Good morning

Blue skies again

Already though a whisper of chill on the early morning air tells me that a change is coming.  Leaves already turning, confused by weeks of relentless heat and sun.


For now though the garden remains vibrantly, verdantly lush.

A slight breeze, and if I breathe in hard I catch the faint trace of lavender. Even this early in the morning the bush is heavy with bees addicted to the sweetly antiseptic scent.  Another breath and I can smell the last blooms of the honeysuckle, their fragrance touched with decay.


An obese pigeon flies overhead, comical in it’s ungainliness.  In it’s head is it soaring with the grace of an eagle?

Wasps circle the lawn like sharks.  I tuck my feet up on the chair.

Just in case.

Eyes closed now, the haven of my garden shrinks away and I am gradually surrounded, not by the peace and tranquility I expected, but by an absolute cacophony of noise.

Magpies argue loudly on the rooftop.  The smaller birds, finches and tits, delighting in their ability to manoeuvre in a garden that is inaccessible to their larger cousins, chase each other from tree to tree, taunting as they fly.

The gently inebriated drone of the bees.

Further away now.  Today the noise of the distant traffic becomes transmuted in my head into the roar of a great river.  The sound is the same but the irritation is gone.  Magic.

Overhead the faint rumble of a plane.  A white thread of silk in a tapestry of blue.  In this moment I don’t envy the travellers.  In this moment I wouldn’t swap this tiny tangle of green for anywhere else.



You do.

IMG_1303The realities of a home yoga practice.

6am Wakes up.  Thinks about getting up and doing practice. Doesn’t.

7pm. Thinks about doing practice.

Picks up iPad and spends next hour reading about other people’s practice.

8pm. Shuffles upstairs (finally) to avoid people’s “amusing” commentaries or sarcastic comments about the practice.

Enters spare room.

Spends 20minutes trying to clear floor space from all the “tidied up” stuff dumped on floor in panic tidying for Christmas visitors.

8.20pm OK.  Here we go. Surya Namaskara A. Inhale raise arms

Exhale fold forwards

<From the distance, voice of youngest child> “Muuuumm”

Ignore it. As long as there’s no blood they’ll be fine.

Inhale look up

<Distant voice getting louder now> “MUUUUUMMMM!”

Exhale step back, lower down.

<Distant voice reaching sonic boom levels> MUUUUUUMMMM!”

Me: “What?”

No Answer.

Me <slightly louder now> “WHAT?”

No answer.

Stands up, opens bedroom door in passive aggressively forceful way that nobody but me will be aware of, “WHAAATTTT??????”

<Distant voice>  “This stupid shower attachment isn’t working properly, can you come up and rinse my hair for me?”

Me: “For, goodness sake, just stick your head in the bath”

Goes back into bedroom. Refrains from slamming the door.

Where was I? Ekam inhale….

Gets to third surya namaskara A

<(Different) distant voice> “Did someone say the shower head wasn’t working?”

Me <sighs> ” Yes, the pump has switched itself off.”

<Distant voice> “What?”

Me “The pump has switched itself off”

<Distant voice> “What?”

Me: <sighs><passively aggressively opens bedroom door again><has discussion about where pump switch is located>.

Returns to bedroom. Gets as far as Surya Namaskara B

<Distant voice of oldest child> “Muuummm”

Me: ignore, ignore

<Not so distant voice of oldest child> “Muuumm!”

Me: ignore

Door opens. Oldest child, being what he considers considerate, kneels next to my downward dog.

“Mum, can I buy a game?”

Me: “What game?”

Oldest child “Elder scrolls”

Me <suspiciously> “Does it involve zombies?>

Eldest child <injured innocence> “No, why?”

Me: “Does it involve elves?”

Eldest child “Yes, maybe, I think so” <Suspiciously >”Why?”

Me <happier because on my scale of online mythological beasties for some reason I would rather he was an elf than a zombie> ” Ok, but you’ll have to give me the money for it”.

Oldest child disappears, happily, to download the game.

Me. Where the hell was I? Oh yes, Surya Namaskara B.

Gets to third B. Door opens.  Oldest child comes in and tucks a £20 note into my hand and looks at me expectantly.

Me “What?”

Oldest child “The game is £15, I need £5 change”

Me <exasperated tone of voice might be creeping in at this point> “well. I’m. Not. Getting. It. For. You. Right.Now.”

Oldest child adopts injured, hard-done-by air and leaves room.

Okay.  Let’s give up on the asanas, and move on to meditation, god knows I need it.

Sits on meditation stool and picks up Mala beads

Takes a breath. Relax the jaw, keep the tongue soft.

Takes another breath.

Bedroom door opens.

Youngest child appears with an armful of stuff “Spa time!”

Me <jaw for some reason tensing, vein throbbing in cheek> “What?”

Youngest child, “lets have a spa, I got all this stuff for Christmas…”

Me: <talking through gritted teeth so clearly I obviously missed my vocation as a ventriloquist > ” I’m meditating right now”

Youngest child “You can meditate while I do your nails”.



Last stop before the return to Delhi and the flight back to the UK.


Possibly one of the prettiest cities in the world.

Painted terracotta for a visit by Prince Albert, and kept that way ever since.

A hill top palace

Mirrored halls

The beautiful Jal Mahal

The absolutely bonkers Royal Observatory

Poppadum sellers

carpet makers

And Tattooed camels

Yes Jaipur has it all.

As Alanis Morrisette would say Thank you India 

And no, that’s not ironic.


Me, Myself and (My 3rd) Eye

One of the things I am loving about India is how the spiritual and the secular parts of life are not compartmentalised but are intertwined and integrated.

Shrines and temples on every street; acts of devotion a no-nonsense, no-big-deal part of everyday life.

And people doing yoga, and meditating, in a similar, no-big-deal, just part of everyday life kind of way.

I admire that.

I’ve been struggling with a meditation practice for some time now (see  this post for a typical example of my experience), but in spite of nearly daily attempts, it hasn’t really happened for me.

The monkey mind remains untamed.

And so it was with some interest that I saw a place in Jaipur offering Ayurvedic massages that purport to open your third eye and facilitate the gaining of that elusive state of mental quietude that I was beginning to think was the yogic equivalent of the Emperors New Clothes.

So, in the spirit of Interest and inquiry, and it must be said, quite a lot of cynicism, I booked myself in for a Shirodhara massage.

It started, in a slightly startling fashion, by being told to take off all my clothes and put on a rather fetching pair of ginormous paper granny knickers (reminding me of the one time I went for a manicure in Leamington- but that’s a story for another time).

The lights were dimmed and I was told to lie down on the massage bed and relax.

At which point boiling oil was poured all over me.

Well, perhaps not boiling, but that’s how it felt at first to my unexpectedly exposed and goose pimpled skin.

Then the massage began – an hour of warm oil and expert pummelling, every joint popped, cracked and quite possibly dislocated.

After an hour, you are wrapped in towels, your eyes tightly blindfolded and then,

And then,

A stream of warm oil is poured continuously onto your forehead, the site of the “third eye”.

It is simultaneously slightly disgusting but also incredibly relaxing.

For twenty minutes or so I lay there, mind shifting this way and that, trying hard not to fall asleep and embarrass myself by a) snoring or b) dribbling.

And then the weirdest darned thing happened.

The thoughts stopped.

There was nothing except awareness of being.

Complete stillness.

It lasted for probably all of ten seconds.

And was frankly terrifying and exhilarating at the same time.
There may just be something in this meditation business after all.


Pigeons and tigers and tractors (oh my)

Health and safety is not a concept that seems to worry people unduly in the area of India we have experienced so far.

From the impressive clusters of up to 7 people riding on a single motorbike (without helmets), to the laid back cows strolling down the middle of the dual carriageways, to the families walking nonchalantly across railway tracks seconds before high speed express trains go thundering past.

A quite liberating embracing of risk and responsibility.

Unless you are a pigeon landing on one of the myriad exposed electricity cables hanging between buildings in the streets of Agra.

On the bright side, the resulting power cut was quite short lived.

Just like the pigeon.

From Agra we caught the train to Ranthambhore Nature Reserve.  

The train station gave another opportunity to witness lives that we rarely get to see in the protected and privileged environs of the U.K.  

So much poverty.  Beggars with heartbreaking disabilities.

And also, a brief sighting of a Sadhu, or holy man.

Brief, because this particular Sadhu had chosen the path of the drug-taking holy fool and was taking great delight in accosting and embarrassing onlookers.

For some reason, we suddenly found an urgent need to inspect something on the opposite side of the platform.

Ranthambhore is a vast nature reserve with an impressive range of different landscapes and terrains within its boundaries.

A haven for wildlife, we were fortunate enough to see this beauty

He stood in the middle of the track for several minutes before lying down and making sure everyone got to photograph his best side

The Tigers were amazing, but for some reason the image of Ranthambhore that is staying with me most is…..

The Musical Tractors

Look at this bad boy.😄

You could see them coming a mile off.

And, with their fondness for playing Indian pop music at a decibel level nearing that of a harrier jump jet taking off, you could hear them from even further away.

Hmmm, that may possibly be a reason tiger sightings in the reserve are quite rare.


Delhi Dichotomy

Nothing prepares you for the assault on the senses that is Delhi.

You think you know what to expect.

Noise, colour, smells.


But actually?

Nothing prepares you for Delhi.

On the one hand, a global city.

Full of new high rise building, fancy technology, designer shopping malls.

On the other hand, entrenched traditional class system, rubbish and pollution on a jaw-dropping scale.

Slum ghettoes built of plastic bottles and corrugated iron.

Nicely juxtaposed with the air conditioned shopping shrines to Versace and Armani.

And Delhi seems to comfortably absorb it all.

In amongst the chaos of the markets of Old Delhi is the haven of the Jama Masjid mosque. 

What you don’t see in this picture of beauty and serenity is youngest child being chased by a frenzied mob of adoring fans who all wanted to take selfies stood next to the small girl with the strange red hair.

You also don’t see the fetching polyester neck to foot covering tablecloth all women are required to wear when visiting the site.

Can’t help thinking it would be more apt to provide blindfolds for the men.

But who am I to judge?

And as an added bonus all that polyester in 37 degree sunshine provides the convenience of a portable sauna for the fortunate ladies who get to wear it.


I have a thing for archways.

And green saris 🙂

And monks taking selfies.

A hard day.  

So many beautiful historic sites.  And so much abject poverty and misery.

The tourist gaze awestruck.

And uncomfortable.

A journey …

It’s been a long time coming.

Getting on for 30 years in fact (how did that happen?)


We’re finally here.


An intriguing mix of the cutting edge, and the very traditional.

Secular and sacred

 Delhi airport.  Passport control and giant mudras.

And why not?

And actually, after battling with Indian bureaucracy and biometric data collection, you can see why people might need a bit of calming meditation.

So, in the spirit of immersing ourselves in the experience, youngest child and I had booked a yoga class at our hotel.

I had assumed this would be a gentle generic type of yoga, aimed at the flagging business person.

You should never make assumptions.

The class consisted of youngest child and myself.

The teacher, a 29 year old, dressed all in white with film star good looks, took one look at youngest child and myself and sniffed “I usually just teach yoga teachers, but never mind”

I’m sure I don’t know how  he could tell we weren’t yoga teachers.

Possibly the look of fear on our faces?

What followed was a very interesting hour of yoga, performed outside in the grounds of the hotel.

And probably a very entertaining hour for anybody who happened to catch sight of us.

Not only did we have to get into the postures, but we then had to hold them whilst performing a type of pranayama called Kapalbhati See this you tube link for an example .

And then, if that wasn’t bad enough, we had to do standing balancing postures on a hill.  Whilst doing Kapalbhati breathing.

At one point the teacher made the comment that this was very good exercise for the belly.

Before looking at youngest child and saying pointedly “Of course, you don’t have a belly”.

Don’t know what he was implying. 🙂

And then just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse he did a…

Chakra Reading.

I’m not sure what I expected.

But I know I didn’t expect to be sat in a room, just him, me and youngest child

Having to take turns chanting a 7 line long mantra.

Anyone who knows me will know I am vocally challenged.

But to my horror, and for some unknown reason, Halfway through, I found myself chanting in a pub singer stylee.

Occasionally throwing in a Mariah Carey type falsetto wobble, just for a bit of variety.

I could see the corner of the teachers eye twitching.

But reader, I found myself unable to stop.

We were all relieved when the session came to an end.

India.  It’s going to be an interesting journey.



Well, it’s been a while.

Four months to be exact.


New Year, new leaf, new starts and all that.

And an absolute doozy of a book to recommend…

The Forty Rules of Love by Elif Shafakimage

Now I must admit I knew very little about Rumi before I read this book.

Other than the fact that he seems to feature rather a lot when someone wants a spiritual sound bite for an inspirational quote.

Sort of a Thirteenth Century Athena poster guy.

But without cats.

How very wrong I was…

This book beautifully interweaves the story of Rumi’s platonic love for Shams of Tabriz, with a contemporary love story between a middle aged secular minded Jewish housewife and a modern day Sufi.

Improbable?   Possibly.

But the Universe works in mysterious ways. 🙂

This book provides a gentle introduction to the poetry and mysticism of Sufism, and to the wisdom and spiritual journey of Rumi.

Just lovely.

Buy it, read it, feel better.

Now that’s inspirational! 🙂




Wild Hunt

It’s the Monday after the first Sunday after the fourth of September.

So it must be


The Abbots Bromley Horn Dance.

Possibly the best folk custom in the world.


The day starts with the blessing of the horns in the Parish C




And then the day begins.

This year was a special year as it is the centenary of the start of the First World War.
Four dancers went off to war in 1914, but only two returned.

Today,  four dancers wore uniform in remembrance of those who lost their lives in the war,  in particular those lost from


The D


As always,  it was a joy to follow the dancers around the village and su






But today was particularly poignant.



I thought they were extinct

Or at least an endangered species

But at the Faversham Hop Festival today we spotted them.

At first just a pair


But later,  a whole posse of them


Performing “Roll out the barrel”,  “My Old Mans a Dustman”  and so many more.

It was great.

There were hops a plenty


In garlands


And on hats.

And Faversham is lovely


It has a Physic Garden


A rather beautifully decorated brewery


And a gunpowder mill.

Every town should have one.


The festival was noisy,  bustling and good fun.

Beer was flowing freely

But as I cant stand the stuff we sampled other local produce instead.



All in the name of supporting small local artisans you understand 🙂