The best things in life are nearly free

I went back to Yoga yesterday.
The bliss of it.
I couldn’t make the day sessions so drove to the 5.00 p.m. class.
I had been up since before 7.00 organising my new regime. It meant shopping in ASDA, forgive me, which opened at 7.00. Except it didn’t open until 7.30. So I drove on an empty tank to fill my car up with petrol and fill my tyres up with air.
I complained to the garage man that it comes to something when we have to pay for air.
‘AIR IS FREE.’ I complained.
He didn’t understand a word I was saying as he took my 50p
The fact is that nothing is free anymore not even air.
The old song says ‘The moon belongs to everyone, the best things in life are free.’
But we know that the super powers are battling to buy bits of the moon. Lunacy if you ask me.

Anyway I got to yoga, wonderful. Hurrah for Balham Bikram. I can never stop saying it.
Got back to the flat and the gates to the garage were broken. So I parked outside and walked up to the flat all hot and sweaty. Decided, just before I went to bed, that I would check out the garage doors. Somebody had pulled the chain – so to speak – so i could squeeze my little red car under the gates into her rightful slot.
This morning I had a presentiment, went downstairs and the garage gates were stuck, only Noddy’s little red car would have made it.
The technician was as helpful as the Pope in a Birth Control Clinic.
‘Will I be able to drive out soon?’ I asked clutching my dressing gown to my naked body and hiding my terrible purple slippers.
‘No’ he said helpfully. ‘No. Not for a couple of hours.’
I prepared myself for the walk to Balham.
When I got downstairs the gates had been pushed up so I could get my car out.
Dashed upstairs for my keys, dashed downstairs to my car and drove off into the sunlight to my Tuesday class.
Fran, the Tuesday teacher, gets me. She thought my name was Olivia, when first we met, then she misheard me and called me Cherie.
This morning we met at the door, what are you going to call me today I asked.
‘Cherry.’she said.
However, when she addressed me as Cherry I didn’t respond not realising that it was me she was talking to since my name is nether Cherie nor Cherry.
‘Cherie’ she said, forgetting that today I was meant to be the fruity Cherry
‘Hold that stomach in and look into the mirror
Thats when I knew she was talking to me as I am the only one in the studio, well the whole of Balham actually, that has a belly.
I did make progress though, I managed to push my foot into my costume and bend over with it still in my groin. Won’t mean anything to you but for me it was like winning a Bafta. For what? I hear you whisper. For my performance as a veteran yogi, thats what.
Back to the flat, snuck the car in the broken garage, and met EMMA LEECH a remarkable youg woman who teaches the 5 rhythms dance. Her website is:
www.emmadance.co.uk
She and what she does is worth a massive big up.
But the most important piece of news is that I dreamt that the old git had an affair.
It was 3.00.a.m. and I was crying in my sleep. His look of hurt was more painful than his actions I had to keep revisiting the dream to find out who the woman was. I know she was younger than I, and I know that he was leaving me for her. I should have shouted ‘in your dreams’ but I was too distressed.
The first thing I did when he woke was to call him.
‘I dreamt you were having an affair.’ I said. ‘It was horrible, it so upset me.’
‘Who was it?’ he asked.
‘I dont know.’ I said mournfully.
‘Well thats no bloody use to me ‘ he said with all the compassion of a box jellyfish.
Funny what dreams can do. I think its the desolation of Japan has got to me. People who have lost absolutely everything their lives on a blanket. The idea of losing the old git is unbearable, at least thats what my homeopath said.
He’s in East Sussex and I’m in the flat, he made delicious pasta for his supper and I’m having a fennel tea. We are about as compatible as Jen and Brad. It’s those all important 51 miles apart that keep us together – funny thing that.