Friday, June 29, 2007

My son rocks

He was a truimph! After all my maternal witterings my son performed out of his skin and went down an absolute storm.

He is the front man and had the crowd eating out of his hands; directing the moshing, getting audience participation up and running - strutting his funky stuff! I am so proud (beam) and proud that I gave him the permissions to do it. I have done that all the way along as he has grown up, told him its OK to be him, to express himself, to create, to sing, to be out there no matter what anyone says.

The band did not put a foot wrong. A half hour set, big drum solo - riotous applause. They were the support and the main act was not as well received. I am so proud (beam) ... I think you have gathered that by now, and guess what - there were no cans whatsoever.

Thursday, June 28, 2007


Had to retire upstairs because the biggest spider just crawled accross the lounge floor. No one in the house to deal with it, and I am not willing to try out my phobia cure just yet.

Oh no, grizzly - dont like spiders. I used to live in an old cottage (I was 8 at the time). No proper plumbing - outside toilet. You know whats coming dont you? The brick building (proverbial brick sh**t house) had a sloping roof and where the roof met the floor was a nest of webs that housed some of the largest spiders known to mankind that must have been lurking since the dawn of time - a whole new species had evolved and interbred in that toilet. Double bodies, triple bodies - eyes on stalks. Oh hideous. Imagine being stuck on the toilet - not a nice quick wee wee but having to sit it out with those beasts closing the space between the door and your dangling feet. (Shudder)

Still get the shakes when in toilets unless they are beautifully modern. Still get the heebie jeebies at spiders... and relax! Trouble is I cant relax, I know its down there in the lounge somewhere, and I dont know where it is, which means that it could run out at any moment. Panic fluster...

The Joy of Massage

I am still biting my nails waiting for my son to come home from his first gig, so I am going to blog to take my mind off it.

I saw a massage client tonight. As you will know, I am a psychotherapist, that is the bulk of my work. However I also have a qualification in swedish massage and aromatherapy, (I am a Reiki II as well) and I have a small number of clients who come for massage.

I love my work as a therapist, it takes up most of my resources to do it properly and it can be emotionally draining as well as stimulating, profound, incredible etc etc ... you get the picture. Massage is a real break from the therapy. Massage is a no brainer. Oh the joy of it.

Tonight it was bliss. The room was all set up, soft candle light. The most haunting and evocative music, my little indoor fountain trickling in the corner. The oils smelt divine and it was just one and a half hours of calm, no talking, no working anything out. Just the music and the water and the touch.

My client fell asleep and I went into something of a trance. The rhythmic strokes, the gentle breathing. It was lovely. I always finish with the neck shoulders, and head. Something wonderfully soothing about having the head stroked, gently tugging the hair - massaging the scalp.

We need touch as human beings. Lack of touch can be devastating to the psyche. Massage is such a safe and boundaried way to get that touch and receive that pleasure. So I sing the joys of massage - go treat yourselves.

My son has his first big gig tonight!!

My son takes to the stage for the first time tonight. Sure he has done plays, and musicals and nice safe school stuff, but this is grown up playing in a band in a pub in Derby. Shriek! I am full of maternal concern. What if he gets a bunch of beer cans thrown on stage, what if the crowd are hostile or worse - not in the slightest bit interested?

Lots of what ifs and I am expecting to have to patch up a bruised ego when he returns and praying that it wont be a bruised body as well (cans). He soooo loves his band. He plays bass and is the lead singer. From what I have heard of the practices I would not pay a lot to go and hear them. They are 17, raw, experimental -or maybe just crap. (visions of more cans) Or maybe I am just getting old, don't understand today's underground scene. I consider myself a trendy mom, certainly a MILF - in fact that was my title while he was in year 11 (much to his cringing embarrassment)but perhaps I am a teensy weensy bit out of touch. Perhaps there is nothing to worry about ... lets hope eh?

Wednesday, June 27, 2007

Feeling Wierd

I feel dead weird tonight. I don't seem to be up to a witty comment, or a contemporary view or anything much really. I shall just check in and check out.

I think I need a really long cry, or maybe a really long holiday or both. Instead I think I will take a bath and read a witchy book and allow the warm water to wash away my troubles.

I guess I am tired tonight, lots of pressure - always lots of intrigue. I need a quiet life, I really do. My life is so filled with stuff, its exhausting - most of the time I am really up for it, but not tonight.

Had an emotional day at the surgery I work at. Saw my patients, loved them all as usual - so beautiful to see that spark in each - that striving for life, I adore that. The need for survival and growth.

Then I went out to my daughters year 9 play, she was a star - as were the rest. A dark and sinister play performed with maturity and enthusiasm.

Which just leaves the bath. I am feeling hungry having done well on my diet. The thought of those leather trousers and long leather coat (which is my reward for target of 10 stone) keeps me going while I grapple with hunger and general weirdness.

I did have my solstice ritual last night. The meeting of the coven I belong to. Trouble is that I end up doing therapy, (occupational hazard), I need to stop giving so much - I need something putting back in sometimes.

We had a lovely night. Did some shamanic work, used the talking stick, the rattles and drummed. I got to meet my male side, he is a real rogue, leather trousers (see it came from somewhere) young, long blonde hair, beard - built like a greyhound, just got off a horse or something. He smoked too - he was great. I liked him, I want to be more like him. Very free child. I met my female counterpart to, I know her well, rather beautiful - graceful and wise. Blonde again, long silver cloak and hair in Scandinavian plaits (I have Norwegian heritage) she was all nurture and gentleness. She takes care of me.
I feel I am ready for more in my witchy work. It is an inner journey which affects the external world and I want to travel and learn and grow.

So that's it really. I will read some of your lovely blogs and then its essential oils of ylang ylang and jasmine for me.

Take care of yourselves xxxx

Monday, June 25, 2007

In Praise of Men

After my feminist rant, I thought I would even up the debate - and with a nod in the direction of Kahless's witchy question and the pertinent comment left by Craig I want to talk about my perspective on men.

Men - wonderful, warm, sensuous, solid men.

I like a bad boy - now being a bad boy and being a neanderthal, knuckle dragging 'are you lookin at my bird' type of man are two different things entirely. Bad boys are intelligent, they are wily, they are witty and capable. They may even own a weapon or two, but they epitomise the things I like about men. They dont really give a flying f**k what anybody thinks. The real man is a man who dances, he is a man who sings, he is a man who laughs and loves, he can provide, and is empowered by his own earthiness. He feels.

In the witchy world The Green Man, Cernunnos, Herne, the god, is the male counterpart to the Goddess, he is her consort and her love. The Lord to the Lady. He understands his own sexuality and he is not afraid to use it.

Earthy, lovely, sweaty, hairy men! See I do like them, honest I do.

I like it that men don't get rattled by stuff. I like the way they smell. I like their strength, the shoulders!

And ....They are such less trouble than us girlie's. My son has had tribes of mates over to stay during his youth. Never any trouble. They have been packed into his room like sardines, all testosterone and skin issues, never once had to shush them, never once had to ask them to clean up their stuff, never once had to sort out a drama. My daughter on the other hand had 4 of her friends over for a sleep over this weekend - well! Pandemonium. Various sobbing females on the landing at 4am, one of them was sick, none of them were talking to each other in the morning. Nightmare! Give me adolescent males any day!

Talking of adolescent males - it was the boys at school who made it worth while. The naughty behaviour, the fun, the cheekiness of them. Men are great! Its always the boys that pass the singing books out of the window at school, who stuff each other in the cupboards under the science benches, who fart in class without a care and find it funny. Its the boys that do the funniest things - I love 'em. So so sad that they get all burdened down by responsibility when its the laughing spirit of them that makes us girlie's love them, well me anyway. Whats the point of nagging? its the slow death of any relationship. Men have to breathe, they have to live even if the bathroom needs tiling. Hey sister, go learn how to do it yourself!

There are lots of things to love about men, whether you like having relationships with them, or prefer women, I stand in praise of men ...

The deep voices, the gentle but strong hands, the way they talk to women about real stuff and they talk to each other about crap! (and moan about the fact that this is the case).

Befriend a man, understand a man and you will see his soul.


I made a list this morning. It was a worthy list, all the things I had to do before going out for the evening shift at the therapy centre. The list included

Tidy bedroom - done.
Write out my lunch list (diet that requires physics degree, remember) - done.
Pay a bill - done.
Go for a run - done.
Tidy notes - errr
Choose next essay title - weeelll
Order pyjamas (nightwear somewhat ragged) - shuffle
Ironing - cough
Sewing (now thats taking the p**s) - staring all round the room

At this point the tension is all too much, sweaty palms, beginning of the shakes - and I cannot resist any longer - GOT TO BLOG!!!

So here I am, full flush of giving in to temptation, avidly reading and about to launch into my 'in praise of men' blog.

Ironing and sewing can be squeezed in after work tonight. The rest, well maybe I can include them in my blog, yes blog, blog, blog, blog - help needed!

Saturday, June 23, 2007

Do I winge about men?

I ordered the most fabulous book on domestic abuse (occupational hazard - not the abuse bit, but the research around it) Its called "Living with the Dominator" written by Pat Craven of the Freedom Programme

It is my favourite bog reading material at the moment. (Yes us women read on the toilet too - or am I a female freak?) I seem to spend my private time (door has a lock) gasping in shock and alarm at the things I am reading within its pages. Bloody hell, it is a pertinent little read, so much has shadows of the familiar and every teenage girl should be presented with a copy upon reaching puberty.

I regularly read snippets out at home (cue groans and shuffling from male members of house) and it occurred to me that I do seem to whinge on about men - a lot! But I like men, I really do like men, so how come I feel myself slowly but surely becoming an Amazon. Pixie asked me the other day whether I could have a relationship with a woman and I had to honestly answer - yes! Maybe its my Guinevere (can never spell that) script. Oh yes, I do have one, Arthur, Lancelot - countless other Knights attending my table - buuuut - where does said Queen end up? in a convent living with a bunch of women. Ok Ok so she still has Excalibur under her bed (work it out), but essentially she ends up living with women.

I do have gender issues in my script (Dad = cross dresser) and I am overtly sexy (so I am told) and I love mankind for very obvious reasons - oh yes! I certainly do - but I am constantly on a campaign of crossness against 'men'. Please forgive me all you delicious men out there, but maybe its an outpouring of rage against so much stereo typing that still goes on in society. eg advertising. Need a car? need a spark plug? Need to stop your pits smelling? - Lets slap a skimpily clad woman on the poster (ugg ugg ugg) Its bloody pathetic! and we all collude with it.

Soooo the upshot of this blog is that I want to quote you something of a passage written in the 50's called "The Good Wives Guide" to maybe explain why women - and the new winging me - have all of this generational rage still going on.

"Have dinner ready when your husband returns home. Men are hungry when they come home and you will show him that you are concerned for his well being.

Prepare yourself, put a ribbon in your hair. He has just been with a lot of work-weary people. His boring day may need a lift, and one of your duties is to provide it.

Clear away the clutter just before your husband arrives, make sure you run a duster over the tables.

Over the cooler months of the year you should prepare and light a fire for him to unwind by. Your husband will feel he has reached a haven of rest and order and it will give you a lift too. After all, catering for his comfort will provide you with immense personal satisfaction.

Prepare the children, wash their hands and faces and change their clothes. They are his little treasures and he would like to see them playing their part. Minimise all noise.

Be happy to see him. Greet him with a warm smile and show sincerity in your desire to please him. Listen to him. You may have a dozen important things to tell him, but the moment of his arrival is not the time. Let him talk first - remember, his topics of conversation are more important than yours.

Make the evening his. Never complain if he comes home late or goes out to dinner or other places of entertainment without you."


Friday, June 22, 2007

What it means to be a Witch - sneak preview

Hope you all enjoyed the Solstice. It was rather cloudy so there was not much to see in this little part of the world but I hope the energy of the longest day filled you all with hope and well being.

I am still mulling over Kahless's question - 'what does it mean to be a witch' and I am formulating the mother of all blogs on that one. However to keep my hand in while I slog through my assignments and see my multitude of clients, I thought I would share this passage with you which goes some way to explaining the joy of being a witch. Not wishing to knock religion, (and I have a pretty fundamentalist christian religious background) - but joy is just not present. Sin is soooo sinful and so much of the controlling parent structure of (largely male dominated) religious elders means that the very things that should be blessings of spiritual life get slapped down. So here is a little passage from Starhawk - the Spiral Dance that pretty much sums up the philosophy of the happy witch,

"Any act based on love and pleasure is a ritual of the Goddess. Her worship can take any form and occur anywhere; it requires no liturgy, no cathedrals, no confessions. Its essence is the recognition, in the midst of pleasure, of its deepest source. Pleasure, then, is not superficial but becomes a profound expression of the life force; a connecting power linking us to others, not the mere sensation of stasfying our own isolated needs."

"We do not seek to conquer or escape from our desires - we seek to fulfill them. Desire is the glue of the universe; it binds the electron to the nucleus, the planet to the sun and so creates form, creates the world. to follow desire to its end is to unite with that which is desired, to become one with it."

I view 'The Goddess' as symbolic, a vast and powerful archetype, and a means of liberation for women. What I see explained in these passages is the powerful energy that is contained in all of us. The bubbling fountain of growth and joy. Long may it flow!

Blessings to you all!

Wednesday, June 20, 2007

World of slimming

I went to be weighed this morning and I had lost another 1 and a half lbs. Woo hoo! I seem to yo yo between 10 and 12 stone, and after staying for rather too long at the top end of that little continuum I took myself off to slimming world. It was the funniest thing I had been to in a long time. Lots of really good natured women, who clearly enjoy a curry or two feigning complete surprise that they had not lost any weight; Not lost any weight after weekend binges that involved pizza, chips and copious amounts of alcohol. However, there was good natured camaraderie, lots of clapping and a group leader who was fatter than me, that was a worry.

Anyway after 2 weeks of getting to grips with the diet, (physics degree required) I am a convert. Eat as much as you want (of certain foods) chips are an absolute no no and chocolate is largely off limits. I have given up alcohol (shriek!) but the weight has dropped off. 10lbs lighter. The best bit is the website. Graphs, on line awards - lots of distracting fun. (Yes I know its sad, but I am prepared to be sad if it means bikini this summer and no hiding under a sarong.

I highly recommend it.

PS I did have a curry tonight but it was veggie with boiled rice, and spring water to drink. Come on, tell me you are impressed - well you will be when I post the pics of the bikini!

Tuesday, June 19, 2007

Psssst - its Solstice on Thursday

Before I forget. June 21st - Summer Solstice. The longest day of the year - and the day when fellow pagans will be up at the crack of dawn, (well just before actually) to watch the sun rise. Its great! Go on, give it a go. It is a majestic experience unless you choose one of the big stone circles which tends to get populated by a bunch of pratts who are on the piss. (Plastic Pagans - weekend wiccans) Oh how very judgemental of me hee hee - excellent!

I went to Avebury last year. Said pratts were in abundance, but me and my witchy girls had a great time. We even slept in the car. For me that was great - a throw back to the student days I never had. There was drumming and a fire at midnight. There was lots of blowing of horns when the sun came up and then a collapsing into bed at the Travel Lodge having been part of an ancient experience, a link to the past and a celebration of the beautious cycle of this wonderful planet we live on.

So get your staff, your wand, whatever is wooden and stiff (snigger) and dont forget your hiking boots ( I managed to wear spangly sandles last year - really stupid!) and get up onto a hill on Thursday morning and let the magick inspire you.


Good evening my fellow bloggers. I feel so much better today, thank you all for your support and aknowledgment. It means such a lot. I feel that I should give you all something cheerfull to read. Not the same old maudlin stuff about assignments and issues, woe and despair. However I need to be real, so I shall write about what happened to me today - and how I feel.

I had supervision today. My supervisor is the toppest top bloke in the entire therapy world. I have so much respect for him. He is not precious about therapy and lives in the real world. A very very real world and as a result he is just the best. In fact even my outrageous interventions get the thumbs up from him, where more conservative therapists suck in their breath and mutter about contracts and safety and it feels as if they are stifling any creative impulses. So back to my top bloke supervisor.

I was describing how pressured I felt. How I had been struggling with writers block how I was feeling isolated, how I have so many clients I dont know what to do and have no time to write. Do you know what he said? Well let me tell you. He said, "when you pass your cta exam I am going to buy you a pair of little blue spangly hot pants, a red boob tube, and a cloak and headband" It took a little while to work out he was using a little bit of irony/sarcasm (never worked out the difference between those two).

Suddenly it dawned on me. I never thought to call him, never once considered asking for help. Another friend of mine bollocked my, by text, only yesterday to say I never ask for help - I just go to ground and become a hermit, coping in my own silent way. How true it all is! (Cue the hollow laugh) The simplest of human coping strategies and I just dont do it. I never ask for help. Why? Because I dont want to be a pain in the ass - because of course I am, oh yes, and only pains in the asses ask for help - of course! What a twisted way of thinking, what a recipe for lonliness and isolation. Its one thing to be stoic and brave, but quite another to sink without trace while your friends wonder where you have gone.

So I have decided to ask for help. I am going to start with my supervisor because he is such a top bloke (I think I mentioned that) and I shall allow myself to need my friends;(Scary scary)Its going to be tough - and I do so want that little outfit when I pass my exam.

More in a bit ...

Monday, June 18, 2007

My Daughter is 14

My daughter is 14 and she has her whole life ahead of her. It is a particularly poignant age for me, and I have been secretly dreading her birthday because I knew it would open up so much pain for me. Pain because in watching her at 14 I have to fully account for how I was treated when I was the same age. I have to observe and see how young she is, and how at the same age I made decisions that have affected me for the rest of my life. Am I happy? no I am not. Just owning that feels honest and right.

I seem to have been crying for most of the last 24 hours as the day approached and today it was all I could do to hold it together while she opened her gifts and I looked with tenderness and compassion on her, and saw myself and wanted to reach out to myself and hold me tight.

Her presents were the usual collection of little things that delight little girls, because she is a little girl and so was I. She had an annual pass for Alton Towers, a pair of pyjamas, a couple of necklaces, two DVDs and an Avril lavigne CD. Little things, little innocent things that symbolise what it is to be 14. She sat and listened to her cd this morning, her hair up in a pony tale and she was so perfect. So happy, so protected and loved. She has a sleep over planned for Saturday, a trip to the pictures and a meal at Frankie and Bennys. At her age I was about to experience a disruption to my life which has affected me ever since.

When I was 14 my mother was filled with jealousy and despair. Her husband was suffering from depression, a failed business, debts and his own 'demons'. When I was 14 my future husband, then almost 19 years old took a fancy to me. At 14 my mother encouraged my future husband to ask me out, but at the same time told me that I had to say no to him. At 14 I said yes - and got involved with a grown man, who wanted grown man things. At 14 I lost my mother for ever because she turned on me in the most vicious and gin soaked rage that went on and on and on for years. She hit me, she ostracised me from my family. She would cook for the others but not for me, she would pack the family cases for holiday but not for me. She would throw me out of the car for daring to ask if I could see 'my boyfriend'. The things she did were cruel and evil and scarred me for ever.

I did not have the resources at 14 to choose my life partner. I did not have the resources to cope without my mother and suffer the abuse that she threw in my direction. I did not have the resources at 14 to realise that responding to a jealous 19 year old by doing everything he wanted to do was NOT a good idea. I did not have the resources to know that I was depressed, abused and was having a nervous breakdown. I was just confused.

Why oh why did nobody help? I was too young to cope. Too young to cope with the sex, too young to cope with my social development being terminated, too young to cope with an abusive parent, too young to know. Where were you - all those relatives that knew what was going on, why didnt you say anything? Why didnt you stop her, or confront her, encourage my mother to get some help? What about husband to be's parents, what the f**k were you playing at allowing your son to pursue a 14 year old girl? If my son were to express such intentions I would chop his bloody balls off. Where were my teachers who watched a bright, lively young girl become withdrawn and desperate, untimately experiencing a nervous breakdown. Where were you all?

The legacy of being 14 lives with me everyday. I am trapped in this age till I process my grief. Maybe my daughter has helped me to start doing that properly.

Maybe this is what makes me a therapist. I have been there, I know what its like. I dont want anyone to stand alone and feel 14 forever.

Saturday, June 16, 2007

Still here - but only just!

Hello my lovely blog chums - mostly powerful, strong and wonderful women - but also my rather lovely men who are sensitive, witty and charming. Big kisses blown to you all. I will visit all your sites very soon.

I would love to be doing so much more blogging but as usual (cue long playing record) I cannot because of these **!@## assignments. Here I am again -Saturday morning as well! Totally grizzly! My sons mates have just turned up and are setting up all their amps and guitars plus a full drum kit in my living room. Great! For any of you that are interested, the band are called Stone Def, my son is the 'charismatic' lead singer.

So here I am, still ploughing through Redecision Therapy and about to be blasted out by teenage rock. Iam becoming a serial whinger and my general bad temper did get confronted this morning. I got asked what would make it all better, what three things would I change in my life to get the life I wanted. After a brief milliseconds pause the answers were as follows:

A vibrant job interacting with lots of people and working as part of a team.
(Being a therapist is very solitary, means staying at home or in one room. I do work as part of a team - ish on the NHS. I like that bit, but need more)

Living in a city apartment where I could go out for breakfast
(As opposed to the heart of rural England when someones wife and sister are possibly the same person. Not really of course, and I love my view!)

A full and exciting social life with lots of wonderful friends who like to hang out together
(I have some lovely friends but only one that seems to do the hanging round on sofas in wine bars - hi Pixie.)

So after such a study in discontent I have concluded that I need to make some big big changes, that I still miss having never done the university live on campus social thing; or maybe its simply assignment-itis. Only time will tell!

Stay beautiful!

Thursday, June 14, 2007

Hot Chocolate and Salad

I am miffed. After a hard day slogging it out with clients, guess what I had to eat? Well I know the title gave it away - but it was salad. Chicken salad, chicken bloody salad with cutting corners bought salad things from the deli. HE was supposed to be cooking tonight. I requested chicken, (it is a red day today - for all you slimmers out there) HE told me he had it covered and then what did he dish up, chicken bloody salad! Not good, not good at all.

In my post salad misery I opted for a (slimline) hot chocolate. A girl has to get her sugar (artificial sweetener) fix once in a while even on a diet. However pots were not washed. Chicken salad AND no pots washed. I like to heat my milk in a pan, but there it was caked in bean juice with the last vestige of breakfast clinging on for grim death. Not good, not good at all.

My solution was to point out the glaring misdemeanors and try to scrub the beans off the pan. However in my crossness I could not be arsed to scrub the pan, not properly and so I heated the milk with various bean foreign bodies floating - I tried my best to ignore them but have just drained the dregs of my chocolate. Not good, not good at all.

Blog Guilt

Hello all my lovely blog friends. I am suffering from blog guilt and wanted to write a quick post to explain my absense and my lack of replies. I intend to reply fully to all your comments on your blogs. I am very keen to reply to a question I was asked, "So what does it mean to be a witch" - oh thats one is going to be fun and very very long. Lets just say that the purpose (in my opinion) of patriachal religions is the supression of women. Being a witch is sticking one great fat finger up to that one, as well as all the deep spiritual stuff, the fun and sexy stuff, the pointy hats, the swords and knives and inexaustable need for candles

I digress, and need to explain that I am just a teensy weensy bit under pressure at the moment.

I have a day full of seeing clients, including a couple (eek) and have had to take drastic measures with assignment time, and blank out 8 full days before July 12th (assignment deadline) in which I take no clients and concentrate fully on the job in hand. This will obviously have an impact on my earnings, my social life and my mental health! All rather scary from where I am sitting - darkened room, computer, no heating, desk piled high with papers - the only environmental positives are that in this office I have two lush and wonderful plants and a picture of two bestest friends and soul mates holding hands on the African planes. These things are keeping me going because they remind me that outside life still grows and the people that matter to me live and breathe and are truly wonderful!

So there you are. Blog mates, you are all special, I have not forgotten you, please bear with me.

Tuesday, June 12, 2007


OK, I need to rant. Sewing! Is it me or is it the fiddliest, most awful, annoying thing on the planet? I loathe sewing. My mother and sister are brilliant at it but the old sewing gene passed me by. Not that I am complaining, when the chromosomes were crossing I certainly got the best deal; the eyes, the hair, the boobs, the legs, the intelligence. (Hope none of my family are reading this, or I will be shot at dawn, or maybe forced to do cross stich or a worthy tapestry or two - that would be a fate worse than death).

So sewing! I hate it. Pratting about with a needle trying to thread flimsy bits of cotton through it, only to find that on the first sweep through the material the cotton got left on a snag or something, and the needle is without thread and I am without anything that resembles a calm exterior.

Steriotyping aside (which deserves a whole rant of its own) I got asked to 'turn up' a pair of cricket trousers. This needed doing by tonight (of course) as there was a match. Groan! Triple groan! Nothing against cricket but the spectre of the 'sewing box' hoved into view and I was not a happy bunny. "Ah but its not that bad" I was told as a bit of guaze was produced that was supposed to do the trick. "just iron it on" was the helpful advice. Just ironing it on meant, pinning up the said trousers, then somehow performing a highly complex operation which involved turning said trousers inside out while maintaining a hem, pins and fiddly guaze all in the right place in order to slap an iron on it.

**!!??#@** was the jist of my language for the next half an hour as I managed to iron in all the wrong places and get skewered by pins. In the end the final bit of gossamer got taken by a freak gust of wind and was last seen heading to Derby. Cue 'sewing box'. I was left standing at the board taking not the slightest scrap of care as I retrieved all of my 25 year old needlecraft knowledge and hemmed the bloody things. Said trousers now look as if they have been the victim of excessive shrinkage, and a discount store's policy on quality.

...and relax!

The Beach

I am walking down a beach at sunset. I am walking with the man that I love. He holds my hand and as we walk in silence I am aware of his power, his wisdom and his beauty. We can hear the rhythmic lap of the waves on the shore, all is peaceful. As the sun sets we are enveloped in the soft light, the sand is warm under our feet and we can feel the swell of our desire which seems to echo the swell of the ocean - unfathomable, ancient, relentless. We go over to the rocks to find a place where we can lie together, and to be one. Not a word is needed. And so begins the oldest of rites, the profound sharing of the core of two people - life and its expression. A sea bird flies lazily over head, emitting its piercing cry - the cry mingles with ..... Oh bugger, still got those assignments to do!

Well you know what they say (the Gouldings that is) when in danger of becoming Obsessive, choose to have a sexual fantasy instead. Ho hum, back to 'Redecision and its application in Therapeutic Practice'. Grizzly indeed.

Monday, June 11, 2007

Last Weekend

Just a quickie as I am about to have lunch - outside in the sun. Yes I know its a bit late for lunch but I had a late breakfast and then went running - so will be dashing off in a minute.

I had my last psychotherapy training weekend sat/sun. It was really weird. I am ready to go, and move into exam prep but at the same time going to miss the shared experience. I was also moved by the people that I had taken this journey with. Only 8 of us left standing out of an original 29. It has been wonderful and I feel honoured and privileged to have travelled the road with them. They are very very special people - and I love all of them.

CTA beckons, and all that entails - which brings me back to assignments ..... ok ok I wont go there today.

Thursday, June 07, 2007

I miss the office

Hello hello. I am still in the assignment tunnel but have had millions (yes I know its an exaggeration but it feels like it) of clients. So the deadline draws ever closer and I become ever more flustered. Waking at 4am had not quite happened yet but I can feel the grizzly day approaching when sleep will excape me, and sweaty palmed tossing and turning will take over.

Anyway, next week seems to be a bit quieter and I shall grind out a result and gather my uninspired ramblings into some semblance of order.

In the meantime I am fondly reminissing of my days in an office. Oh the joy of it. Oh the banter. Oh the lunchtimes at the pub or down the chippy; The trolly that used to knock the door of the office and cause a stampede as we all rushed to facilitate our sugar fix. (its all about food isnt it? - squeel!)

How I loved the jokes, and the emailing and the happy go lucky attitude - ok so sales werent great, but we were having a ball! I liked the networking; boozy afternoons in posh hotel function rooms where we all slapped each other on the back and collected business cards. I liked the chats as we waited for the kettle to boil, laughing at the boss, meeting customers - getting the job sort of done.

Laughter - that's what I remember. Laughter - oh how I miss the laughter. A far cry from what I do now. Although I love what I do now, and its so worthy and fascinating etc etc but the simple pleasures of office life. A sales target is a wonderful thing to achieve; A report well done, a stack of papers filed away in the right place, - these are the things I miss.

I feel so earnest now, so grown up, so locked in a world where everything is so so serious. I miss my office, I miss my train journey, I miss the lads. I really miss the lads.

Maybe I could take my skills into 'the office' - but somehow it would not be the same.

Ho hum - back to the essays.