgers instead of going to lectures while I was here at UWA.

Understanding that you can’t truly take credit for your successes, nor truly blame others for their failures will humble you and make you more compassionate."

Thanks, Tim. I like your brilliant naughty face and your words, whether it was you that created those bits of you or not.

Speaking of Tims, I met another one today, in the library, and we shared something spooky odd that I'm delighted about. Tim Earl, his name was, and the spooky thing is the title of my first novel (we decided), The Fifth Trumpet. A few weeks ago, to prepare for my imminent trip to Rome and associated facilitation needs, I got a teach-yourself book out of the library. A few months before, in a sudden rash of influence, I found out about Michel Thomas. A string of disparate people told me about him within the space of about a week. So of course when I found the advanced Italian set in Jubilee Library, I took it down to the desk, expecting it to pay, but the lady checked and said it was coming up as no charge. Result!

When I renewed my other library books online, I noticed that Mr Thomas was nowhere to be found. Instead, there was a book called The Fifth Trumpet. I didn't notice the author. I took it in today and explained my conundrum to Tim. He checked the account and indeed, that's what showed instead of Advanced Italian. So he checked the catalogue and found that it didn't contain anything of that title (even though it was showing on my account). 

Neither of us knew the reference, so he googled it. Those of you with good Bible knowledge will know. For the rest of you, there's this link, among others. It involves personified stars and locusts and torture and woe. It's very interesting. We gleed each other out by finding the whole affair terribly prophetic and spooky, and I was also delighted at what a great title/plot it will make. Neeeewwww project! Maybe Nanowrimo it?

There was more Tim action later, when the books I'd just seen him cancel were still on my account. He also encouraged me to get the rhyming dictionary back out again, and to write a poem. I promised him a copy of the novel when it's done. 

Really hoping this is a selfie. Taken by the dog.

Thanks, Kate Hilder, you sweet, gentle, lovely thing. Short Feldenkreis doobrie this lunch time. Thanks, Rob Grundel, for being continually curious, determined and inspiring. Esther Lilley Harvey and Daniel, just for being. Laura Furones, same. Dilly for being a. lovely and b. currently in Oxford. A weekend home alone is just what I needed. I've been here for two whole nights! Luxury! 

In summary, then, with friends, dogs and orangutans in between: Nice one, Tims.

Day 501: It's All About Love - Again

It's late and I've got a bag on my head. Still time for this, though. 

Today, I very much enjoyed a leisurely walk across the park and breakfast with Kate in the little woven yoghurt cafe next to Acton Central station, followed by a successful and satisfying French conversation session in Elephant & Castle and a slick trip back to Brighton.

Fast site.... mustn't grumble

On the Overground on the way to the Elephant, a man with a Morgan Freeman drawl and deep tones did the announcement. He sounded like he'd been in the UK a while, but he was definitely American. I enjoyed his voice very much and drifted off into how come a boy like him ended up as a conductor on an orange Overground train, working out of Willesden Junction. 

When the conductor turned up in front of me, doing the doors, I wanted to ask if it was him, but I was scared of being embarrassed, so... so I got up and asked him (it's my new game and I'm loving it). It wasn't him. He had a normal Londonish twang. I was up and committed by then, so I asked him about the American guy. "Oh no," he said, "he's not American. Never even been there. He just talks like that. He's from Kilburn." Turns out, it's not just something he puts on for announcements. He actually talks like that all the time, even though he's never left London. Brilliant. We had a cackle, and then I got off. 

Loved. Up

The second time I played the game today bore other fruit. I went on the hunt for meat. Yes, I'm vegetarian now and have been since December last year. And I love it. However, my iron levels are low again and I wanted a boost - a small amount of organic or wild red meat - venison or beef... something to give me a directly absorbable iron hit. I walked down to the Saturday market near Church Street, only to find that wherever it was today, it wasn't there. On the way past, I spotted a fair trade boutique. I had no plans to buy anything, but I thought I'd look in the window. There were no customers in, but there were two women in there behind the counter or adjusting the very posh and nice clothes. I felt a rush of 'not good enough to go in this shop...' So I went in. 

The lady behind the till greeted me with a huge, wide-eyed, knowing 'Hello!'."That's a bit full on," I thought, until I realised that I had met this woman at the workshop I was on last week in a completely different part of the country. Lovely woman. Worlds colliding, good things coming of it. We talked for a while, then swapped numbers. I went in the back and left with a little bracelet with a tiny plaque on it saying 'BE BRAVE AND BE KIND', which I like very much, just for me. 

Emily Lovely

I have a deal... I am DEFINITELY doing a seven-day fast, starting on Friday. I am very excited. I also get to transcribe some brilliant material about nutrition. I'm ready for the next stage. I'm very excited. 

Lovely chat with Emily Cuphead Wilkinson from the windswept landscapes of Scotland. She's absolutely mint, that one. I like her very much. 

Aaaahhhhhhh, wonderful.

Inspired by Emily, I've been thinking about couples I admire. Lilley & Daniel, of course, Lee and Tanya, Kate and Stew, having had the pleasure of properly seeing them together last night; Rob & Pam, Rob & Anna (different Robs, just for clarity's sake) and these two, Cynthia & Soham. When I had the pleasure of meeting them both, they weren't a couple (I don't think). Now they are. Every time I see a picture of them, I am filled with warmth and love and happiness. They are both such lovely people, such committed creatures and they look so happy. So thank you, Soham and Cynthia, for making my day every time I see your happy faces and sense the love you have. 

Work is ace. Henna cowpats overnight are ace (if a little dangerous on the pillow front). Hot water bottles rock. See you, today. See you soon, tomorrow. Before I go, though. It's all about love, isn't it. This was a core part of my meeting yesterday. It's all about love, gifts, exchanges (though not in a trading way) of love and focus. Be it romantic love or the love of attention paid, thoughts trained, breaths taken, moments shared, jobs done well, steps taken... that's where it's at. Sleep on that. I know I will. 

Day 500: 500!

500 days! More than 500 in time, but 500 instances of writing. Now there's a thing to be celebrated just so. Joining it today are a great call with JP, another with la Reine Pluta, sweet, bendy Gaelle from my yoga TTC.

A fabulous meeting with Rob on the South Bank. Lots and lots to do this weekend. I'm looking forward to being at home to do it, and to the dhal I have started preparations on by soaking mung beans. I need to buy a tiny bag of frozen peas... we don't have a freezer, but there's nothing that greens up a dhal like 'fresh' peas. Fabulous. 

I've laughed and laughed this evening. Wedding planning for lovely Kate and Stew. In itself a reason to rejoice - my lovely friend having met someone who matches her so well in tastes, values, creativity, energy and musicality. Them getting married. Me having the honour of being involved. To top it off, outstanding gentlemen Luc and Dan, absolute peaches, both (Luc and I are Kate's Best Man and Best Woman) and hilarious Mike, Stew's Best Man. He was on form (never met him before, but this is my assumption). He made us laugh a lot. We all made each other laugh a lot. We decided things. One of them was that stress is not an option... we are there to make sure there's a sense of perspective about how much to pay (emotionally rather than financially) for the different aspects of the wedding, to help it run smoothly and to be external voices of reason if anything starts to put too much pressure on things. It's what they've asked us to do. Good move! 


French lesson in the morning. I'm loving this so much more than I thought I would. Not that I thought I wouldn't, as such, but it's great that it's so much fun. 

Stretching out behind me is a very welcoming sofa bed. It was lovely to meet you ... but this is now my new friend.

And again. Still funny.

Day 499: Catalysting

Heart all full and bursty. Sleep biting at my heels, but I'm loving blogging more regularly, and there's so much to be grateful for. People I'm blown away by in my life... and so many of them. Texts, emails, messages and facebook messages that touched me and even a voicemail from that Gaelle one. Can't wait!

I get to work with Rob Grundel, who impresses and inspires me. So proud, and so happy. What a great partnership to be part of. What pleasure and honour. On the work front again, I had yet another stream of talented, committed and just LOVELY actors, many of whom I'd never met before, some of whom I had, to work and play with for the day. I get paid to do what I love. Okay, so I love a lot of things, and I get to do a lot of things. There's very little I do for work that I don't love. Today (get THIS) I was allowed to do presentation/pitch coaching with high-flying graduate programme people (wee whippersnappers building futures). I loved it. I loved them. I loved that this is what work is, and that I had another job in today, and one dropped yesterday in agreement with me, when I declined to work for free on a Saturday after reading the message 'the training is unpaid, but without doing it, you can't do the placement'. It's great. I was wondering whether I really wanted to do that job, and it turns out that that message helped me realise that I didn't, really. Ace. 

Catalyst Club tonight, with Dave and Rach... that was ace. I was impressed with Rachel Blackman, who gave a juicy, meaty, hearty talk about the background to her new play, Moon Project, full of rich noticings about trauma release, self, story related to self and differences between animal and human processing of shock. I'm still chewing (and I just munched another midnight pickle, so I can hardly wait to let that vinegary consciousness loose on itself in sleep). Great company. Good brainjuice. I'm talking at it in December, as is Dave. As he said earlier... PARTY!

Just to top it off, though, facebook delivered some of the sweetest, warmest messages today. I'm happy-moved and full up to the very top, so the top has to get bigger and more fullness can be fit in... little by little, that stretch is making normal more loving by the minute. MMmmmmmmmm. Thank you.

Day 498: Loved Up

I can’t actually count the times I’ve laughed today, just so, often alone. Or yesterday. I’ve flown to Rome and back twice in the last week, on easyJet. Neil Bett (aaah, what a lovely man) has been getting me speedy boarding tickets and seats at the front, so I’ve had the pleasure of watching the flight attendants. Today, one of them called the girl at the back, all irate, because apparently, he’d missed it when she’d said ‘potato’ and he wanted her to do it again. When she finally did (“we have snacks on board, including chocolate, peanuts and potato crisps”), the two of them at the front cracked up and rejoiced. Such simple fun. Earlier today, I was remembering a similar thing… an old boyfriend from university times, Hugo, used to say ‘un mes’ (one month) in his best ever Spanish accent, which used to make us both howl with laughter. How can two little syllables be so hilarious. And not. And still...

First few washes with Pope hand

The thing that triggered that memory was my own self-induced glee at the idea of a souvenir ‘Pope soap’ to take home to Ruth. I didn’t find one, but the glee remained, even though I won’t (yet) get to say “I’ve brought you back a Pope soap”. 

Rome is full of papal memorabilia. And sex shops. I am the weaver, so I got to wondering about Pope fetishism. If there are people who dress in baby clothes and crawl around, and all the thousands of other very specific fetish areas that exist, and it’s true that forbidden things are often very compelling, it follows that there must be people who fantasize about that, mustn’t there? Whether or not it’s true, it certainly helped me enjoy that little touch more the millions of Pope images I came across yesterday. On the other end of the scale, how not on would you feel, as a good Catholic, if your subconscious gave you a papal sexydream? Hail Marys would only make it worse! Honestly, if that’s happened to you, I’m sorry.

Rome really is amazing. I walked so much yesterday, I got two hard, pea-like blisters from my boots. It’s hard to go anywhere in the centre of Rome without stumbling across something beautiful. I saw so many stunning churches, statues, fountains, buildings, ruins, sets of steps, trees and cityscapes, and an elephant with an unfeasibly long trunk. The Trevi fountain was so busy on Monday night that I went back early yesterday. I caught a small part of the dawn, which was lovely, and saw it, and the Spanish steps, before the masses arrived. I wasn’t the first, of course, but it was possible to be there without the view being mostly backpacks, poses cameras at arm’s length.

I almost cried at my zucchini white pizza. Well, not almost. I did cry, I just kept it in a bit. Not sure why… I was suddenly terribly moved, feeling all grateful and loving. I have so very many delicious people in my life. There I was, sitting alone at a very Italian pizza bar, filled with locals and tourists in equal measure, with the luck to be here and the liberty to do what I want. Part of me wanted just to let it all out. Part of me didn’t. Both parts got their way to some extent.

All the old boyfriend thinking (¡un mes!) has got me on a bit of a realisation too. For a large number of years, I’ve made myself suffer under the delusion that I haven’t been loved… It’s true that I haven’t had any very long relationships, and that those that I did happened before I was 25, but it’s just not true at all that I haven’t been loved. Funny Belgian Hugo would have loved me if I’d let him – he probably did love me. At the time, though, I was busy being loved by French Christophe, though not the love of my life to be, possibly very close to that position so far. We loved each other, definitely. Again, I made it hard for him and it was me who cut off contact and behaved in unkind ways as I ended the relationship.

In the naming, I’ll stick to people who are unlikely to read the blog, but there have been many, and the beautiful King Prawn was up there with the best of them. I made it so hard for him that we never really had a ‘proper’ relationship, whatever that means, but I loved him (and still do, though not in that way) and I think he loved me. What about the love letters from Bulgarian Georgi, probably a bendy yoga teacher now? In my mind, that had become a memory of a fling (though the initation of it was heady and exciting), but it wasn’t a fling, not for him. Had I let him in, it might not have been for me, either. What a clever, interesting, resourceful man he was. And Israeli Amnon, such a warm and gifted creature. And Sussex Alex, golfer James… so many relationships that maybe, yes, were wrong, but not for lack of offered love and good intentions.

I am thankful for all the men (and one woman) who have tried to love me, for longer or shorter times, each in different ways, and whom I’ve blocked out. I’m grateful for people who loved me even when I didn’t know, want, accept or acknowledge it. And that’s just romantic love. God, I just don’t have the words. It’s time to change this unhelpful memory of scarcity. It’s just not the truth, so if anyone ever catches me paddling about in it again, please, give me the gentlest of prods (or beat me with a leek)… whatever it takes to remind me how lucky and blessed I am, on that front as on so many others.

Back to Rome: oh, sweet Russian Dascha, who told me stories when I collected my bag from the hostel yesterday… she was sweet and glowing and so open and wanting to talk… she had left Russia ten months earlier, missed family and friends but loved her life in Italy. She lived and worked in the hostel, so fantasized about, just once in a while, eating breakfast alone, or having her own space to be in even just for a few hours. From there, I went to one side of Rome to do a Sivananda yoga class (thank you Gaelle, in Munich, for the encouragement), then to entirely the other side, and further, to the massive Marriott hotel. The bed’s bigger, the bathtub more luxurious, the food richer, but the service doesn’t touch the sides compared to Dascha’s openness, or the helpfulness of both the other people working there that I had the pleasure of.

Today’s work was delicious. What a team! Simone Douani, Anna-Elena Pepe and Renato Mosca (Mr Renato Fly! Bluebottle, not aviation. How good is that? Even if I’m wrong [it may be only in Spanish, not Italian], I like it). The main forum bit was slicker than last time, I think, and this time, I had my own group of ‘English speakers’, only not. We had to stick with the convention of them talking to me in Italian and me responding in English. It was ACE! Of course, ideal for them would have been an Italian speaker, but given that I was what they got, we all did the absolute best we could, and managed to squeeze as much benefit as possible out of it, with the help of Carola and Renato. Facilitating in a language I don’t speak is such a rush! It feels like telepathy (it’s not). The words come and although I can’t make them all out and I can’t yet use them, meaning comes through and unless I’m sure that I don’t, I respond as if I DO understand… So good. And I’ve learnt so many new words too. Among my favourites is ‘saperevolezza’ – awareness. Simple pleasures, new words.

now laugh

Last time I was here I was on a bit of a detox, which was nice – I ate well and crisply. I did this time too – I’ve had bucketloads of leaves today – but I added to that hotel puddings, cheese, fresh pizza, one gelato hit per day, when I was out on my own… You know what? A bit of both is great.

So, if you’ve read this long, I thank you. Thanks for sharing in my happiness today. For me, it’s been a pleasure. I hope it has for you too.

Day 497: Superhero, Nunwagon

Nuns doing driving. Never gets old. If you're me.

I saw the most triangular person EVER today. A real-life cartoon superhero. I've never seen anything like it. He was massive. Tall. His waist was normal man-sized (though ripped to shit, of course), but then it kind of just kept on widening. I swear he was more than twice the breadth in the shoulders as he was in the waist. His muscles were like massive sides of beef in size, perfectly shaped, if a little unfeasible. 

Search term: upside down armpits.
Honestly!

He was wearing a tight t-shirt but unless he tacks on a sheet, I can't imagine there are many other options for him. He looked like he'd been drawn in by a huge Marvel artist, right there in front of me. I nearly shouted 'Get that man a cape!' I nearly went and commented. Not sure if I'm glad that I didn't or not. Grateful doesn't cover it. That was BRILLIANT.

Delays did happen, thanks to the fog. I got quite a lot done. I feel a bit over-excited. Got to Rome. I took the advice my facebook lovelies had given me and walked. I took the advice that Marco off of Easyjet had given me too, and went to Trastevere. Lovely. I found a cafe and had an actual Italian cappuccino, which was heavenly: delicate and strong at the same time (something I aspire to being myself...). I skyped my French AS student, and by the time I looked up, the place had turned into a very cool bar. I had a jumpy wee behind a door not big enough to cover the doorway, hovering over a seatless bowl. Better than waiting. 

Tilly's black, but this is the best dog armpit shot.

On the way to Trastavere (how could I almost have forgotten?), I was smiled at and even got a little wave, from a pair of wimpled nuns in a nunwagon. Actual, straightforward nuns. Not comedy nuns, or annoying 'sexy nuns'. Just nuns. Busy being nuns. And driving. I love seeing people in religious dress driving cars. It really makes me laugh. Not sure why. I remember seeing a Swami in a Twingo, swinging round a corner, beaming and talking into his mobile phone. Such a mismatch with what I expect. If those nuns had whipped out iPads and started on the selfies, I'd have been done for.

Oh, and the rain! It rained for about a quarter of the journey into Rome from the airport. I was at the very back of a coach, surrounded by guffawing French retired people. They were quite funny. They were having a nice time, which was good. It rained big and fat and heavy, taking leaves off trees as it did, leaking into the coach. I was looking forward to a thorough soaking. Impractical, definitely, but I've never been able to resist fat, warm rain like that. It had stopped by the time I got out. That didn't stop me being offered a string of macs and umbrellas. I wonder if it's sunnies when it's warm and hair grips when it's windy. Nice chat and a trip to a hotel I didn't want with Ricardo, whose job it is to gather people a the tourist info counter at the station and try and get them to take a room in his hotel. The lovely chat started after I'd already said no. 

Margaret Pikes, this one's for you.

I walked again. I saw lots of lovely dogs. I smiled at a lot of people and a lot of people smiled at me. I got 'lost' a few times, though I wasn't really going anyway. I saw the Colosseum and the Pantheon, some incredible buildings and some beautiful ruins. I found a hostel. I ate a pizza near the Trevi fountain. I'm about to go and fill my face with gelato. 

I have received some gorgeous messages from some really valued and beloved people today. I even had love and best wishes sent from the armpits of a sweet, soft Staffie-dog girl called Tilly. That's good, isn't it? 

Day 496: I Love the Dawn

Aaah, Brighton, you sweet thing

I love the dawn. I miss it when I don’t get up for it. I loved it, when living at Kate Buchanan’s place in Acton and swimming in the Ladies’ Pond every morning, that I’d get up and catch a train at dawn every day. I’d see the skies starting to open up in front of me as I walked to the station and as I walked across the heath, it would continue, the sun rising in front of me and my whole perspective changing with the light.

This morning, on my way to catch a flight to Rome, I had a taste of that again. Orangey skies showing themselves as I trundled towards the station. Now fog, one station out of Brighton. I have a fully charged computer and a dongle. Delays can bite me... I have lots to do. And it’s beautiful, this fog. It softens everything and gives it mystery. We’re talking Burgess Hill and Hayward’s Heath. Giving them mystery is a blessing.

I feel like this

What a gift-laden weekend! Some delicious people, many of them brand new to me. Some wonderful spoken word music/poetry, delivered with love and passion. Music that makes your heart bleed and sing at the same time. Some of it was so beautiful, I almost couldn’t bear it! All of it was offered up with love and craft and joy. A gong bath, singing and shouting, dancing, relaxing, sleeping, releasing, surrendering. I learnt such a lot, from myself and from other people. Aaaaaah. Gorgeous.

And all these little nuggets that made me laugh and smile, which have already slipped through the net of my conscious mind to settle in the unconscious. I know they’re there, though. I endeavour to tell you all about the ones to come. Ommmmmmmmmmmmm.

Day 495: Beam

So, what happens every day now is that I blog in my head. I have glee and I imagine sharing it on here, which only serves to add to it even more. 

I got to work with this man in Rome today. He was a delight. He always is. And I did my first job 'in' Italian. I didn't speak Italian, because I don't, but everyone else did. That's my first experience of facilitating where everyone's speaking a language I actually don't speak. I was speaking English, with someone translating most of it, and they were speaking Italian (normally without translation, but sometimes with). I think we managed it really well, between us, and the team was fabulous. And even better, I'm going back for more next week. 

I'm overtired. I'm going to leave it at that, despite lots of other wonderful things happening, some of which made me laugh, alone, in public places. In itself, a fine, fine thing.