Yoga and Cake

There are moments in life when you ask yourself questions. I had such a moment today when I was doing my best hot damp slug impression in Bikram Yoga. The question was ‘Why am I here?’ and it wasn’t one of those philosophical soul-searching moments, more of a ‘What’s really so wrong with slobbing about, anyhow?’ type things.

I doubt any of the super-bendy contortionists at the front of the room were thinking similar thoughts. I suspect they were At One with themselves (and the mirror.) This is probably where I am going wrong. I’m just not Zen enough - although it’s hard to be Zen and At One when sweating bare feet waft a perilous inch from your nose. Even harder when the person in front kicks their leg up and you can see what only their ever-loving partner should. Shorts that fit, now there's an invention. It’s not like you can close your eyes either, as you have to keep them open ‘so your energy stays in the room’. I don’t know where my energy goes, but I suspect it gambols down the front in amazement at the stretchy ones; it certainly doesn’t stay with me.

That said; I did come out of class feeling full of good intentions, and decided to go home via a different train route in order to finish the day with a three-mile walk. Sounds good, huh? Angelic, almost? I thought so too, and let me tell you it was just sheer coincidence that this route also includes my favourite tea-shop which sells cupcakes. I know! What are the chances, eh? You can’t let opportunities like this slide, so pretty soon I was safely ensconced inside, notebook open, pen at the ready, ready to rock the Mad Person Writing in Public look.


I’d just got to the part where you catch yourself mouthing part of the dialogue (never a good look when sat by yourself) when this poem came out of nowhere, plonked itself down and said ‘Are you writing me or what?’ So instead of working further on the short story, I spent the remainder of time happily scribbling a rhyme. Sometimes that’s just the way writing goes.

And in case you are wondering what the big surge of exercise is all about – take a look at this:


There may be a holiday on the horizon. *grins*

Weekend Wandering

The light returns on Candlemas.

The candle in my jamjar lantern pays its homage to the flares lit on the hillside. We gather in groups - adults drinking mulled wine as children run round and around. The lights split the darkness as we nod to the growing new year.


No weekend wander is complete without treasure. There is bought treasure, the stuff found on stalls and hidden on dusty shelves...

And there is found treasure, the finest treasure of them all. A horseshoe! I couldn't stop smiling. I felt like someone was giving me a sign to say that all will be okay.

In Need of a Life Plan

I often find it hard to sleep. Going to sleep is not a problem; staying asleep is the thing I find tricky. Thoughts amplify at night; they swirl and gather in corners. But those dark early hours, while the world slumbers and urban foxes bark beyond the window, are the best times to think of plans. In fact, the Grand Author Plan. (Oh yes, I haz one.)

I haven’t been writing much recently and it’s been worrying me. So far, since October, I have written three short stories (more about one, later), fiddled a bit with the novel, and thought up some ideas for more. That’s it... and it’s not enough, not nearly enough. My energy levels dissipate when I commute a long way and work full-time; this time last year I could do it – work during the day and write in the evenings – but now I come home and am fit for nothing. I try to stir myself to be creative but it is like stirring a pot of treacle, and the tired part of me wants to be left alone.

So what are my solutions here? As the dark night does throw me a bone, sometimes.

It seems they focus around my job – take that away, and the creative energy levels rise (as the money falls). But take it away and bang goes my chance of buying a property – mortgage providers love freelancers. In fact, take it away and can I afford to rent my own place, even? It depends what I swap the day job with – another full-time job closer to home? But would that a) pay as well, or b) be viable – the industry I work in is still shaky from the recession. And is swapping like for like worth the effort of change? It might buy me some commute time, but would I be just sticking a plaster over a still sore cut?

Or there is the freelancer route – which sounds attractive but is equally hard work - more so, when bills loom and you have to make it all happen. My experiences of working as a freelancer is like playing the Spectrum game ‘Pitfall’ (anyone remember that?) – desperately swinging from rope to rope, always looking for the next one to grab in order to save you from falling into the pit. I never felt I could relax – even when engaged on a contract I’d be thinking of the next, and the next, and what happens after that one, and this one.

I guess what it comes down to is that I’m scared of just going for it. Eep – I’ve admitted it. I’ve taken risks in the past with my writing – twice I have jettisoned everything in order to follow my dream, and twice I’ve crash-landed, to be honest. The first time I lost sight of my goal and settled for a job with the illusion of writing; the second time was beyond my control – personal circumstances and the recession meant I pretty much lost everything. I guess it is natural then to feel scared about going for it a third time (third time lucky?). If I was in my mid-twenties I probably wouldn’t be feeling this way, but add ten years and suddenly things like security look a lot more attractive.

I actually don’t know what the answer is. But maybe none of us do. It could be that I find somewhere to move to that is closer to the current day job, and this cuts out some commuter stress. As don’t get me wrong, I like the current job – it is probably one of the nicest full-time jobs that I have had. But time flies when you are busy doing something else. I think this is what scares me most of all.

Letter to London Transport