That which no longer serves

I want to be here

I've been suffering from a touch of post-holiday blues this week. My plan to hit the ground running and be a creative dynamo came to nothing. Let's face it, I've been a bit mardy. There were a couple of incidents that didn't help my mood.

1. I learned that two people who were going to be buying copies of Stripped-back Yoga won't be doing so, because a well-meaning friend has lent them her copy. This I interpreted as 'We didn't think your book was worth buying.'

2. I had someone cover one of my yoga classes last week and of course I asked my students how they got on. 'Oh, it was brilliant; we really enjoyed it,' became 'She was much better than you' in my miserable state of my mind. Honestly, I'm my own worst enemy sometimes.

However, I've rallied (aka pulled myself together) and I'm finishing the working week in relatively good spirits. It's not been all bad, of course. The theme of this week's yoga has been: Breathe in what you need; breathe out anything that is no longer serving you.' I've followed my own advice and unsubscribed from a lot of online dross. I've also decided not to update my other blog, Yoga? Here's what I'm thinking, at least for the time being. I can see from the stats that people are reading it, but rarely is anyone moved to leave a comment. I can only assume they are not served by it.

It's September tomorrow. Time for a fresh start.

Doing the Lambeth Walk (Oi!)

The audience is yet to arrive

Show programmes, then and now

In 1984, my family went to the Leicester Haymarket Theatre to see Me And My Girl. This was the revised production based on Stephen Fry's revision of the original book and ahead of its transfer to the Adelphi in London's glittering West End. It was a wonderful evening and we all came home singing.

As part of our recent trip to Cornwall - well, actually the main reason for the visit - Mr Thorley and I went to the fabulous Minack Theatre (right)  to see The Mitre Players' production of this same musical. It may have lacked the tap-dancing prowess of Robert Lindsay and Emma Thompson who played the leads Bill Snibson and Sally Smith in the Leicester version, but Paul Grace and Megan Brown did a great job in the roles. Once again, we came home singing.

We stayed a few miles inland in St Buryan, home to John Le Carre (which I didn't realise until we got home). It might only have been a week away, but I feel refreshed - and have come back with a notebook full of scribbled ideas for stories.

Here's looking at you, kid.

Not without cause do my family call me Little Miss Clumsy. Having distinguished myself with an inelegant trouser moment last week, I managed to get toothpaste in my eye yesterday. I can't tell you how much this hurt! It's still a bit tender today. We are supposed to be sharing the driving tomorrow; Mr T is understandably nervous, although I must point out that I have never written off a car. I'll say no more.

Oh, I would like to be beside the seaside

You think you're tired?

July was such a busy month, what with workshops and spoken word events and book launches, not to mention day-to-day work stuff. I had hoped August was going to be a bit gentler, but here we are on the 11th already, and I feel I'm still playing catch-up. Not that I'm complaining; I hate it when I haven't got a deadline looming or a target in my sights.

Even so, I could do with a holiday. I've got one coming up soon, so don't feel too sorry for me. I'm trying to get four weeks' work done in three (because freelances never just disappear into the sunset), but at least it's quiet at home at the moment, because Mr Thorley has gone off on his golfing jolly with his chums. This has left me with the dubious honour of caring for the tropical fish and keeping on top of the allotment picking.

All of which means, I have little to report of any interest, except that on Wednesday I distinguished myself at dancetheatre rehearsal by ripping my trousers through over-enthusiasm in the warm-up routine. I tried to keep my back to the wall as much as possible, but in the end I gave up all attempts at modesty. Good job we're close friends.

Did I mention I need a holiday?

If this is style, you can keep it

I don't why I put myself through it. I mean, I know the Sunday supplements are based on pure fantasy and, as the League of Gentlemen would tell me, 'There's nothing for you here.' The thing is, though, every now and then I have a lazy Sunday in prospect and find myself thinking that what I really need is a copy of The Sunday Times, with a crossword I have no hope of completing, several sections that go straight in the recycling basket (today's gem: The MBA List 2018) and the chance to be patronised by the fashion police.

Today, then, in spite of my better judgement, I browsed the glossy little add-on that is STYLE (note the block caps). Brace yourselves.

Page 7 has the STYLE Barometer, where I read that 'heating up' is Noisy Yoga: 'Forget candles and breathing, the next gen [sic] of yoga classes encourages whooping and vocalisations.'  Forget breathing? Really? My teeth start grinding.

Skipping quickly over the the double-page spread telling me what to wear with a jumpsuit, I arrive at a feature on 'THE NEW FITNESS TRENDS TO TRY NOW'. (More block caps.) The whole article is full of the most pungent BS, but two snippets take me from raised hackle status to full-on spitting with rage mode.

• Under the subhead STRETCHING (seriously, enough with the caps), is this: 'If you don't get along with yoga, the chances are your muscles are tighter than they should be.'  Now, I'm no expert - oh,wait: yes, I am - but  surely that ought to read: If your muscles are tighter than they should be, you need to try yoga.
• That is nothing, though, to the abomination that is Ganja Yoga. I kid you not. '... run by hatha yogi Dee Dussault, [Ganja Yoga] delivers a more meditative, less physical practice.' What the ...?  Apparently, you can get a one-to-one Skype session for about £45 an hour. 

 I bet you can.
 

It's the end of the world as we know it!

Glorious sweetpeas*

'Thousands will die!'

This is one of the headlines on the BBC front page this morning, scaremongering on the back of stories about soaring temperatures. Oh, for goodness' sake!

OK, so this report is actually about what the future might hold, should heatwaves become a regular feature; but I'm sure you've seen the stories in the press about how dangerous all this weather is. Yes, I know it's very hot and I know we're all a bit sweaty and starting to flag, but honestly! What is it with the British? We're never happier than when we're miserable.

Obviously, some parts of the world are suffering because of the unusual weather and that's awful, but for most of us in the UK it's all just a bit bewildering. We don't have the right clothes or attitude for all this sun.  I know there are some who are at risk - the elderly, the very young and those with trouble breathing at the best of times, for instance - but shouldn't we be making the most of this lovely weather? Put on some sunscreen, buy a floppy hat, sit in the shade, strut with a parasol, but try to enjoy it while it's here, because it won't be long before we're scraping the ice off the windscreen and worrying about burst pipes and people slipping over in the high street.

On a pedantic note, may I take issue with the use of the word 'thanks' in this quote from the BBC story?

 'But all agree that future heatwaves will be hotter and more frequent thanks to carbon emissions.'  

Have a lovely day, folks - but be careful out there.

* In case you think I've been wasting water, let me assure you that my sweetpeas, pictured, continue to thrive because I've been emptying the washing-up bowl into their pot.

Festival time

Every town in the land seems to be having a festival these days, and dear old Kettering is no exception. This year's KettFest was blessed with glorious weather (obviously), but could have done with a bit more publicity, and sooner. Nevertheless, a good time was had by all.

I played my part. I hosted a creative writing event in the town library at which people were invited to drop in and create a character based on the prompts I had provided. This was great fun and there were some lovely - and surprising - words written. Then I dashed around the corner to take part in a spoken word event, where I read out a story from Nine Lives and a short piece from Stripped-back Yoga. There were people taking part not just from the town, but also further afield, and organiser Kezzabelle (who took this pic of me) did a great job of coordinating it all.

My turn went down well, but I could definitely do with a bit more practice with a mic. Part of the  problem was that there was no monitor, so I couldn't hear myself through the PA, but the bigger problem was that I found it hard to stay close enough to the stand.

Anyone got any tips for me?