On my way to the Healing Circle, reflecting on last night, seeing my Beloved off at Heathrow to whirl again across the desert dancing round gypsy fires, I had a moment, like you know they creep up on you when you least expect it: after a pleasant evening dipping my toe in the waters of coaching with the lovely Mark Phoenix who rose to the occasion of distracting me from missing her so much it ached, but then, ah then, I came out of the meeting into the street and mindlessly pulled my phone from my pocket to say Hi Honey I’m on my way home…saudades, a word in her language of poetry, untranslateable into ours prosaic.
So I came home to the emptiness and watched Cilla, easing back into the Sixities when London swung and I was in the jungle creeping up on Her Majesty’s enemies and giving ’em one for England. I rememember that voice, a combination of power and innocence; Sheridan Smith did it justice.
The Coach Trip was fun: I found Mark to be dedicated, enthusiastic, conscientious and inspiring. The bit of coaching I got from him via colleague Winston (I think he was really Wilson but seemed happily misnomered) actually got me thinking about how I can do more of this and less of that. Schedule sorted: I’ve got a publication date in mind, probably my birthday, to e-launch Shiatsu Secrets for Hairdressers on Smashwords and Amazon, before I get back to my more risque business with Taoist Tantra: aiming for Valentines Day.
Now to Camden for the Taoist Healing Circle. Year of the Horse = Life at the Gallop.