Where is Mum?

Where is Mum?

Mum is in Las Vegas. Which, by the way, is a desert.

Continue reading


I must be long-sighted. Or I must try to be.

I’m currently working at a hospital. In one of the non-clinical offices – and don’t panic, you can’t get any more non-clinical than me so I’m in the absolute right place.

We have floor-to-ceiling windows that look onto the hospital itself and last week (maybe my third day in the job) I said to my colleagues “there’s a naked man in that window”. Because there was, he was putting on deodorant. Instantly there was a flurried response, but certainly not the one I had expected. After the entire office got up to verify, the general consensus was that this was scandalous. One colleague got out her blueprints of the hospital to see what the allocation of that room and then rang the facilities office to suggest that they hang blinds in that window for “patient dignity”. (The thing is, to me, he looked terribly healthy. Not unwell at all. In fact, quite rigourous.)

I had to tell them that this – though tremendously honourable – was not the reaction I was expecting and would not have been the reaction at almost every other office I have ever worked in.

“What would have been their reaction?”

“Within seconds we would have been looking for binoculars on eBay.”

No one laughed.

Now, I ‘m no expert but even I know that yoga and yoga-adjacent blogs are supposed to have some kind of profound lesson or enlightenment along the way. Otherwise what’s the point? Well, the point is just to be.

Actually, no, that’s not it, that might be another blog. Sorry, I’ll stop before I disappear up my own facetiousnarse.

The point is this. My colleagues’ reaction made me realise I was objectifying that man’s body in a way that I revile. If I was aware of someone doing that to me I would find it obscene. And then I realised that I objectify my own body. And that is equally obscene. I don’t feel the need to furnish you with details or examples of my inner monologue, you can take my word for it. It’s pretty grim. Perhaps you do it, too. I’m not sure how to stop but living the life I live it may well be impossible, we are formed by our peers and our environment waaaaaaaaaaaay more than we like to acknowledge. And here, clearly, I am speaking just for me and not the entire human race when I say “we” as that would be arrogant. But how else do you explain the cosmetic surgery epidemic? And all the really hideous tattoos?

I’m really pleased to have made this break through and to realise how fallible I am. And when I say realise, I mean be reminded. And when I say pleased, I mean chuffing heck one more thing to work on. And when I say one more thing to work on, I mean please stop.

In a few days I will be blogging about how I use humour to shield myself from myself and from the work I neeed to be doing on my enlightenment and realisation. And when I say enlightenment and realisation, I mean enlightenment and realisation.

If I squint I can see your chakras.

If I squint I can see your chakras.

I practice yoga because my handbag is too big

Fairly typically, today I carried an over-sized leather shoulder bag. I believe people who decide these things call the style a hobo. For whatever reason, I can only carry bags on my right shoulder. No idea why. But I do think it’s bad for me to be so inflexible. No pun intended.

This is what, fairly typically, I had in my shoulder bag today:

  • my beautiful, shiny new BlackBerry (no, I won’t be getting an iPhone)
  • a Sony Walkman mp3 player (see above)
  • a Game of Thrones paperback (yes, I’m sure a kindle would be marvellous but if I buy just one more thing that comes with a USB charger then the terrorists have won)
  • my purse
  • Avalon Organics green tea and peppermint lip balm
  • my Starbucks thermos tumbler
  • my neoprene water bottle (both of which constitute my attempt to make up for the small wooded glen sacrificed for my Game of Thrones paperback)
  • small hair brush
  • house keys
  • baby wipes
  • a huge tub of home made dark chocolate peanut butter brownies (this is not typical, but were a necessary post-London marathon treat for the family)
  • sunglasses (and sunglasses case)
  • oyster
  • back up oyster ( i know)
  • mini A to Z
  • Hello Kitty make-up case (I never do touch-ups during the day but always take my make-up with me. My reasoning being that I never know when I might bump into Timothy Olyphant)
  • Hello Kitty make-up mirror
  • three pens (you know, for all that writing I do)
  • a big scarf (amost pashmina size, but not a pashmina)
  • I think that’s it

Discounting my nail polish collection, that’s more or less my entire life. And I carry it around with me more or less every day. In addition to my yoga kit, which I also carry on my right shoulder. No wonder I have back trouble – it doesn’t take a genius. But wait, there is a predisposition to back trouble. I have a tilted pelvis and an over extended S-curve in my spine. I guess I should take responsibility to know the names of the vertebra that are in trauma but what do you want from me? I can recite Point Break from start to finish, do I look like I have time to learn L2 from L4? Anyway, I get pain just below the small of my back, I suspect from bad technique picked up from 14 years of classical ballet, but I cannot prove this.

What’s my point? My point is that the yoga (bikram) didn’t exactly heal me; it alerted me to the problem in the first place. The pain is apparently a “healing crisis”. And I think a lot of people would say “yoga made my back hurt” and stop, but I keep going. Some classes it hurts so bad that tears roll down my cheeks. Why don’t I stop? I’m not sure except I know that I trust the process, and since I stopped going to dance class several lifetimes ago, bikram is the one thing I am truly passionate about. It’s alerted me to back pain, sure, but it’s given me so much more besides. That’s all. Perhaps not much of a point but it means something to me – and back pain or no, bikram is – some days – all I think about.

I know I’m meant to wrap up blog posts with some supposedly cute and witty call-back like “bikram is all I think about – well that and Point Break”. But, as simple as my point is, I don’t want to trivialise it like that. So I’m just going to stop. The blog post, not the yoga.

The Kingslayer: also right-handed.