Don’t know I how I managed yoga this morning but I did.
Did the standing postures. I am not very good with them.
Then the lying down taking a rest poses.
Then we did the cobra. On your front, bend your back, all sorts of pulling here and there and the teacher said ‘Well done the girl in the blue shorts’
Don’t know whether it was the girl or the shorts. But I put my nose in my towel and cried.
Of course the blue shorted bint was me.
Clearly I need an audience.
Jeni Barnett
Bend it like Bikram
Drove the car belonging to Gods Gift, he was still in bed when I left.
It was so good driving something that worked.
My little Red Nellie is still in the garage all her parts were held up because of the snow.
Drunk a litre of greens – yuk – then set off just after 9.30 to get to Bikram in Balham.
Tweet Nothings
It’s 20.37 and I feel sick.
And here’s why.
Two little pots of prune yoghurt.
7 fish balls and peas with tomato sauce.
Two pickled onions.
34 almonds.
A mozzarella, tomato and aubergine ciabatta.
Two coffees
A drive to East Sussex to drop off an ailing car.
A debut show on BBC London.
A husband who actually listened.
A daughter who caught some of it.
A band of buddies who bothered to tune in.
A mother who heard half of it.
A Barry who has downloaded it on facebook
A Sybil who sent greetings from Hollywierd.
The Girl in the Orange tatty – who?
Is it possible that I climbed out of bed at 5.45?
Is it possible that I put on the shorts and vest – which I thought was red but apparently is not cos the teacher kept yelling
‘Will the girl in the orange top turn her feet backwards?’ Girl I ask you….
Is it possible that I put on the coat, took the towel out of the utility room, grabbed a bottle of clean, cold water and got into the care at 6.07?
Yogi Bare
I’ve spent all day collating years worth of writings. The memoir now has at least nine different titles.
The job is putting it all together then sending it off to my agent, writing more bits and editing what I have.
It’s 8.10 and my eyes feel like brussels sprouts that have been overboiled. It’s all that looking at the screen and trying not to be tooooo self critical.
Christmas Cheerios
Christmas day was full of ice
Sunday day was drippy
Boxing day was full of fog
And yesterday was slippy
The Christmas tree is leaking pine
The mistletoe has wilted
The Christmas cake is but a crumb
And the stilton all but stilted.
a stolen moment.
Boxing day, Sunday the day after the one before. HAPPY FESTIVITIES to you all. I shall write a proper blog when there’s a reduction of bodies in the house. If you are ill, get well soon. If you are full; stop eating If you are drunk; enuff already. If you are lonely, I hope we … Read more
Bah Humbug.
First I took a homeopathic remedy. Then after a pause I sucked a Strepsil then after a pause I drunk a Lemsip then after a pause I rubbed something with Olbas oil in on my chest.
Then I started all over again.
At 19.00 hours, when ‘Strictly’ had just begun I lay my hands on a piece of paper with a facsimile of Seka Nikolic’s hands on, meditated until after the first dance, and when my hands were really hot and my chest didn’t feel quite so crusty I blew out my three candles.
True something that rhymes with Grit
Brrrrr I jumped in a taxi in Leicester Square. The roads were practically empty.
Went to see TRUE GRIT, the COEN BROTHERS new film with JEFF BRIDGES and the most irritating young actress I have seen in years.
Mr. Bridges, who is one of my favourites, was unintelligable whilst the young actress was even worse.
I left leaving a dear friend in the dark at the Covent Garden Hotel.