Jeni Barnett

I went down to post a letter. Took my little green stopwatch and decided to walk 30 minutes one way then half an hour the other.
I had on thick red socks and my Nike Free 3 trainers, so decided to walk the road. Everywhere was squelchy mud. Mud that sticks to your shoes, sucks in your feet and squeals about it.
The fields look scrappy and the moles have moved in.
It was an impromptu walk so I was ill prepared with the rest of my outfit. A pair of baggy pants, a vest a sweater and a VERY BIG fleece that came free with some oil from the garage.
It was cold but not cold enough for me to be uncomfortable.

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London feels so different on a Saturday. Maybe it’s because I feel relaxed.
Although this morning I woke up having had a day yesterday.
I haven’t been in my Bikram studio for three days – death, life and mothers have seriously got in the way.
Three conversations and a visit from a family of four – all before 1.00 p.m – meant I had to put gel in my hair to make me look alive. By the time the clock had struck ‘News at One’ I was hoovering up biscuit crumbs.

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Felt quite like old times.
I left the flat at 9.15 prepared to walk into the centre of London.
I hadn’t banked on the the temperature. I only had on nine items of clothing.
Two socks. Two trainers. One knicker. One trouser. One bra. One t-shirt. I duvet type jacket that leaves goose down on everything. When I take it off it looks like I’ve been plucked.
By the time I reached Battersea Bridge I wished I had opted for four more bits of clothing. One hat, One scarf and two gloves.

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Drove to Hertfordshire.
Took my seat on the green settee whilst four of us were talked through an average, common or garden, British funeral.
Four thousand pounds later four of us were at each others throats.
From limos to hearses from flowers to coffins the whole thing is a bloody rip off. Thanks to Harold Shipman doctors now make nearly two hundred quid out of registering somebody’s death.
If I weren’t already anti-authoritarian, after today I pigginwell would be.

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The hours and minutes felt longer today. Like stretching plasticine.
Had fifteen minutes to get to Bal-Ham.
Bik- ram rocked. For some reason I could get my head on my knee, my heel in my groin and my foot in my mouth. More relaxed maybe, or just more focussed.
Loved it that Fran, the teacher thought I was called Olivia. I am about as much an Olivia as The Queen is a Sharon…
Sat in a traffic jam whilst the Bin men clogged up Ransome Road. I had enough time to finish my bottle of water and have a chat with a lovely geezer who was sitting on the seat outside Bal-Ham library.

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It is not possible to live a life on sausages, mash, peas, gravy yorkshire pudding, all washed down with half a Guinness, and then expect to feel great.
I spent all Sunday afternoon sleeping.
Jim and I watched THE BANKSY documentary, EXIT THROUGH THE GIFT SHOP.
Loved it.

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Had the gentlest of driver this morning. I meditated in the back until we arrived at Egton House.
He said he only worked for the BBC and all the people were lovely. Well i can’t spoeak for all of them but the ones I work with are fab.
Arrived by 7.15, feeling clean but phased.

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