I am not a fan of talking radio, I told him. In fact, it is not a rare occurence that, should I be driving, I channel hop between stations to avoid in the inane chatter of the airways. When I first moved into my place here, pre my internet being connected, I was horrified to discover the only station I could get on my kitchen radio was Radio 4. Being in the Cotswolds, it is like living in an episode of midsummer murders anyway, and this wasn't helped by listening to several
"Are you losing weight?" is a common question I'm asked these days. Having run or walked over 200k in the last eight weeks, one would have thought so. We'll all have to remain thinking so as I'm not a proud owner of any bathroom scales. However, when I put on my burgundy jeans, the ones I resort to when I've been lackadaisical about my laundry. I doubt I've shifted a pound. 'Perhaps, you should quit sugar for a bit?' she said. 'Perhaps, you should think again' I thought.
Started it on Saturday. Fell asleep. Had a nightmare. Yet to find out why... --- "Why is your cat called Nelson?" "Because I had a dream" "Surely, his name should be Martin though?" "It doesn't really matter what he's called. He ignores it anyway." Both Nelson and I are dreamers. Nelson sleeps for England. So do I. Unless Nelson is hungry. What I've never really thought about is why I dream, and whether I should take them more seriously. This book, however, is absolu
What others might call meditation, I call lying on the floor contemplating what to make for dinner or how to fix all my life's problems in a day, depending on my mood. I am to spend thirty consecutive days of doing some form of meditation properly. Apparently, lying in the bath is not the correct way of doing it. "To sit for twenty minutes a day unless you're very busy, then you should sit for an hour." I'm told. I'm just grateful that it doesn't involve running, climbing
Like many women, I have struggled with depression periodically. And anxiety - although I didn't realised for a very long time that how I felt was not normal. Nor did I realise just how inhibiting the latter can be. I think anyone who has suffered with depression is familiar with the futility of how life appears. The sheer exertion of getting dressed, having a shower, holding a conversation. It is not, at least for me, a sense of sadness. It is despair. Abject despai