Feng Shui

We moved into the cottage in October 1984.
I was 35 and the old git was 41,
We were living in Wapping, trendy East London. Our flat was tiny and cost us £16 a week.
Life was sweet, for the first time I was making money, I had to hire an accountant who sat me down and told me I’d been living illegally for the whole of my working life,
I’d never made enough dosh to pay the tax man. A job here, a gig there. The ‘oosbind and I were travelling troubadours. When telly arrived it was more money than we’d ever seen.
It’s not even that I got paid a lot, but it was regular. We weren’t used to disposable income, there’s only so many curry’s you can eat in Brick Lane.
So our savings grew.

‘Buy a house’ said the accountant. ‘Invest in property.’
We went looking. I had never thought about owning a home. We found a rambling pile in Kitcat terrace in Tower hamlets. E3
I had no imagination. The Northern handyman could see it’s potential. I couldn’t. Houses in Kitcat Terrace are now worth nearly a million. What an arsehole.

‘Buy a bloody house, before you’re taxed to the limit.’ The accountant slammed his blotting paper shut, and we left.
I worked with a presenter who said number one cottage was up for grabs.
‘Where is it?
‘Its a terrace of three cottages on the side of a main road’.
I told her to sod off.
‘How many times do I have to tell you two idiots to buy a fucking house.’ The accountant was apoplectic.
The presenter cornered me in the studio and told me that Number Two was now up for grabs.
‘Just come down and see it’ she weedled.

So whilst the ‘oosbind was Corrie’ing in Manchester, I took the train down to Tunbridge Wells.
on a glorious June day.

I am a spontaneous shopper if I find the right dress in the first shop bingo. I was overwhelmed by the beauty of East Sussex. The cottage is six miles south of Kent. I shook hands with the owner. No chain, no agents, no nothing just a firm handshake and a cheque for £45k. The main road has been closed for years now. So we live in an idyllic spot with fifteen houses, a farm and a fifteenth century pub.
We moved in 4 months later. The contents of our little flat fitted into a white van.
I cried all the way from Tower Hill.
I was giving up a block of flats with 131 units and some good neighbours.
I was moving to a cottage where I knew nobody.

We unloaded the van, me snivveling, and then the old git drove oop North.
Nothing was too far from the flat. TVam was 7 minutes away. LWT just donw the embankment. I was sacrificing the life of an idependent creative to become a country house wife.
I sat on a tea chest and wept. Everything I knew and loved was two hours north. I knew nothing of the fields East and West. And Brighton was forty minutes down South. To get to TVam I had to take the 6.20a.m train. LWT was a train ride to Waterloo. What was I to do?
Let me say the our neighbours here are beyond brilliant

I’d adopted three cats, trying to buy into the country lifestyle. I picked up the landline .
‘They’ve got a mouse’ I screamed, standing on top of the kitchen table.
I’ve since learnt how to corner a tiny brown mouse.
‘The mouse is all over the place.’
‘What do you want me to do?’ said the thespian calmly
‘There’s a fucking dead mouse in the kitchen’.
‘What do you want me to do I’m 360 miles away’
I slammed down the phone and went next door to the presenting neighbour.
I knocked, The husband opened the door. Only a little.
‘I’m having a panic attack.’
‘Oh!’
‘Can your wife come down the pub with me?’
‘My wife does not frequent public houses ‘ he said sourly and shut the door in my face.
I went back to the diseased rodent and the tea chest. The presenter and thd stroppy husband moved.
From being an easy street life had suddenly become really difficult.
Every Monday I was out shooting a film, and every Friday it was a live show.
I was stressed and hating myself for my decision.

Round the M25 I drove to the house of a writer. We were doing the first ever fengshui clearing on British Televisions. Her wealth area was cluttered. Full of unpaid bills. The rooms down stairs were full of books. Hundred and hundreds of books.
When the Fengshui master attempted to clear away anything she screamed. She cried. She wailed. As he took the books out of the room, her mouth went dry with anxiety. So harrowing was the footage that we couldn’t broadcast it. Three weeks later the writer contacted me say that the change in her life was incredible.
It occurred to me that the cottage could do with a treatment. I approached the Fengshui master.

‘I’ve run out of money at the moment, but would you consider coming to my house to rescue it. I’ll Make you dinner.
‘Done’
So we drove back round the M25 and we walked through the cottage. I’d had another Fengshui master in the house a few months earlier. The old git and I had started arguing. We were fighting all the time. I’d spent £1600 on buying, plants, vases and Convex Bagua Mirrors For Deflecting Bad Luck

‘The house is live, it needs to be calmed down.’ said the master
‘Take that mirror down’
So I did.
‘Take those plants down from the window.’
So I did.
We went into every room
‘The good Chi is coming in from the front door, travelling up the stairs into the bathroom. and ending up in the lavatory. You are literally pissing away your good fortune.
So I rehung a tradiscanthia in the bathroom to catch the chi. The lavatory lid is always down and the bathroom door kept shut. Whoever stays know the rules. Shut that bathroom door and put the lavatory seat down.

I cooked some hearty food and we sat in the kitchen.I cannot for the life of me remember his name, but I can recall this beautiful kind face. He had been a Buddist monk for 15 years.
Fell in love, got married and left Tibet.
Most Buddhist monks are celibate, but his monastery allowed marriage and children.
I dropped him off at the station.
When the old git arrived home, he felt a change. We stopped arguing. .
The young monk cleared the difficulties and brought peace and tranquility back to the cottage.
I don’t know where he is now but were I to find him, I’de give him dinner and a bloody good fee.