Wednesday, 30 October 2013

GETTING IT STRAIGHT - LIFE ALIGNMENT - and why everyone needs a good cry...

I am pleased I do not commute. It is a horrible invention and a false economy. All the good and wondrous benefits of a suburban lifestyle are lost on those hours in and out of work, where the energy is so dense with malaise it suffocates those standing on the trains and tubes and probably buses.    What a miserable lot.   Come to yoga, it will do you good.  It is not the cure of all evils, but it deals with some.     Or even better find a job locally.

As my search for outer beauty continues and I detect some of the wrinkles are disappearing under the layers of creams and potions and facemasks (Diamond Blend v vvv good - the best so far), I've been focusing on the inner beauty which I still resolutely believe not only matters more than external beauty, but has a significant and longer lasting impact on the outer.

I am trying everything from Beetroot juice and Matcha tea (not at once) which detoxes and gives you a kick at the same time.    It works and beats coffee and diet coke for focus and concentration.    I've also been continuing with the prebiotic 'miracle' powder (Bimonu) which cultivates good gut bacteria in the stomach as opposed to probiotics (Yoghurt drinks and various supplements), and I've got a thing for kale and spinach at the moment, preferably in a smoothie which I get from Wholefoods on the way back from yoga.   So physically I feel good.

Emotionally, I am a bit like a mushroom at the moment.  There's an awful lot of shit being poured on top of me but I'm trying to turn it into good use - manure and not stick my head out too far, remembering that proverb about a mouse that does and gets picked up and eaten by a bird.   Or something like that.  Anyway, basically the proverb suggested you should keep your head down when shit's being poured on top of you, because you can turn it to good later.  

But occasionally I come up for air and on this occasion I commuted from Richmond to Oakwood (Piccadilly line) which I didn't know existed but it's the stop before Cockfosters.   I met a man called Jeff Levin who is a master healer, and developer of something called Life Alignment.    Basically, it's putting your emotional, mental, spiritual, physical life in order, in balance and finding out what is destabilizing you - that you may not consciously be aware of. It is fascinating.  Using kiesiology which is magic (the body tells you what is wrong with you), and then asking your body questions -not out loud, almost telepathically, bit by bit you align yourself - or that part of yourself that most needs attention.  You can't do it all at once, but layer by layer, you'll unwind, untwist, unravel.

Of course I went in there thinking, I'm fine, I do yoga, I teach yoga, I'm perfectly aligned.  I'm strong.  I'm sorted.    Wrong.   So wrong.  It started fine.   I didn't want to give anything away about myself, although to be fair, read my novels, and blog and you get an idea, sort of, what Ms Tucker is like. I intellectualise everything. It's safe and anaemic and superficial.    But Life Alignment therapy cuts through that completely. Like a lazer - and it is like a lazer - it detects the lies you tell yourself.

There were issues with structure, and heart chakra, and liver and digestive system. My flight or fight was working overtime, my defence mechanism was on full.   The words 'refuse/refused' and 'threaten' threatening' came up as well, as though I was doing both. Putting up barriers, actually walls, not barriers, great big Eastern Block walls.  Monolithic of Biblical proportion walls.   And then without saying anything Levin mentioned dates - 2000 - which wasn't the worst year but led up to the worst year, and a feeling that I'm going through exactly the same lessons again.   And then a spirit guide came to me which upset me. No one living but someone I'd been told about before.  And held me - which was also upsetting - by the arms, as though telling me to stand up on my own two feet.   I wanted them to support me, but they didn't, they just held me by the arms and held me up straight, occasionally going behind me and lifting me up when I felt I was going to collapse.   I wanted to curl up into a ball on the floor and snuggle up or put my arms around this spirit but he (and it was a he) was there to make me stand up straight on my two feet and know that they wouldn't let me go.

With this therapy you cry a lot. Men will cry more than women. Boy, do English men need to cry. Jeff Levin works around the world and he says Italian men cry the most, English women the most.

I watched that TV show on the boys boarding school Radley this week and what emotional cripples boarding school - or that boarding school - makes of men.   Fear of being vulnerable because it will be exploited leads to monumental emotional imbalances, not only for these men but those they come into contact with them.   They probably use money and sex to create fear and imbalance in others or end up with women who are as aloof and cold as they are, who use money and sex to recreate the fear and imbalance these men knew at school.

Jeff Levin describes himself as a facilitator, not a guru or a magician, not even a healer, but he certainly taps into truths about yourself that you won't or can't.     Buy some time and space with this man or give a gift of his time to someone you love for Christmas.  It's life changing and I wouldn't recommend it if I didn't think it would do good.    But you've got to be brave.    In London 23 - 24th November.   East Sussex 15 - 17th November.  Book on  02035518790. You won't regret it.  

Friday, 25 October 2013


In my quest to look better - for six months anyway - I trekked to deepest Earls Court, realising the Yoga Show is on at Olympia and walked for fifteen mins (Past the Arctic Monkeys fans already waiting for the touts or was it the touts?) to the right hall.   Next door was the Baby Show, which was appropriate really as there is such a thing as baby yoga, so mums could benefit all round.

I met three wonderful ladies with whom I learnt to teach yoga.  The place positively buzzed with tight bodies in leotards, tops that promised sweat free work outs, leggings that promised everything would be held in tight, and bands that went round the bum and tum, as there were free classes with earnest yoga teachers telling groups of twenty and thirty to ustasana and trikonasana and attempt a crow pose, while the four year olds had their own guru, managing to do each pose with ease, without needing to breathe the proper way or knowing or caring it was good for them.  They were having fun.

Clinky clinky music played, mats, blocks, the bands that you can hang from the ceiling that I'm sure Samantha had in Sex and the City that I thought were for sex but are obviously for yoga, were being sold there (£99).  Think they also had them in Made In Chelsea.  I didn't get one. I have no where to put it.

I was there to learn about the yoga retreats on offer and there's everything out there for anyone and everyone who may be interested in any variation of yoga.  There's even a boxing yoga now (, a kick asana I suppose.   If you want coconut juice, smoothies, massages, snacks (Naked were offering nibbles as were some of the other brands so don't do breakfast before you come, you've got enough energy bar to survive the week).

It's on for two more days.    I'm writing up about the yoga retreats on offer, all of which are competitively priced, for all levels.    There's a Mind Body and Spirit exhibition up the stairs, where people wear white or anything that looks Indian, and sit under pyramids. The air is pumped with incense, and people desperately seeking something and asking every psychic they can until they get the answer they want.   Just hope they ask the right question.


There's a storm coming literally and metaphorically, and meteorogically, if there is such a thing or a spelling!   An astrologer I know says there's a solar eclipse which means people will show their true colours. Hope some of them are rainbow coloured...  and nice ones, although the suggestion is always the reverse.  Yoga has been wonderful both the classes I've been to and the ones I've taught.   They are lovely people in the classes. A seventy four year old who can do triangle pose better than a lot of twenty somethings, those who just need time for themselves for an hour and to think of nothing but their breathe.   It gives them time and space to not think.  I'm sure even the mind is happy to be at rest, exhausted by the what ifs, wherefores, buts, becauses of life.   That's where acceptance and non judgement take over.  Of course, when the last Ommm is done, how quickly does the bubble burst with the blah blah blah of every day life.  I do know the more they come and the more yoga I've done it's harder to break that bubble of meditative bliss.  


I took Tom to see Blam! at the Peacock Theatre in London. I initially thought it was Blah, which it could have been because it's set in an office, a back office which could be any insurance, bank, call centre, anywhere where the employees are bored silly counting down their days to six pm, to Thursdays which is almost Fridays, to weekends, to holidays, to longer holidays, to pay days, to when they are going to have courage and finances to tell their boss where they would like him to go if only they had the opportunity which they never create.  I wonder how many of those I have met over the years who said they would leave banking at some stage are still working in banking?  Or any of those I met while temping are still in the same office counting down days.    The money is addictive and they're the only ones really guaranteed of being paid at the moment, but I did look on at the stage and think, there but for the grace of God.

Any way, it's a brilliant play.  Four guys bored stiff in their office, start to play games and pretend alternately to be Rambo, Ironman, Hulk, First Blood, Clint Eastwood in his Spaghetti Western and his Dirty Harry guise, and Wolverine (brilliant use of pencils), using the full force of everything gunlike that comes to hand in an office, blowing the brains out of each other, and there's a really touching love scene with a water carrier.   It's genuinely moving.   Then there's this scene where they play cards with post it notes - very very clever.  Some of it is nasty (there's a bit with a toilet and a stapler - but I'm sure far worse happens in a real office).    I know critics will compare it to THE OFFICE, but it's like a silent movie version focusing on the fantasies I know men get up to. Boys being boys and all that.   The audience was 60/40 male female and men and boys will love it, men more than boys I think because they'll identify with it.  Only thing that was missing was the a) wanking b) sex fantasies,  that goes on in offices, or perhaps men don't do that when they're in the office.....nah.   Go see Blah!  it is brilliant.

Tuesday, 22 October 2013

..and on the way there... YOU GOV MEETING

I'd like to thank those who helped me find Stationer's Hall last night.  My phone battery ran out and I was lost by St Paul's, knew it was only five mins away but a very nice man in BT Sport printed up a map (although it was the wrong part of London) and two women from Fitness First pointed me roughly in the right direction and three women outside another building pointed me in another direction but I got there in the end.  Thank you.   Good investigative journalism. Anyone wants to know where it is, I could find it in the dark....


I attended a YouGov debate last night at Stationer's Hall.  The theme was 'Investigative Journalism - is there a future?' and the room was packed with journalists and editors I suppose wanting to know if there was for professional and probably personal reasons as well.

They had four interesting speakers.   Alan Rusbridger, Editor in Chief of The Guardian, who is much more likeable than his characterisation in the film The Fifth Estate.  Tom Harper, an investigations journalist from the Independent (not sure what is the difference between an investigations journalist and an investigative reporter, but it may be the same thing, - I should investigate further..).  Heather Brooke, who was an investigative reporter, became an author because (sic) there was more money in it' and is now in academia, because I suppose there is more security in that,  and Andrew Gilligan who is another investigative reporter, award winning who told us he has won many court cases against wealthy and not so wealthy crooks and liars but admitted himself that he had lied in order to do so.   Andrew O'Neil chaired, making sure questions were short and succinct from the audience and if they weren't short and succinct, allowing the punters to give themselves sufficient rope with which he could hang them with.

The consensus was there was a future for investigative journalism, although Brooke said it had limitations, and that proper investigative journalism 'costs' - not the journalism itself, but paying the journalists legal fees when the wealthy crooks/establishment have been found out and they use their money/contacts/the 'system' (which was spoken about a lot during the evening like some elephant in the room) to 'protect their reputation'.   The Guardian was viewed as a bastion almost a lighthouse of the investigative journalism, although it did make me smile when Rusbridger admitted 'we haven't lost as much money this year' - which I though was quite endearing.   Other papers are making lots of money, but then they would, wouldn't they -  the people they could 'out' are paying their wages, which sort of screws up the whole idea of investigative journalism - biting the hand that feeds you and all that.

Tenacity, curiosity, contacts and courage seemed to be the recipe for good investigative journalism and a bloody good lawyer.   Gilligan admitted to lying to get stories, but then as The Fifth Estate film showed, everyone in this business (or any business actually) lies, it's just that some of the liars you like, or rather you like them more than the others.

Not much was talked about ethics although someone from the audience did talk about the Telegraph journalists who posed as wanting an abortion to two doctors, and how this was irresponsible journalism and morally questionable.  Gilligan commented the Telegraph has a right to be anti abortion as much as any 'one' else.  Yup, just that any 'one' else, doesn't pose as people wanting abortions.

And the media wasn't seen as a 'profession', but as 'tradesmen', which I suppose means we're not establishment, we're messengers, voice of the people.  And the messenger is always shot.

What was skirted around was the reality that much of the media (with the exception I presume of The Guardian because it is losing money) is part of the establishment, and is as corrupt as the police, the politicians, the lawyers, the city, and all the other 'bastions' which tell us what to do and how to do it (or at least try to).  But then that would be libellous.   There were quite a few barristers in the room with business cards at the ready.

Brooke commented the 'public' weren't aware that investigative journalism costs money and there is no such thing as free news.    I think they are aware, and they're aware that it costs the investigative reporters and the editors who stand behind them, a lot more than money. It costs in some cases lives for those who are informants, for those in Middle Eastern countries getting the 'truth' and the journalists who do their job have a long time waiting to see if their 'courage' is going to pay off. Gilligan has won many awards for his scoops, but I wonder how much sleep and years of life he'd lost in the process.

What the public are frustrated with and I could see it on the faces of these experienced journalists on the panel as well, is that when a person or an issue is investigated and the 'truth' comes out (which Gilligan pointed out to those who are found culpable appears an invasion of privacy and smear rather than truth telling), the 'system' doesn't do anything about it.

Doctors aren't prosecuted and jailed for malpractice, politicians get off for good behaviour and land jobs back in authority, the City boys and bosses still get their bonuses, police who may want to set up politicians they have come to recognise as utterly revolting people, are allowed to get away it.  Justice isn't done.    Revelation doesn't lead to revolution - or a change of the 'system'.    So all this investigative journalism, all this truth telling, all these sleepless nights, all this money being paid into the legal system, all this courage, is for nothing because 'the system' allows the crooks to get away with it. Probably because the crooks make the system or the crooks pay the people who know the system.   Even the freedom of speech on the world wide web is monitored, skype is monitored, not for lies, but probably for the truth.     Too much money, too much ego, too many liars.   What a web we have weaved...


I woke up this morning humming that song 'don't worry, be happy'.   I never liked it, even though it was catchy but the idea behind it was obvious. I'd been waking up anxious every morning for the past six months (more or less), and as if a dream had told me what to do, I kept saying 'don't worry be happy' to myself - mindful that I didn't continue to do it in public walking to yoga this morning.     The only thing I remember dreaming last night was someone telling me  'your days are numbered'.  Not such a happy thought really, if you think about it, but I suppose it does relate to the 'don't worry...' because basically it means enjoy life while you have it, live in the moment, be aware, appreciative, accepting, mindful because you don't know when it's going to end.  Also made me realise how we all do live by numbers, age, time, currency, weight, days of the month, everything revolves around number telling us how much or how little.  I wonder if we could live without numbers if it would be chaos or free spirit would reign and we'd all be much more content and able to live in the moment.   And living happily, we wouldn't get stressed, which raises Coritsol, which causes wrinkles.....

So in my attempts to enhance inner as well as outer 'beauty', I put on a Diamond Brand face mask. Brilliant.  Am told it's better than La Prairie but I can't afford that product so I can't compare. But this works.  Or it worked on me.    As for the inner stuff, more yoga and I'm going on an alignment course. Will tell you more later.  

Friday, 18 October 2013


I was at the Safety in Beauty launch yesterday at the W hotel in Leicester Square, a place I've never been to before.   The initiative of Antonia Mariconda who had a car crash at 22 and had reconstructive plastic surgery as a result of it told me it changed her life on many levels. She became fascinated by the aspiration for beauty and image and is now a beauty writer and author, who coaches people to as she puts it 'find safe ways to enhance their bodies'.    It's a pity the powers that be didn't listen to her before the PIP scandal.

Beauty is huge business and I admit I've only skimmed the surface of the industry, finding it tends to be skin deep and little else and I've had little to write about at spas other than fruit facials and flower exfoliations, or is that the other way round?  And I've always been sceptical of an industry that disempowers people under the guise of empowering them.  'You don't look good enough, we can make you look better' sort of thing.

But it was interesting talking to the experts at the events and how they were trying to make the industry safer, better regulated, with less use of jargon and more accessible - as in people would know what they are getting into when they decide to have an acid peel, botox, microdermabrasion, derma roller, and the sci fi sounding cryotherapy.   I think some of the problem is there is so much out there telling the public different things about what to do, how to do it, how much to spend and where to go.  It makes them confused and even more neurotic than they were before.   Spend £5 in Boots on a face cream and it's as good as £500 on something with gold and caviar in it - or is it?    Bottom line is people do not care, they are interested in one thing only - will it work - as in will it make me look good. Worst case scenario is not that it doesn't work, it's that it can actually make you look worse and potentially kill you.

Plus, something the fashion industry has slowly come around to, and the beauty industry I'm not sure has, is that younger isn't better.  As in you don't need to look younger to look better.  I know women who are more beautiful now than when they were younger, bit like the proverbial fine wine, some reach their peek in their twenties, but most do in their forties.   They know what they've got and know what to do with it.    Plus it's true if you feel good on the inside, it does project to the outside and you get a 'natural' glow. I know that with the exercise I've done over the years and especially now the yoga.  But there is nothing wrong with a little help - and as I'm determined to become less wrinkly over the next six months (I was the most wrinkled in the room of happy shiny people), I'm sharing the advice I got.  

Firstly nutrition.    Berries, sweet potato, beetroot, walnuts, flax seeds, avocados, salmon, chocolate (dark, high quality, shame), green tea and salmon are all anti-aging.   Eat the lot, a lot.

Next the 'treatments'.     I'm going to try out Derma roller which 'stimulates the skin to regenerate' allowing itself to repair 'safely and naturally'.    I'm going to be permeated it sounds like but I prefer the sou d of this to anything to do with 'acid'. I still remember Samantha from Sex and the  City and although I'm told that's extreme, I'm happier with the pin cushion.

Next, Slendertone facial toning.   They look like headphones but you put them on your cheeks and it tones and gets rid of saggy cheeks. I don't have saggy cheeks but I don't want saggy cheeks so I'm giving that a go. Sort of preventative medicine.  The toning equipment reminds me of the tens machine I wore when I was having contractions, but on the face.     Twenty mins a day for several weeks.   I've got it on now.   I'm squinting every few seconds, so hoping it doesn't give me a nervous tick.

So I bounced back from the launch, having chatted to Stella English (she who took on Alan Sugar and won), who didn't have any wrinkles despite the stress of the case, although she worked for Citigroup before appearing on The Apprentice, so I'm sure Mr Sugar was a teddy bear compared to that lot.   She arrived with model, ex Big Brother contestant Sophie Anderton.   Stunning and slim and shiny, she also didn't have a single line on her face.   She liked my coat.   I spoke to a lovely Colombian lady who told me her facials would do me the world of good (Diamond Blend) and another expert from AntiAgeing Savantess who studied my face intensely, touched the skin around my eyes and said she could help me although I hadn't asked for it.

So I bounced off last night prepared to anti age myself and stick vibrating pads to my cheeks and try out the creams that sounded just right, and woke up to deadlines and bills and having to drive my son to school behind the slowest driver in the world, followed by a car that must have been driven by the second slowest driver in the world.   Cortisol levels must have hit the roof - which is ageing.  Life tends to do that.  

So I'm typing this smothered in potions trying to get the bloody traffic and those shitty wrinkle inducing drivers out of my skin.   Dr Bragi Face and Body Salvation which sounded suitably dramatic and Karin Herzog's  Oxygen Hyalu lift 'wrinkle lifting cream' which sounded just what I need and something called 'Silver Body' which will allegedly make my body feel wonderful and oh so smooth and tone to the touch, although I'm more interested in the face at the moment.  I'm very slippery and shiny and am going to see if I look 'better'.  I don't care about younger, but 'better' will do me fine.

Wednesday, 16 October 2013


In my endeavours to reduce wrinkles and have slightly less noticeable laughter lines without stopping laughing, I continue to take lotions, potions and advice. My yoga classes are starting to take off and I'm enjoying teaching them.  I miss my classes with Tim, but hope to go on Friday.      I've been to two classes recently where other pupils have walked out.  Fingers crossed that doesn't happen to me.   Today I went to Bikram where one new pupil called the instructor a nutcase and walked out. I think this was very unfair.  We are all nutcases, just some are more aware than others.

On a not unrelated matter, I have run out of beetroot juice.  I am still taking the probiotic powder (Bimuno) and the Royal Jelly has run out too.   I wonder if I say beetroot juice three times if more will suddenly appear on my desk!  I have just been told by Dr Terry Loong ( how to look good while travelling - as in looking like Liz Hurley when coming off a long haul flight.   It was quite detailed and focused on maintaining levels of the hormone Melatonin which prevents premature ageing and reducing the level of Cortisol which if you have too much of it, makes you wrinkly.   I've condensed it down to three main ways of doing this.   Have sex and eat raspberries before you travel and keep an eye mask on for the duration (of the flight that is, not during the sex and the raspberries although that sounds interesting and messy).  Simple really.

Saturday, 12 October 2013


First class in my local studio which can hold max six - and four people came!!!!    They were brilliant. There was a physiotherapist there so as you can imagine I was wetting myself to make sure that I knew if anyone had any back, knee, neck injuries, pregnant, moon cycle, the lot.    They smiled at the end and throughout, giggled at the cobra pose, (obviously opens the heart and voice chakra) and had green tea at the end (I had special cups which I've never used and are ideal!!!).    I read from a wonderful book called the radiance sutras and another one that's not on a yoga 'list' but has some inspiring quotes.    They said they would come back. I am sooooo happy.   Next class Monday lunchtime, Wednesday lunchtime, and six pm, then Thursday early 8.45. I am probably going to do a later class - say 7.30 on a Thursday and Wednesday as well because there seems to be a demand for that.  But will see.

Any way,  have a lovely weekend everyone.    And if you are in Richmond  88 Sheen Road TW9 1UF at any of those times - please come and email me on    

Massage, green tea and organic chocolate at the end.

Thursday, 10 October 2013


1 1/2 delay at the airport in Ibiza due to air traffic control strike in France, the electricity went out at Stansted airport so stuck on the tarmac for 1 1/2. Extra ££ to pay for the airport parking.   traffic on M25 of course bad, so that's nothing new.   She didn't want me to leave obviously!

Went to a doooo full of suits at 99 Kensington Gardens about group funding, but ostensibly to meet a good friend.   If you have money, which I don't, banktothefuture provides a way to invest in companies where the computer (big banks) say 'no'.  The crisps were free.    Surreal day.  


Two days in Ibiza at the Magic Mountain Resort where I'm hoping to do a series of special yoga/detox retreats with the lovely Ute next year.   This is the third time I've visited the island in consecutive years and as everyone I've met over the past decade has presumed I've been, danced and got the T shirt in Ibiza because of the way I act and dress (and I never had) -  I was intrigued to see where people feel I somehow belong.

First time I visited was on a family holiday. As family friendly destinations go, it's good but you could be anywhere hot and sunny with a beach and banana boat.  You don't see, or I didn't see anything that made the island different from any other family friendly resort.  Perhaps that's because children want to be by the pool and the beach.

The next time was to the club scene, huge rooms full of high people desperate for fun, swaying in Demonic style to a DJ, a dot in the distance with lazer beam lights all over the place, acrobats, and dancers gyrating hips on pedestals looking very flexible and very bored to music that sounds incomplete and unable-to-dance-to.  Away from the red bull buzz, in the afternoons, I had a taste of the authentic, old Ibiza, in little coves and a boat ride which was bumpy but when we stopped in a cove to swim - it was bliss, and that made me want to revisit the place.

This time the visit was very brief and I went by myself to work and meet people but also to go into the mountains north of the island and experience what those who have lived there for many years say is the 'real Ibiza'.   I stayed not far from Sant Juan, or Sant Joan, I think it's spelt both ways there.  It's a white washed little village that initially I mistook for the village where Bar Anita's and the hippy market (not the really big one) is located. They all look the same.  Every camino leads to a villa or another white washed village.   There's always a sense of getting lost here.  Or I felt always a sense of getting lost here, which may not be the same for everyone.    There's a lovely edge to St Juan. It manages to be authentic and trendy.   A moody bar, an Italian restaurant with wonderful paintings and whimsical musings (see pix) and even the church has a funky Jesus out the front.  No traditional painted porcelain for this place.   I met Larah, who runs a company called Ibiza Retreats, identifying the best therapists and retreats on the island.   She told me how Ibiza is attracting gurus from all over the world.   How it's a 'scorpio' island - it stirs emotion, it's a 'she' and gives everything to those she likes and gets rid of those she doesn't - or is it the other way round - that those who don't like her don't return?   And that she's got a sting in the tale but stings herself, or likes to sting herself, so has a masochistic quality, is highly sexed, selfish, self obsessed, secretive....  Perhaps I'm thinking too deeply here.....   She also happens to be extremely beautiful and soulful.  

I walked a lot and people/view watched as the locals do.   It reminds me of the South of France, not Spain, or Italy, but France and the electrician who visited told me how it originally was a part of France (I have yet to check this fact) but if it's true, I can see why. It has the same energy and smell and look of Southern France.  As for the clubs,  I initially felt after this visit, they were out of place on an island where people don't talk about the climate and the traffic as we do here, but about emotions all the time. Everyone talks about emotions, their emotions, other peoples' emotions, lack of emotion, emotion is cool on this island - the more the better, drug induced or not.    Larah gave me some healing. I cried.  Everyone I'm told cries.  Perhaps that's the sting.

Thursday, 3 October 2013


I've been using glasses which are supposed to make me stop getting SAD. As in seasonal affected disorder, rather than the one which means you are deeply and quietly unhappy, although they tend to be the same thing.  The first is caused by lack of sunlight, the second usually by a man.  

I have taken a photo of myself with them on and wanted to post it but it's terrifying because the light shines down on my eyes and I look like something out of the Blair Witch Project.  Not good. But you put these glasses on for 20 minutes each day or up to 20 minutes and they give you the light needed to stop you from getting SAD.    From Luminette, I think they retail at about £199 and you can get them from    Any way they are much better than sitting in front of a silly old lamp and you can get on with stuff while you're seeing through rose tinted glasses (literally).  I'm continuing to use them and I think they are definitely helping with the SAD.   Just don't take photos of yourself with them on. That really will make you miserable.


I'm intrigued watching the spat that is going on between the politicians and the Daily Mail.  Paul Dacre may be a bully, but he is not a coward which is unusual because most bullies are.  All these performers also have an overwhelming sense of their importance, as though floating on a huge balloon of pomposity until someone comes along to burst it and then bang, they're dead.  Not just gone, dead.   But all of the 'main characters' in this production, are bullies.   They have refined it to an art and call it politics, business, freedom of speech, but it's bullying and nothing more than you would get in the playground.  They are all up themselves, full of their own self importance.   As though they are more important than the issue. (btw what is the issue?  It's getting lost in the personal jibes).   However, I do feel there's so much to be lost on all sides.  Paul Dacre must have an awful lot of information on all those in government. I do hope he releases it and pops those egos.  Or course I'm sure they have information on him as well.      I wonder if this will be the domino that starts to topple establishment......Nah, I doubt it.  The Mail is part of it.  So while this is all going on, what really important news are we missing that should be on the front cover eh?