Hot Yoga

So I drove out of the flat. Turned right and then left towards Wandsworth Common.
Took a left and a right and continued up the hill till I got to a long road that took me to Balham.
OH! I really love Balham.

Parked in Sainsbury’s car park, two hours for free. Asked an attendant where to buy a parking ticket and he said that the cameras would clock me and if I hadn’t driven out in two hours I would get a letter in the post reminding me that I had overstayed me welcome.
Then I took my blue yoga mat, and a big envelope I had to post and walked through a little market until I found THE BIKRAM YOGA CENTRE.
Entered, paid my registration fee – a quid a day for fifteen days – took my trainers off, hired a white towel and bought a bottle of water.
Slipped into the changing room, hung up my coat and tucked away the envelope then entered the big HOT room.
People were lying around on mats. Thin people, fat people, white people and black. Scandinavian people, Chinese people, Asian people and me. All of us lying around in the heat until the clock hit ten.
Then men, half naked, women, half naked, the teacher, half naked, set about doing 26 postures in dripping sweaty conditions. It was like being in Calcutta without the cotton sarees.
I LOVED IT.
I could do most of the poses – badly – but I couldn’t do any of poses on one leg. Clearly I am totally unbalanced, but we knew that, I did, however, try.
I LOVED IT.
I was so hot when I came out my duvet type jacket got stuck to my skin.
I managed to get to the car before the camera snapped me, arrived back at the flat and stood in the shower for twenty minutes washing off my Calcutta coating.
Then Set off to TKMaxx to buy myself appropriate attire for a 90 minute session of sweaty stretches. Three pairs of shorts and three all in one holdyouups. Queued for twenty minutes in Lavender HIll Post Office to send off my parcel and then drove back to the flat.
I tried to organise my mother’s remaining years with helpful care workers who had her booked in for September 27th 2011. I told them if they didn’t pull their fingers out she wouldn’t be alive to make the appointment.
Then I packed up my scripts and took the 170 to Victoira, and the tube to Farringdon. Into the office where I hugged five delicious people, had a ginger tea, talked about the writing and left.
The old git arrived home just in time for me to prepare a meal of quinoa and roasted marinated turkey breasts and a salad so big a herd of buffalo could have munched on if for a fortnight.
Four of us sat around the table talking about magic, witches and the possibilities that are there in life when you THINK things in the right way. They have just left and I have a mountain of washing up to do. I will do it quickly as I have to get my rest because I’m off to Calcutta tomorrow for my second session. The question is should I go to the 6.30, 10.00 or 12.00 o’clock class.
Whatever it is I shall enjoy perspiring my way through 26 postures that make me look like Humpty Dumpty on crack. But who cares. If the geezer on the end in long shorts and a beer belly can balance on one leg so can I.