Phoenix Fights

Fighting the FEAR, depression and BDP on a daily basis AND making my own bread. Bring it on 2016….




As you all know, I’m a total award whore and I was very chuffed indeed to get this WordPress Family award from mrmary at  ASpoonfulofSuga

It’s usually quite hard to figure out who awards should be passed onto, but with this one, there are always people on here that one engages and converses with extensively who do kind of feel like family.  And this certainly applies here.

After a recent spat with a friend, she lost her temper at me and sneered ‘Go talk to your internet friends then!’

So I did.  Because as far as I’m concerned these are authentic friendships and I’m happy and grateful to have them. So there bitch!

I love her rilly….

Who knew I’d end up with a buddy called mrmarymothafuckingpoppins?  We must exchange Xmas cards this year dude, as I’d love to write that on the envelope! 😉

Anyway, here we go….


1. Display the award logo on your blog.

2. Link back to the person who nominated you.

3. Nominate 10 others you see as having an impact on your wordpress experience and family

4. Let your 10 Family members know you have awarded them

5. That is it.

In this instance I’ve taken the last 20 people (yes, I know!) who I’ve had conversations with, and I now pass this onto them with friendship and lurve….


  1. Chatty Owl
  2. tarnishedsophia
  3. The Iron Cheftress
  4. workingwithwords
  5. JayNine
  6. EightLeggedGemini
  7. AdonaiShekhinah
  8. Shackled and Crowned
  9. Jen and Tonic
  10. Lipstick and Chaos
  11. moanymina
  12. annetbell
  13. Tamina’s Turn
  14. starkinsanity
  15. menomama3
  16. ClearlyWriting
  17. Gwen and Elinor
  18. Spastic Sausage
  19. Gary Leigh
  20. crazyaboutbipolar


I’m bound to have missed off someone important, so please don’t be offended if you’re not on here!  Most people don’t follow up or acknowledge these things anyway, but if you want this and I follow you, treat it like a breakfast buffet and help yourselves 😉

And just because this is getting a mite sentimental and cheesy….


Big love xx




Another one of those fucking nightmares.

They always look different, sometimes with the real people there, sometimes not, but the theme is always the same.

Why do they always happen after a good day?


I’m back at my old office, but it doesn’t look like my old office.  

They look different, but I know it’s them.  And they know me.

And they watch.

Everyone is whispering.  IM’s fly across our small cyber space.  The faux sympathy.  Sly eyes that watch, oh how they watch, but they don’t, won’t meet mine.

I keep my head down, avoid all contact, and work.

And wait.

Wait for the hammer to fall.


My heavily drugged mind is still hyper with anxiety.

Have I done everything?

Did I meet everyone I was supposed to meet?

Have I tried everything I could to get that deal?

Have I answered every email today?

Have I approached every client?

Waiting for the hammer to fall.


He’s at the other end of the office.

I can feel his eyes staring through the glass wall.

I feel you, you worm.  I see you, don’t think for one moment that I don’t.

Can I fight the accusations?

Do I have an answer for this?

Do I have a counter for that?

Can I prove this?

Prove he did do that?

I KNOW he’ll never admit it.

THEY know he did it, but they’ll never admit it.

So we’re all just counting out time. 

Waiting for the hammer to fall.


I know it’s going to happen.

They accuse, they threaten, they allude, they condemn.

They collude, they join forces, they circle.

I may be mad, but I’m not stupid.

Why don’t they move?

Make your move cowards.

Make.  Your.  Move.



I go into meetings.

No one will tell me much.

I go to trade shows and walk the carpeted halls as if in a dream.  

I meet with clients I’ve known for years, and even they look at me with different eyes.

Embarrassment.  Pity. 

Kindly but in their passivity and concern, condemning me too.

Poor thing.  Having a breakdown they say.  Can’t cope with the stress.

You bastards.  You fucking slanderous bastards.  How dare you?

The looks.

The whispers.

The looks.

The waiting.

Bring it, you bastards.  I’m not afraid of you anymore.

Scabby, skulking fucking hyenas.


Bring.  It.

Because the suspense is literally killing me.

But I hold on.

I will not break.

I don’t want to stay, but I want them to admit it.

I don’t want to stay, but I want the sheep to see it.

I don’t want to stay, but they will not see me crumble.

They won’t.  

Please God help me to hold on.


You hurt, you threaten, you cite, you counter, you accuse but I see what’s in your eyes.

The stress, the fear and yes, the shame.

The shame, palpable under the corporate bluster and bullshit.

You think a swanky job title means you’ve achieved greatness?

You think that designer suit makes you a big man?

You think you can use my depression to beat me with, in defence of a guilty man ‘for the good of the company’?

Because money is more important than honour?  Integrity?  Ethics?

I may be at the end of my rope, but I’m glad I’m not you.


dangerous animal attacksnews Lion and  Hyenas Fighting lion facts hyena facts animals hunting lions hunting hyena hunting in the wild beautiful dangerous animal pictures

Be afraid you fuckers.  Be very afraid.

Because you know just what you do.

And to whom you do it to.





The looks, the whispers, the sly smiles, the faux platitudes just keep on coming.

And as the day goes on, the atmosphere swells and stretches like the skin of an over inflated balloon that’s about to explode.

Because it is.

Bring it.

Do it.

Because I don’t know if I can hold on anymore.

But don’t expect to be on your feet when this fucker blows.

Because you’re coming with me.  

Every last one of you.


I wake in a sweat and find one of my little cat soldiers, Charlie gazing at me in that concerned way of his.  He then proceeds to wipe his chops all over me, marking me as his own.

Probably just to spite Dexter cat. 🙂

What is this shit about? Is it because I can’t cope with people actually liking me?  Is it my fear of working again?  Or is it simply down to drinking too much on top of my meds?

Hungover as I am, I’m off to bootcamp.

Need to sweat some of this shit out….




Because I’ve been a miserable cow of late, and inspired by one of my favourite songs/artists (and the latest Vauxhall Astra ad ) I decided to do my own version of ‘Reasons to be Cheerful’ and entitle it ‘Part 4’.

It’s also to thank you lot for being so supportive and chatting, commenting and bantering with me on here, it really means a lot 🙂

To the memory, family and fans of Ian Dury I can only apologise in advance; obviously this is not my copyright, as for my lyrics, suffice to say I am not fit to kiss his leg brace…

Ian, hope you’re not too offended by this geeze, and that you are still shaking things up in heaven x


Autumn, Buddy Holly, a full tea trolley 

Having loadsa lolly and quotes

Lily of the Valley, French Sole ballet (flats)

Time to dilly dally and any goats


OPI nail enamel, a ride on a camel

Every other mammal plus a brand new coat

A bit of Motown Philly, a nice thick willy

Being very silly, and toasted oats


The days that I can bear, the times I want to share

Having not a care – cashmere socks

Not being dismissed as haughty, being a little naughty

Being well over 40 – Belgian chocs


To sleep; purchance to dream, Pralines and Cream

Not wanting to scream – cream cheese and lox

No more psychobabble, beating mates at Scrabble

Days without a squabble  – an urban fox


Health service drugs

Kitty cat hugs

A not-too-saggy bottom


The Aurora Borealis

Saving your own aris

Songs by Major Harris


Finding what you seek-o, then things don’t feel so bleak-o

Embracing being unique-o


Making your own pickle, watching Travis Bickle

Slap and tickle

Fresh baked bread, no voices in my head

Not being dead


Writing in your study, phoning up that buddy

Who makes you feel less cruddy

Chunks of hokey pokey, wine that’s not too oaky

Drunken karaoke


Watching the Sopranos, Pizza at Romanos

Shopping in Milano


For once I don’t feel fearful

YOU make me less tearful

Reasons to be cheerful

Part 4  😉


EAR WORM No. 12 BILLY IDOL – Dancing with Myself


Oh, Eight Legged Gemini how do I love thee? Let me count the ways…..

This earworm is dedicated to my blogging buddy/surrogate son ELG, because it is ‘im wot planted this bad boy in my ear ‘ole.

Wanna know why? Check out his answers to my Liebster questions in the blogpost below, in particular the answer to Q 8. 6a is a doozy too!

I fact read ’em all, they’re all really cool responses from some of my closest mates on here, and all of their blogs are well worth checking out.

Thanks again for responding guys!

As for the ear worm, I don’t mind it, as I love this song as it takes me back to that time when I was young, rebellious, skint and (kind of) hot.

In fact just listening to this makes me want to get up and dance.

Wanna see a 50 year old woman pogo? Well dream on biatches, dream on…..

Enjoy! x



Royal baby born

The last two days have been a bit hard for me, and I didn’t know why.

I do know that I had my first panic attack in ages last night and had to call Aunty C.

She put in down to encounters with ex work colleagues over the weekend.

And she’s probably right, the meeting with one of them did stay with me for a while.

Not because it was awful; but because of the way she treated me.

Confusing, huh?

She wasn’t rude or horrible to me. She was friendly and seemed pleased to see me. But on arrival, she pretty much launched into her own news and barely asked about mine. And when I did talk about my news, she kind of listened then changed the subject as soon as it was polite to do so.

And she really didn’t want to hear anything about my mental condition. That was made crystal clear.

The same thing happened when I met another ex colleague in Spring. Actually she didn’t even give me a chance to talk about my shit she was so scared I’d talk about my breakdown.

Aunty C was adamant that it wasn’t their fault.

‘This is what you taught them, this is what you offered in exchange for their transient friendship. You were everyone’s agony aunt and their needs always came before yours. You gave away something precious for scraps because you thought so little of yourself.’

This is true.

But these encounters did catapult me back to 2012 and make me remember how paranoid, afraid and isolated I was.

Aunty C understood.

‘Seeing those people was bound to effect you this way because you have changed so much in the last year,’ she said, ‘and what you need to take from this? You reassure yourself, you reassure the child that you will never, ever allow her to offer herself up to be treated as an inferior again.’

I won’t.


But that was Monday.

On Tuesday, baby George was born to the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge and the whole world celebrated, myself included.

Purely by coincidence, ‘The One That Got Away’ and his partner uploaded pictures of the recent addition to their family. (see

That’s right. She was pregnant.

I never knew.


And you know what? The child is as cute as a button.

And for some reason, I can’t stop looking at those pictures of him.

For the record, I never made any effort whatsoever to get with TOTGA, I didn’t mind when he was dating his future missus and (or maybe I just told myself that, because….), I would never have been able to give him a child.

So why do these images have such an effect on me?

And then this baby viral was sent to me on Facebook.

When I went out on my second date with Goatee Man (who is now in the JGF zone, much to both of our relief) he told me that he was childless for a reason, and that was because he wasn’t keen on or interested in kids.

I can’t say that myself.

I quite like kids, ‘cos I’m a big kid myself. And I find babies fascinating and charming.

And they seem to like me.

And whilst I can’t have them anymore and I don’t (think I) want them now, looking at all these pictures of happy lovin’ couples with their little cherubs has made me wistful and sad.

It would be the easiest thing in the world for me to play the victim and say ‘It’s not fair.’

But somewhere deep inside, I know it is.

There was some reason that I was not meant to have a child. From a physiological point of view, I did suffer from endometriosis when I was younger, but there were plenty of times before that that I could have fallen pregnant.

But it didn’t happen.

Psychologically, I would have been a terrible mum back in my twenties for obvious reasons, but the thing that hurts the most is that now I’m getting to the stage where I could have the potential to be a brilliant mum, that that ship has now only just sailed away.

It’s kind of like missing a bus by a nano second because you turned over on your ankle, and then you have to watch it drive away, whilst you’re hopping around on one foot, cursing and feeling like a complete fool.

Then when you next look up, it has gone.

I must have been one seriously evil motha in my previous life. 😦

That said, I can mope and bemoan my fate all I like, but it is what it is.

  • I will never know what it is be a mother.
  • I will never fall pregnant.
  • I will never share the joy of feeling life grow within me with a loving partner.
  • I will never feel my breasts swell with food.
  • I will never bring life into this world.
  • I will never look into the eyes of another human being and see parts of myself reflected back.
  • I will never know the unconditional love that a mother has for her child.

Never, ever.

Now that I’ve said it out loud, maybe the hurt will heal, fade and become like a bit of scar tissue; only painful if I prod it.

Maybe one day I’ll be able to lay this feeling of loss to rest once and for all.

There is so much love banked up inside me, with no one to give it to.

What happens to unused love?

Is is like unfertilised eggs?

Does the soul dispose of it, like the female body disposes of the contents of it’s womb every month?

Is is like unused sperm?

Does the soul reabsorb love as the male body absorbs excess semen?

I somehow don’t think it does, otherwise it wouldn’t weigh so heavy.

It just sits there.

Waiting to be utilised.

God help me find somewhere to put this stuff, otherwise I’ll have to sell it on Ebay or call Big Yellow and put it into storage.

Maybe that’s it; maybe I have to save it.

For the next life, perhaps?

Bring it on universe, it can’t come soon enough for me.

Namaste x

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Forgot to buy oatcakes.

Wanted an oatcake.

Made these.

No more Nairns for me!

Super easy and absolutely yummy.  Much shorter (crispier/crunchier) than the bought variety, have a go!


50g butter or olive oil (I like 50/50 because you get some buttery flavour but it’s healthier than all butter)

100g medium oatmeal (if you only have regular, use a hand blender to make it finer)

100g plain flour, plus extra for rolling out

1 tsp baking powder

2 tsp poppy seeds

2 tsp sesame seeds

1-2 tblsp grated parmesan cheese



  1. Heat oven to 200C/180C fan/gas 6.
  2. Melt the butter in a small pan, then allow to cool slightly.  Add oil if you are going 50/50 or just use the oil cold.
  3. Tip all the dry ingredients into a bowl, with 1 tsp sea salt, then pour in the butter/oil. Add 5-7 tbsp boiling water and combine to make a firm dough.
  4. Turn out the dough onto a lightly floured surface, then roll out until about 0.5cm thick. Cut using the cutter of your choice, moisten tops with a little water, then sprinkle with a little more sea salt if you like. then bake for 12-15 mins until golden.
  5. Leave to cool for a few mins, then transfer to a wire rack and cool completely.
  6. Slather with a really good butter, add a bit of cheese and chutney and enjoy.

This is the original recipe I adapt this from, but if you choose to follow this, for Gawd’s sake, DO NOT USE BICARBONATE OF SODA because it leaves a really shitty aftertaste in your mouth! x


Kids Recognized!

A really heartening, inspiring story about two boys on bikes rescuing a 5 year old girl from a known paedophile.

They probably saved her life.
What amazing kids, thanks Ms Lippy for sharing! x

Lipstick and Chaos : The Fabric of My Life

In a small town, a big bad wolf lurked and lured a child by threat of ending her life a few weeks ago. While the massive manhunt for the girl pursued, two young men on a bike happened to spot the 5-year-old child in the back seat of a predator’s car. What they did next saved her life – they chased down the car until the 73-year-old man, a previously convicted and released sexual predator, let the girl go. The young child was reunited with her family and the two young men were hailed as heroes! As they should have been!

Here is a link to a brief story about their honored moment by the Mayor and the few small gestures that the kindness of strangers have set in motion! Do them the honor by reading their story – and please – if you can – spread this post…

View original post 25 more words




So, no doubt the whole world now knows that William and Kate’s little baby son was born yesterday, and London, the press, TV and media are absolutely abuzz with every tiny bit of news that ekes through.

Whilst Baby Cambridge is officially a Cancerian (chivvied into the world early, rumour has it, by that naughty full moon), he was born on the cusp of both Cancer and Leo so is likely in benefit from both sets of characteristics.

Astrologer Patrick Arundell claims that this future king will be more conventional because he is a Cancerian, but would have been more of a ground-breaker had he been born today as a Leo.

‘Mars and Jupiter are conjunct in Cancer and that will give the baby a tremendous amount of go-get energy and that is already in motion,’ he said.

He added: ‘Venus and the Sun are also in a magnetic connection which will give the baby a star quality and a sparkling charisma.’

Just like Diana, who would have made a lovely grandma and I’m sure William is feeling a bit wistful about her absence today.

So a sensitive, kind, home loving Cancer, strengthened by proud, confident Leo.

Sounds like the ideal combination for a future King to me 🙂

There is however, a hefty amount of cynicism on all social media sites about this new addition to the Royal family, claiming that he is a useful distraction from what a mess this country is in, and whilst this may be true, as far as I’m concerned, a new baby, whomever he or she is born to, is always lovely news.

Welcome to the world little cub!

Your public awaits….no pressure now…. 😉




‘Hey love!’ says the young guy standing next to me waiting to cross at the traffic lights, ‘give us a smile!’

I obliged toothily, and asked them what they were up to that evening in hearty ‘I’m old enough to be your mum’ tones.

‘Dunno yet,’ said his mate who was sporting a magnificent afro, ‘how about you?’

‘I’m off to some mad new age thing at the Town Hall,’ I replied, honest to the point of stupidity, ‘something to do with the full moon.’

This did not seem to freak them out at all.

‘Full moon eh?’ said Afro, ‘Yeah man, that’s when the animal comes out!’

‘The wolf?’ I say walking right into their trap.

‘No,’ says ‘Fro with a rather unexpected, vigorous pelvic thrust, ‘the python!’

I grin, genuinely amused, more by their shrieks of laughter, high five-ing and back slapping than the actual ‘joke’.

Little did I know that this would be the least cheesy thing I hear all night.

It was Saturday and once again the full moon was upon us, and once again chaos ruled.

What should have been a ‘one hour’ errand that morning took nearly three.

I smashed a favourite bowl.

Every shit driver in a 50 mile radius was out on the road.

Gormless eejits kept walking out in front of my car.

My sat nav was playing silly buggers, got me lost and then made me drive in a bus lane.

By evening, I was extremely jittery and irate.

‘So Moon,’ I told it that night as it peeked out cheekily from behind a cloud, ‘if I can’t beat you, I’m going to have to try kissing your big yellow ass.’

Which is why I found myself queueing to get into this strange, shamanic, ‘OM Spiritual New Moon’ event.

Organised by people with such names as Chairman OM (I bet that’s not on his birth certificate), Iamlove, Shaman Val and Kundalini Chakra LOVE, I was led to expect by a mate of mine that there would be a bit of Om-ing, some meditation which would then lead into some ecstatic dancing.

I’d done ecstatic dancing once before, but it was with people I knew, so it didn’t matter that I laughed my ass off and fooled around like a four year old, but not sure whether I’d get away with doing the same here.

As we approached the entrance I was greeted by a huge pile of shoes.  Normally I don’t mind going bare foot, but this was hardly the most salubrious part of London, and these sandals weren’t cheap, but I kicked them off reluctantly, hoping that they’d still be there when I was done.

As we entered the room, it was practically throbbing with loud new age music, and someone with what looked like a big flaky cigar was waving it around people, wafting the smoke at them in seemingly some kind of ritual.

‘Is that a joint?’ I asked a pretty woman with a flowery band (yes, honestly) tied around her head.

‘Nah,’ she said in heavily accented English, ‘its called a……..cleansing……stress, worries, yes?’

I nod getting the gist of it, despite hardly being able to hear or understand a word she was saying.  I was just pleased I have someone to talk to.  She told me her name was Stephania.

‘I’m just going to get some water, want some?’ I make a drinking gesture and she smiles and nods.

Making my way over to the bar, I’m immediately accosted by a very tall, very thin man.

‘Hi!  I know you, yes I do, I know you yes? I think I know you, I know you well….,’ he said, and then as if in awe, he whispered, looking soulfully into my eyes ‘…do you know me?’


There must be a name for guys like these who use the opportunity to exploit the whole ‘peace and love’ ethos as a way to try and get under women’s kaftans without getting a slap round the chops.  I can think of one at any rate.

I laugh.

‘No, this is my first time, but anyway, I’ve got to take this back to my friend…’

‘I’d like to get to know you anyway, beautiful goddess, see you later….’

Whatever dipshit.

The music is even louder now and what with the addition of a few ethnic instruments, making Stepania even harder to understand.  It was a bit like trying to communicate with a beautiful, female Cousin It, albeit post a trip to the hairdressers and wearing a bandana.


You might remember, I asked a week or so ago whether there was anything worse than having to do small talk?

There is; small talk with half the words drowned out by a fucking didgeridoo.

That said, I managed to figure out that Stephania is an Angel therapist (and actually earns money from it) and a mum of one.  We are then joined by ‘Ace’ who has taken a year off work (sacked like me, eh?) and is thinking about doing a law degree?!  Must be more lonely than spiritual methinks.  I get it though, and my heart goes out to him a little.

Then along comes Gus who seemed nice enough, but within five minutes he’s hinting at ‘couch surfing’ at mine, so that he can stay till the end of the party.

I think not.  He could be a serial killer for all I know.

An hour had passed, and I was getting bored.  I stank of smoke that wasn’t even spliffy, was tired of ‘guess the missing word’ small talk and really wanted a proper drink, when a rather dishevelled chap whom I believed to be Chairman OM, asked us all to sit on the floor and form a circle.

At last! Something was occurring.

We all sat down, crossed legs and congregated around a little circle of stones, flowers and candles (that the air conditioning kept blowing out) and Iamlove takes to the floor, and introduces herself.

‘Hello seekers!  I am Iamlove (I swear I’m not making this up) and would like to welcome you to this most auspicious of evenings.  This is an Aquarious moon which is all about making decisions, gaining courage and taking that leap forward (wow, very apt actually) because everything is coming to a head (again, true) for you to discover what you are here for and how best to serve the planet and in two weeks time you need to be ready to move with the new Leo moon with confidence and joy.’

This is all spookily relevant.  And whilst people like this are piss taking catnip to me, and even though this woman has a stupid name, is dressed like a Woodstock reject and has rainbow hair, what she is saying is making perfect sense.

‘So, now I’ve updated you on the planets, we’ll do some Chakra meditation, and we’ll OM along with the Singing Ringing Bowls…..’


Rewind that.  Singing Ringing what?  I remember ‘The Singing Ringing Tree’ with the girl, the dwarf, a massive fish and the bear thing, but this is a new one on me.  A bowl that sings?


‘….then Ulrika Seahorse will channel a song for us, and Shaman Mother will lead us into the sacred chant.  And then brothers and sisters, we will dance and celebrate!’

Everyone whoops and cheers and we all clasp hands.

I’m holding Stephania’s which is fine, but the guy next to me, no doubt in an effort to look intensely spiritual, insists on holding both of our hands up in the air and I don’t seem to have any say in the matter.

We’re then told to close our eyes and some woman start keening away in some language or other along with a wind instrument.  It’s all rather lovely and atmospheric except my left hand is starting to cramp, so inevitably I can’t lose myself in the meditation because all I can think about is slamming both mine and this dickhead’s hand to the floor with a thump.  Also my bony arse is starting to go numb.  I shift miserably from cheek to cheek.

After about 20 minutes this ringing noise starts up, everyone starts to OM, and it’s actually pretty powerful.  I make an executive decision to forget my manners and let my left hand go floppy so that this stupid bastard takes all the strain, so I can start to enjoy the experience.

Then Ms Seahorse is up, who thankfully allows us to reclaim possession of our hands.  My lovely neighbour on my left give me a pained glance but I just beam at him sweetly.  It was your choice to keep it up pal, not mine.

‘What’s up Walthamstow?’ she yells, strutting around as if she was Beyonce or something and everyone whoops and cheers.

‘Most of you will know the ‘Magnificent Acceptance’ song but for those of you who don’t, you’ll soon pick it up.  So let’s join hearts, minds and….’

Please God, not hands again?

‘….souls and raise the roof!’


I’m not even going to insult your intelligence by telling you the lyrics of this song, but to give you some idea of just how cheesy it was, some of the words were:











Just as I you are


<I was lying about the last word 😉 >

So, terribly cliched and kind of nauseating.  This goes on for a good half hour and I’m starting to lose both my buzz and the will to live.

Then mercifully it ends and Shaman Mother comes on to cheers, whoops etc in a kind of tribal outfit complete with faux lion skin, possibly made out of a market stall ‘Lion King’ onesie.

‘First of all, get comfortable!  If you want to lie down, this is the time to do it.’

‘Synthetic lion woman, I love you….,’ I think as I stretch out gratefully on the floor.

‘I  have some amazing news! Someone very special gave these to me’ she hold up a couple of bottles to a chorus of oohs and ahhs ‘and I in turn will gift them to you. Tonight brothers and sisters, you will be sprayed with Venus.  Now please close your eyes’

Given that this whole evening was getting more and more like an episode of Ab Fab, I’m not even that surprised by this claim.  In fact I’m delighted to be sprayed by Venus, Mars, Uranus or any other fucking planet juice because it was like a greenhouse in there.


Shaman Motha starts burbling on about Venus and Mars and how we all have both qualities and about five minutes in I feel a spritz  of something flowery mist over my face.


SM is talking ridiculous nonsense but her voice is soothing and hypnotic and I start to relax into things again and drift off…..

Suddenly a feral howling fills the air, which gets shriller and shriller and culminates in a scream, and I sit up so quickly I nearly sustain whiplash.


Lion Queen is rolling around the stage, screaming, looking like she’s about to give birth and I’m the only one with eyes open, staring at her in disbelief.

There is no doubt about it, if I had been there with a friend, I would have cracked up laughing by now, but seemingly being the only one in the hall that was finding this all a little odd, it was actually quite chilling.

I quickly flatten down before I catch her eye, and lie there waiting for her to be done.

Pretty soon, her shrieks of agony subside and we all open our eyes and get up.

There is a brief intermission and then the music starts and every gets up and starts throwing shapes and genuinely ‘dancing like no one else is watching’.

I try too, and I do manage to let go a little bit and get into the music, but not as much as the others who are seriously hurling themselves around and look pretty, well, joyful, despite the fact that they look like a Dad at a working man’s club wedding reception.

Iamlove is kind of rapping over the music (cringe!), saying mystical, positive stuff and so forth, and every now and then she shouts ‘Rising, rising, rising, RISING!’ presumably referring to the Kundalini and everyone jumps up and down and goes apeshit.

Not Mrs Mojo here though 😦   No rising for me, alas.

And when I come to think about it, I honestly feel more ecstatic dancing to Ceilidh music, House or Soul than any of this New World stuff.

Then Ulrika Sealion or whatever her bloody name was, danced around the floor bonging this big drum at each dancer who all beamed and gyrated wildly in response.  Then the poor cow came over to me and her face fell, no doubt noticing that I was far from ecstatic, whacked the thing at me a couple of times, then went off to find a more appreciative audience.

After an hour or so, I was absolutely melting plus I was bored shitless, so I gave up the ghost, snuck off to find my sandals, and slunk out of the door for the last bus home feeling pretty disappointed all in all.

As I walked from the bus stop to my flat I could help thinking that the more I tried to find God via something or someone the more he/she evaded me.  Were all of those people really writhing in ecstasy or where they faking it?  Are all those OM people with the pseudo spiritual names really in touch with the Almighty or have they just found a way to make a fast buck from gullible folk?

I honestly don’t know.

Maybe it is my karma to have to work really hard before God reveals him/herself to me?

Sad, I look up to the sky and the moon glows smugly, and almost seems to nod in agreement.

‘Oh, fuck off you!’ I tell it crossly, and go inside for a cold, much deserved glass of vino.

Ass kissing is thirst work y’know, and if I being a hippy chick means I can’t have booze, then they can stick their kundalini where the moon don’t shine.




I went to the park again yesterday.

And sure enough, it happened again.

Picture the now very familiar scene; I’m lying on the grass, staring semi meditatively into the sky, a soft breeze playing across my skin, cool grass beneath my feet, dragonflies playing, birdies twittering etc., etc.


Fifteen minutes in, some school kids arrive.

Cue ominous ‘Jaws’ theme tune.

‘Well,’ I reason with myself firmly, fighting the urge to bolt, ‘they’ve just finished their school day, so they’re bound to want a bit of fresh air.  But in the quietest, most boring part of the park?!  But still.  They’re here.  So chill.’

Then more arrive.

And more.

And even more.

Within ten minutes, it’s as if an entire school has decamped into this little patch of tranquility, and the air is filled with shouting, chatter, shrieks and laughs.

I’m perplexed.  Is it some kind of budget school sports day? And even if it was, there are vast open areas of land much more suitable for kids to go and let off steam, so why are they in the twee granny garden?

I turn my head to look at the lady on my left to see if she is equally horrified. She is reading, has iPod earphones in and obviously doesn’t give a shit.

Normal, see? <twirls fore finger in direction of cranium>

I really want to leave now, but I’m determined to hang in there for at least an hour. I’d only just got there!

‘Here!,’ yells an excited boy suddenly, ‘let’s do it here!  You go that side and we’ll go here!’

All of a sudden the earth starts to vibrate, and as I prop myself up on one arm, two boys, one either side of my rug bolt past me, sprint to the bottom of the copse, turn around, and hurtle back up and past me again. They both then tag someone else, and that couple of sweaty youths fly past, almost taking one of my Havaianas with them.

Startled, I sit upright and look around properly. There are two sections of this little nook of the park bisected by a path; the area on the other side of the path is almost empty.

I’m getting irritated now because I feel like an inanimate piece of gym equipment, a flag, bean bag or something that divides the two team tracks.  Nice to know I’m still good for something.  😦  

Perhaps if I hang around long enough, they’ll run twice around my rug and tag me or something.

Seriously am I invisible or what?

But I lie back down and put my book over my face resolutely; I am staying at least another thirty minutes, come what may.

After five minutes or so, the race appears to be over.

I sigh, shift on my rug, settle myself and start to nod off….

Suddenly I wake to what sounds like a Stamford Bridge on a Saturday afternoon.  I sit up sharply and look behind me.

About three feet from my rug and army of mums have set up camp with their rugs, McDonalds/KFC picnics (stinky) and their respective rug rats.

I turn to look at the other side of the park.


What kind of fucking fuckery is this? Why does this keep happening to me?

Why are space invaders forever in my face?  Didn’t they get the ‘Fuck the hell off, you intrusive wankers’ psychic memo?

Mind you, I don’t think I’m alone. There seems to be some kind of perverse, reverse law of attraction where certain poor sods like me attract the very thing we want to repel.

  • It’s always the woman that doesn’t like kids that ends up holding someone’s snot encrusted baby whilst it’s siblings leave yoghurt, tears and chocolate stains all over her best pashmina after ‘borrowing’ it for their den.
  • It’s always the kid who’s allergic to insect stings that gets chased by that freakishly big, pulsating bee with an attitude problem.
  • And it’s always the chap who’s allergic to cats that the naughty pussy stalks around the room, and swipes her sneeze inducing fur all over his rust corduroys.  To be fair, that’s quite funny though 🙂 .


Why is this so?

And can we do anything about it?

Dear Gary, Psychic Empaths, can you advise?

Love Sista S x