The universe will decide

Ardha Chandrasana at the Rollright Stones

I paid a visit to a local spa hotel on Monday. Not, sadly, as a guest, but to have a tour with a view to taking some yoga sessions there. The lady who is currently doing this job is giving up soon and kindly put my name forward as a potential replacement.

The initial enquiry came via my website, which I then followed up with a phone call to find out more about what was required. 'Why don't you pop over? We'll have a chat and I'll show you round,' said the spa manager.

Monday was shaping up to be busy. The visit to the spa was the first job on my list, then I planned to go to a couple of banks, take something back to the library, deliver some proofs, buy bread and milk, and do a quick trawl of WHSmith for womags. I stepped out in smart jeans and a decent top.

It was only when I was greeted at the spa door by two young gentlemen in suits that I realised that 'Pop in for a chat' meant 'Come for a formal interview.' Oops. I'm hoping that my casual dress will have been taken for evidence that my yoga training has made me relaxed and comfortable with myself and my world. I was at least able to come up with some suggestions for how we might expand the yoga offering going forward, so to speak, and reassure them that I'm fully qualified and carry the necessary insurance cover. I am waiting to hear, but I'm not holding my breath.

Om shanti, shanti om.