Sunday, 30 June 2013


Five in the morning Tom and I woke and I drove to a road (that must not be named) and parked in a place that didn't have a) wardens b) cones saying you couldn't park there c) residents only markings and walked 1.9 miles (according to sat nav) to the field they call 'The Queue'. The poshest refugee camp in the world, handing out Elberflower slush and arezzo coffee for free (making up for the extortionate strawberries unless you were an HSBC customer in which case they give you free strawberries to make up for the extra bank charges for the past decade.  And extremely polite immaculately groomed straw boater men and women in grass green and deep purple with clear skin and sparkly eyes asking if we were having a good time sitting in the middle of a field, what, what.    For five hours we sat in a field, sleeping (which we both did) under a blanket I had the sense to bring, people watching occasionally, met two girls from Northern Ireland who were sooo excited and took photos of everything, even the grass.   A Russian family were ahead of us, could have been Polish.   People selling papers with free flip flops, picnic blankets and weatherproof cover ups for £5.  We walked through Gate 3 by midday.   Got our bearings. Looked around the gift shop which had mannequins wearing Wimbledon gear and laughed at the female ones that had protruding nipples.   I suppose it's another way to make tennis sexy but I think it's a sexy game anyway.    Watched some matches on outside courts - a Brit called Bainbridge who beat an American called Rubin and a really good player called S Butler who was beaten by an Italian called G Quinzi. Don't know what their first names were.   Butler lost but he was very good and I kept cheering (as I do) and at the end the Italian lady asked me if I was his mother.  (He did look like Tom). I said no, I just have an Italian disposition when it comes to supporting tennis. Last time I was on centre court I scared a young boy into moving seats with his dad I was shouting so much at Henman (who was then a tennis player rather than a mere hill).     We saw Robson lose and then win (because her opponent made double faults at the worst times - for her) sat on Herman Hill, got burnt because it wasn't suppose to be that hot yesterday, and looked at Murray being interviewed.   We left at six thirty before Venus wiped the court with her opponent who cannot be named because I can't remember her name and walked back to the car which had no ticket, and loads of very drunk people wombling around the high street preparing to throw up infront of LK Bennett, Matches and other designer shops in Wimbledon Village.    Today I have a pink nose and the tortoises who I believe (or have been led to believe) are both boys are bonking in the garden. I have tried to take a photo as tortoise porn is perhaps a new craze I could start.  'behind that hard shell lies a soft underbelly of lust....'      Whatever, I am revising my rhomboids from my serratus anterior, trapezius from my sternoclemastoids and attempting inversions without cracking open my head.   Aghhhhh

Wednesday, 26 June 2013


Bad news. I didn't pass the yoga. I have to take it again. I talked esoteric not anatomical at the assessment, so I've got to redo.   So feeling down about that, but trying to feel positive because that's what yogis feel. And my book was 'passed' (turned down) by one publisher.   Not happy bunny but I'll bounce back...

Monday, 24 June 2013


Weekend of yoga assessment.  I have been practicing my sanskrit until I was reciting it in my dreams.   Getting my ardva and ardo and urdva with the right uttanasana, mukha svanasana and hastasana.  It has been been emotional.    I went with the flow got everyone to close their eyes in easy pose (sukhasana) and told them about their chakras, coz that's the bit I like.  All the other students in the group are sooo much more bendy and stronger than me, but I've improved and think I got the timing, the pace, the pronounciation (mostly) right, without going into chanting or ommmm overdrive.  And I smiled (on the inside and out - very yogi baby)     They can all do backbends (Urdva danurasana) for minutes on end.   It was a super full moon so that' my excuse for collapsing after six seconds.    I was nervous but not as nervous as the day before when I had been in front of a group of mummy bloggers - so really this was a piece of cake compared to that.   At Britmums, one word wrong and it would potentially go viral. One word wrong here, and it would be put down as an area of improvement rather than an indelible stain that would ever smear the www.   That is the bliss of yoga.   love and light love and light even when there isn't, there's always love and light.

We were asked to bring sweet smelling candles (colours of the chakras) and joss sticks and ganeshas (of which there are many in my home) to place on our puja (spelling?) tables (alters). As for ganeshas, I think you're supposed to have them outside the house but I think, hey, hang them from the ceiling if it gets things moving although perhaps I'll stop at placing one in the bathroom.

I still need to work on backbends and headstands.

In the evenings I took Tom to Despicable Me Two 8/10, but only because the tic tac men are cute and Wolrd War Z which is like an American 29 days later or is it 27?  Can never remember.   And it's got Brad Pitt in it instead of that gorgeous eyed Irish actor who's name I can never remember playing the lead.  I must do more Warrior Three (Virabhadrasana Trini) which is supposed to improve memory and concentration.   Must write that down before i forget.

Friday, 21 June 2013


Wow, what an emotional evening.   I was at the Britmums Live event, held in the Brewery in the heart of the Square Mile, London, a bastion of misogyny, the city folk looking at the mums (and dads) with their toddlers and babies entering the venue as though they were from another planet.   I'm sure some of these city folk were mums and dads too.   The first prize winner was a dad.   He wrote the blog about being widowed He lost his wife last November suddenly to a car crash, and started to write a blog about the experience of looking after a two year old by himself.   He wasn't the only dad who won a prize but when he made his speech everyone gave him a standing ovation.     Read the blog if you can. It will make you appreciate life, love and the little things.

The bloggers could teach the publishers a thing or two about reaching their target audience, and in the States I believe some of the larger publishers have wisely commissioned some highly successful bloggers to help them on 'social media'.    I was with other authors Colette McBeth who's written a gripping psychological thriller PRECIOUS THINGS and Laura Kemp's excellent Mums Like Us.  We explained how we all found our way into writing fiction in different ways, but one message I wanted to send to all bloggers, actually we all did, is that the publishing industry needs to learn from the blogging 'industry'.   There is an incredible wealth of talent here, who know their target audience, respond to it, and have more followers than some of the nationals in this country.    I had a glimpse into a world I really only dabble in via twitter and this blog.   The world of blogging and 'mother (and dad) bloggers is not just a space to watch, I sense it's 'the' space to watch.

Thursday, 20 June 2013


Well, Beethoven is back, still growling at big dogs, but gorgeous.  Tomorrow, I am at the Britmums Live festival full of bloggers and terrified I don't say a word wrong, as it will be round the world before you can hash tag.  And then I've got my teacher training yoga assessment Saturday morning, and don't want the mind to go blank it's so full of sanskrit. As long as I don't start talking downward dogs at the Britmums event, I should be OK. But two days I literally can't put a word or foot wrong.   Onwards and upwards....

Saturday, 15 June 2013


I'm 49.  I like it.  It's a number and I don't know why but I prefer being odd numbers than even.  I've had a Scottish birthday in that I celebrated a few days before as well as a few days afterwards. If the Queen can have several birthdays I don't see why the rest of us can't.