I’m at Fossgate Social (coffee shop #4) this morning and boy do I feel awesome. Jazz funk plays out. It’s got a South American feel one moment and Swedish lounge the next. There’s wood everywhere. My favourite part - the chunky bar. An array of liquor bottles adorn the back wall. This place will turn up a notch later as it celebrates the Summer Solstice on a Friday night. But for now, I’m chilling man. I’m buzzing out on vibrations of funk in this uber cool cafe energy and yes, I’ve had a coffee. Next up is rhubarb tea. Pure sweet ecstasy in a cup. I’m hap.
The staff are friendly and love cats so that obviously gets them extra brownie points.
A simple cappuccino for me. No chocolate sprinkles. Hmmmm. I’ve realised how much I actually like those chocolate sprinkles. Rounded tasting coffee. Quite a bite to it but not overpowering. Nice amount of froth. The tea is sweet and refreshing with a hint of vanilla.
Day 24 - I had an amazing dance. I feel incredibly strong now. But I went through hell to get here. I felt sick to the stomach during one of the new bellydance exercises this evening. A belly roll is the most difficult manoeuvre I’ve ever done. Engaging the pelvis and abdominal wall in a cyclical rhythm brought up sensations in my stomach I’ve never explored before. I haven’t engaged this area much so it’s waking up and shouting at me from the inside. It’s saying that this stomach area is really important and needs to be taken care of.
During the exercise, it felt like my stomach was my brain. My second brain. It made me remember my unhealthy past. This sensation of feeling sick reminded me about how I could be greedy and overeat. I could feel that a few months ago, I didn’t make good food choices. And through conquering this belly roll, I could clear up all those poor decisions and make my core area healthy and vibrant again. I felt my body reprogramming itself from the centre. It brought up and released a lot of old crap and emotions. Releasing emotions is important so as not to lead to dis-ease. This exercise helps all the negativity leave my body and in its place it leaves health and strength and power. Gradually, I’m turning into a butterfly.
I’ve got my mum joking to me about her getting a mobility scooter and wanting a bed that automatically lifts her up. It’s a lesson for me. I don’t want to go down this road. If I have my way, I’ll be dancing til the day I die, with both feet on the ground and no walking stick in sight. The only way is to keep on going.
This photo represents something for me. All the hours of dance I’ve put into my life the last few months. All the sweat, love and rhythm. I’ve never been happy with changing room photos. This is the first one where I’ve thought ‘Yeah baby’. Here’s a girl with a healthy attitude.
This morning I’m in Pret A Manger. A lovely coffee shop chain in the UK. I love it here because they’re all about fresh food and organic coffee. They even have carrot juice and in a mainstream chain this is a real bonus. I never feel pressured to give my seat up in Pret because there are always a good spread of chairs available. I’m in a mall at the moment. Only ten minutes from the house. Malls aren’t places I usually frequent but it’s working for me today. There are a couple of shops to visit hence the visit. It’s quite quaint actually. I’m enjoying the vibe.
I opted for a turmeric latte with coconut milk today. As much as my caffeine demon wanted a coffee, my softer side wanted something sweeter. If you haven’t tried a turmeric latte give it a shot. Made with care, it can be a nourishing drink. And you could always chase it down with an espresso : ) I also got a chocolate hazelnut croissant which has made me one very naughty girl as it’s not my cheat day. I blame my hormones.
There’s something about going into a place of refinery that makes me become a better person. It makes me feel good. I sit straighter and talk more politely. Etiquette is an art. They’ve got it down to a fine tee at The Ivy. I watched many cocktails being made tonight at the bar.
I want to talk about hairy armpits on ladies. For some reason society dictates that women should have no hair under their arms (I’m sticking with arms though I know there are other places this filters into too).
When I was a kid, I was fascinated by a lady in the swimming pool showers (she happened to be French). She had hairy armpits. This wasn’t the main thing that surprised me. It was more the fact that she got completely naked (such confidence) in the communal shower when all the English ladies were more reserved in their swimming costumes. This was my first knowledge that ladies had underarm hair.
I used to shave and wax all the time. It was what you did. Especially in your teens. Then I became a hippy and everything was more relaxed. Especially during the winter months. The guys I’ve had relationships with have never minded either way. I thought that was cool. Though, when I was in Madeira, a waxer there told me men couldn’t stand women who had hair of any kind (a bit sad and unrealistic I thought).
I’ve heard a few women tell me how cool they think other women are when they ‘own’ their body hair. Complete confidence in their choice not to shave. I think all women secretly want to be able to be like this. It shows such a strength of character. Not playing a stupid game of societal pressure and rules.
In the past I’ve tried not to look different. Tried not be pointed or laughed at. I had enough going on. I didn’t need anymore weirdness. Yesterday, I succumbed to that part of me again and snipped back lots of my own lovely soft underarm hair in the name of summer fashion and vest tops. It was just growing there. Not doing anyone any harm. Helping me, in fact, to stay balanced and fresh. And now it feels rubbish.
There’s a reason hair exists under the arm. Something called sweat. So now, I’m walking around all sticky and wet in the name of some weird societal norm that I persuaded myself mattered.
Damn. I’m gonna try better next time. I’m gonna slay that part of me who gives a shit. And in the meantime I’ll wait for my soft sweet down to grow back.
Had a look through my photos and found these. Gobstopper heaven in Montreal and catto Amy, doing what she did best - being the most relaxed and unfazed catto ever. My first love ❤️
I find it impossible to swim anywhere where I can’t see the bottom. Pristine seas. Absolutely. Murky waters ie rivers, lakes etc. A definite no no. I think I’m missing out on all this wild swimming stuff. But the fear runs deep.
I swam in a murky lake once. When I was a kid. It was a grey day. Kind of ominous and colourless. It had a weird slimy, silty bottom. When my feet touched it, it made me squirm. My imagination running wild probably. That night I got ill. It probably wasn’t even the lake that made me ill but in my mind there was something sinister about that dark water.
I’ve been in an ice cold waterfall pool in India. That was deliciously freezing but I’m not sure how long I could have swam in it for. It also wasn’t very big so I couldn’t have done any serious lengths.
I’m one of those people with all the gear - goggles, swim cap, paddles, fins, pullbuoy, float (it’s an odd shaped bag to pack too). I like my lengths long. I like to power on with front crawl and use my fins to glide through the water at speed (fins are AMAZING btw). And, I can imagine doing this in idyllic river settings, because swimming outside is an incredible experience. So fresh and unchlorinated. But I’m held back by my anxiety of what lies just out of my sight. Eeeeek.
I saw a documentary once about a guy who would cycle to a spot in Yellowstone Park, park his bike up, put his wetsuit on, get in the water (with his waterproof bag with his clothes in) and let the river take him downstream to wherever it chose. He just flowed with it. I’d call that brave, exciting freedom.
Anyone had any great experiences of wild swimming? I’d love to hear some positive stories : )
I was lucky enough to swim in lots of pristine water growing up. I loved nothing better than being in the sea. Dad and I splashed around in San Antonio bay in the rain. I remember being fascinated by all the sand worm formations. I went on and on and ON at my mum in Spain to buy me a lilo. Eventually (and I mean it took ages to persuade her - a lot longer than usual) she bought one. It was amazing. I’m so glad I went on at her. Best fun I had on that hols.
On one of the Greek Islands, dad and I went rockpooling. I remember feeling ever so scared looking over the edge into the sea. It was deep and clear. I could see to the bottom. I could see coral and fish and seaweed (I wasn’t into seaweed at all). Earlier on that day I’d seen a battered dolphin washed up in the harbour. I imagined it had been attacked by sharks. The imprint of its body had affected me deeply. So as I looked over the edge and into the water, I remember thinking what if I actually fell in? Then all the sharks would come and gobble me up. A child’s imagination can be so dark and scary.
In Cape Cod I burnt my feet on the sand, it was so hot. I was relieved to reach the water. Waves were a big thing for me. I’d spend hours taunting them to try and get me. They were pretty big and eventually I realised the current had taken me 300m down the beach. What a power. I was such a mermaid. I’d spend hours looking under water and doing lots of handstands. I found some treasure in that sea. I found a gold necklace, glimmering and shimmering in the sunlight. It had a St Christopher’s pendant on it.
In Nice I walked along a flat pipeline which ran between the shore and an island made of rocks. I went with a lady I’d met on the beach. As I walked, I looked down to my left and saw turquoise sea and a white sandy bottom shining back at me. Blissful safety. When I looked to my right, the seabed was dark and unfriendly. Full of seaweed (eurgh!). There could have been any number of monsters lurking down there. When we got to the rock island, I couldn’t believe it, the lady only went and jumped off the rocks and into the deep, dark water. What?! Absolute madness. She had no idea about the scary things in there. I didn’t join her. Obviously. I just gaped. She floated for a while (in huge amounts of seaweed), ignorant to all the sea creatures probably swimming towards her right at that very moment (like sharks and eels with teeth), calmly talking to me about how lovely it was in there. Yeah like right lady, I’ll take a raincheck on that one. I don’t want no nibbled toes.
Spring Cafe. Uber cool and vibrant. Full of people chatting happily and saying ‘like’ a lot. Feels gentle and creative. Definitely doesn’t smell of bacon. Lots of lovely reclaimed wood for tables. My coffee of choice - Cappuccino with oat milk. Very very nice. Creamy with a bite. Already finished it so now we’ve ordered a mocha. To share. We don’t want to go too crazy on a Tuesday evening. I’m sitting in the window. Simon’s next to me. We’re both on our laptops giggling like pixies about having finally made it into a cool cafe together, to drink coffee and work on our creative endeavors. I feel like we’ve arrived.
So our babe of a car is in the garage. We’re waiting to hear whether her engine can be saved. We’re hopeful. She’s been well looked after. Luckily being in a city means we don’t need to use her. Luckily we weren’t on the way to a house-sit when she broke down (on the motorway). She was rescued by lots of lovely nice recovery people. Simon, the superstar, dealt with it all perfectly. Without stress or worry. Just gratefulness that he hadn’t needed to be anywhere urgently when it happened.
Now we wait and see. We’ve given the nice mechanics two weeks to sort her out. We’ve told them we have a time scale. We need to be in Dorset at the beginning of July. So we’re sending the Wu Bus (her nickname) lots of love and happy vibes. That she may come back to us swiftly and more healthier than ever.
This is her basking in the New Forest. She likes a peaceful sleep amongst the trees.
I’m looking out the window. Wood pigeons bounce round the garden. Feathers preened and plumed. They can’t help but chase each other off when there’s food nearby (sometimes missing out on the food in they’re protecting). Four squirrels snuffle for seed. A baby one decides how its going to get down to the others from off the shed roof. A pheasant shows up. Purple irridescence shining off him. He’s handsome and he knows it. A magpie swoops in making everyone duck for cover. Blackbirds sing, a cat meows. Finally, jackdaws enter the scene and begin their morning foraging. This is a special wildlife haven. I’m lucky to have seen all that.
Let’s get @vasta on Micro Monday. He’s lovely and says the sweetest things 😊
After two coffees, it was inevitable I would go a bit crazy today. Fast forward a few hours and you’ll have found me walking in the pouring rain, smiling like a moose high on caffeine. I was so happy. No umbrella. Just me, the rain and droplets of water kissing my face.
Anyone ever been lacerated by stinging nettles? They got me all across my right ankle. I see the process as quite cleansing actually. That area definitely needs stimulating. Now I’ve got some pleasant tingling aftershock sensations. I’m rather enjoying it : )
Day 23 - was more of a working dance. I had stuff to tidy (the cleaner’s coming tomorrow!?). It’s good to know I can incorporate dance into daily routines. With or without headphones. I’ve always got dnb going round my head. It makes the mundane more fun. And I got a bit wet too.
I got my hair cut. By Johnny Scissorz. Ooo that name! I love hairdressers with Instagram accounts of their creations. It’s so useful. In the past, I’ve ended up with some weird ass haircuts in even weirder assed salons. Now at least I know what I’m getting myself into. I’m hap.
Since I’m in York. In the buzz. I’ll be frequenting coffee shops. I’ll be writing in the outside world. This is a new experience. I used to read in coffee shops. Now I write. I’ve gotta say it, I feel kinda cool. With my silver shiny Chromebook. Sipping coffee. Writing down ideas. Living my purpose. Especially now I’ve had my haircut (pics later). I always wanted to be one of those people. Working. Drinking coffee. Looking like they’ve got their creative shit together. Now here I am.
First up is Daughter Cafe. Big windows, lots of light, tasty coffee, pleasant enough. Only thing is, if I’d know I’d be breathing in the fumes of cooking bacon the whole time, I wouldn’t have stayed. It’s not my thing. So a separate kitchen or at least an open door is essential. Coolness vibe has gone down dramatically. Luckily a coffee can be drunk extremely fast where I’m concerned so I’m about to vacate into the fresh air. Byeeee.
I explored the streets of London a fair bit in my 20s. Headphones on. Listening to an amazing soundtrack. I’d walk all over the city. It was flat and even ground. The best kind for me. I’d admire fine art in the National Gallery, take in the grand architecture and bright lights of Piccadilly and get intoxicated by the retro vibe of Camden Town. I’d sit in churches and parks. I’d watch caricature artists in Leicester Square. I loved people watching. I loved being in the vibe.
Then I left. Got older. Lost my mojo. Lost my soundtrack.
Today it came back. This time walking the streets of York. I felt nostalgic. I was 20 again. There’s something special about walking in a beautiful city with the music you love. Nowhere to go. No-one to meet. Just you. Exploring. With gorgeous music and curious eyes. That’s freedom.
The dnb soundtrack energised my spirit. I’ve made a playlist with all the tracks that get me moving. That have the most exquisite melodies and beats. At points on my walk my dancing arms just had to come out to play. My dancing legs made an entrance too. Usually at traffic lights. I felt life running through this city. I’ve missed that. I lived in the countryside for a long time and used the car to get everywhere. It could be physically hard for me to walk the countryside paths too so I wasn’t into long walks over hills and valleys. I always loved the fresh air. I loved the solitude too. Up until recently.
Now I’m entering a new phase in my life. Gone are the days of being introverted. I’m no longer a she-bear, hibernating in her cave. I’m looking around. Making connections. Getting curious. Basking in the buzz. Today, just out the front door I was walking along river banks, under bridges, past geese, over cobbles. There were people and cyclists and smells and life. Half an hour later I found myself in a Yorkshire tearoom where I bought a florentine. Bonus!
So I’m breathing in this city with gratitude. The magic of the river running through it nourishes my soul. Its historic streets sing of history and stories and adventure. I’m on top of the world right now. I’m awakened. My London adventures are back V2.0. This time York style with my 39 ¾ yr old booty taking up the pace.
Day 22 - There’s familiar power now. I’m grounded and centred. I used to wobble and walk the tightrope each day. Not anymore. I’m balanced. I’ve new strength. I’m able bodied. I dance for my future. It’ll keep me alive.
Stay - Delta Heavy (Maduk remix) is the song of the hour.
Travel continued…Dad made a travel documentary of our road trip so I had to be on my best behaviour on screen. I walked down steps in boring old ruins trying to look at least midly interested. At 8 yrs old and without a playmate, this could be fairly challenging. I walked across city plazas trying to look elated when really all I wanted to do was find the ice-cream shop (obviously). So there were still many moments of looking grumpy and uncooperative with a few poked out tongues that had to be edited out. Grown ups could be sooo boring. Technologically, Dad was pretty advanced back then (1989) and carried a camcorder complete with VCR recording equipment. It must have weighed a ton. Not to mention all the wires. He was known for the amount of wires he could use at any one time.
I’m recalling a moment in St Mark’s Square, Venice where I was let loose with a bag of seed and a thousand pigeons. They were on my head, my shoulders, flapping all over me. I didn’t get pooped on thank goodness. Bonus for mum. I’m also recalling a particularly fine chocolate crepe around that area and a fun gondola ride where mum ended up buying the gondolier’s hat.
Some of my most fond travel memories link back to friends I met and connections I made along the way. I had a crush on a Dutch boy on a cruise aged ten (I can’t believe he went off with Cheryl). There was a whole gang of us who’d run round the ship causing mischief, hang out in the deserted cinema or play fruit machines in the casino during the day.
I went on a coach holiday to Spain. The coach would become a giant den for all the kids to play in and all the people would become toys to mess around with and talk to. I developed a habit of pretending to be asleep around other children on that coach. I loved tricking them. I have no idea why. It could last for what seemed like hours until I did actually end up falling asleep. Children play the funniest games with themselves. I met a four year old boy who knew the make and model of every single car we passed on the road. Back then I had no idea about cars so I found it fascinating.
I’m just remembering how forthright my mum was on that holiday too. We’d stopped at a service station and there was a huge queue for the ladies. So mum decided she wasn’t going to wait and bundled me, with her hand over my eyes, into the men’s toilets. Into a cubicle. What a woman. The men must have freaked out!
Lefkas in Greece was a place of happiness for me. Along with the fact that it had chocolate flavoured Mr Whippy ice-cream, I also had good times riding on the back of a motorbike with a local fisherman. I’ll always remember that exciting, adrenaline filled moment. Without a hemet on. Eeeek. I met a local family there, who ran a gift shop. They said I could choose anything I wanted from the shop. Bizarrly I had a premonition that this would happen the evening before. I think I was so overwhelmed that it had come true, I said they could choose for me (even though I was coveting a very 80s looking elegant white china hand holding a feathered pom pom). I got a dog dinosaw instead complete with pink wig.
I became fond of the lady who ran the clothing and jewelry shop. I would spend hours in there with her. Soula was her name. She would pretend to be the customer and I would serve her. I loved being in charge, sitting behind the counter and taking the money. I especially loved wrapping the little gifts up in little bags and sticking sellotape on them. She had a tape dispenser. I felt grown up.