Diary of a Desperate Exmoor Woman

My son is a mass of want. A maestrom of need. He needs a new pair of football boots. He needscycling shoes. Cycling shoes??? Really? I bite my lip and resist the urge to say that, in my day, one had a pair of plimsolls and that was it – none of this ‘trainers for this, trainers for that’ malarkey. To be fair, he buys his own stuff but still.

‘Can’t you wait?’ I ask.

‘No. I want them now,’ he mutters, clicking ‘Next Day Delivery’ with glee.

I sigh. Sixteen and already the consumer world has its teeth in his throat. When I ask him what he wants to do, what would make his soul sing, he says ‘Make money.’ I guess all teenagers rebel against their parents, huh?

There’s not much I really want – not material things anyhow. But occasionally, just occasionally something makes my fingers twitch with desire. And, well, you know this ‘thing’ I have for snugly throws? For the last five years I have been hankering after one particular one. It’s wolf fur - fake of course – but just the softest, most beautiful thing. Every so often, when I go away on retreat, there is something soft and snugly on the bed and – childish, I know – I snap a pic of myself embraced by softness. But so far it hasn’t been exactly The One.

at Clinique La Prairie

At Yobaba Lounge

I’m a tactile beast – silky water, the hot kiss of fire, the caress of satin and cashmere. Those are the skin-songs that seduce my soul. But, of all these, there is nothing that beats the feel of fur on skin. Maybe it’s atavism. Maybe my DNA remembers a time when I curled up in caves, drenched in fur against winter’s sharp bite? Or maybe, who knows, I just yearn to get back into my own skin?

A local shop has one (a brown wolfish snugly throw) and, once a year, every time they have a sale, I sneak in and stroke it softly and look hopefully at the price ticket. But it’s still too much, even in the sale, and I can’t justify it, I just can’t - not when we need logs or oil or whatever. And so I walk away and I tell myself, hey, it’s just a thing. Who needs things? And we don’t. But we do need feelings. We need sensuality. We need softness.

Anyhow. It was my birthday the other day and yesterday this parcel arrived. A big fat squishy parcel. And – yes - you guessed it…there it was. My wolf. My soft, soft wolfskin. My mouth fell open, not in a perfect O but in a sort of slack-jawed village idiot way.

‘Oh. My. God.’

‘What is it?’ said Adrian. ‘Is it something for James?’

‘No, it’s for me,’ I replied.

‘Oh,’ he said. ‘Who’s it from?’ Peering over my shoulder at the label.

‘It’s from Sandie,’ I said, pulling it out, rubbing it against my nose, against my cheek, wrapping it around my shoulders.

‘What is it?’

‘It’s a snugly throw. THE snugly throw,’ I said, not quite sure whether to burst into a grin or into tears. You see, it’s a bit of a symbol, this. A bit emotional.

‘Well, it will keep you warm,’ he said. ‘No need for more logs.’

‘Indeed,’ I said.

And, last night, I curled up on the sofa in front of the dead fire and wrapped it around me and felt…almost safe. The cave curled around me and, in comforting warmth, there was no need for words. Just feelings.

And it occurred to me, embraced in the sweet softness, that waiting can be good. How much more does one appreciate something that doesn’t come easily, that can’t come with a click, that doesn’t offer instant, greedy gratification?

My birthday tends to straggle on, for days, weeks even. I rather like that it isn’t focused on one particular day. It gives me time to adjust to being (numerically, at least) another year older. And I like that my friends and family are as blissfully disorganised as I am and so I tend to get cards and parcels for quite some time after the event (horizon).

And I like the fact that my manifestation skills seem to be perking up again. The other day, a snugly throw; yesterday, snugly boots (just in the nick of time, as mine now have holes in the toes). And today, a card from my lovely niece. Columbia Road Market. And all at once I’m transported back to my London days. Every so often I’d get up early (way too early) on a Sunday, nab my friend Fi, and potter down to Columbia Road. For those who don’t know, Columbia Road is a flower and plant market and there was something wildly uplifting about wandering around swathed in scent and colour. There would probably be coffee and breakfast involved too – at a small café.

So, the card alone was enough. But there was also a slim book enclosed, its cover green and gold, hinting of sacred geometry. 30 DAYS, it said. xYz.

And, on the back, an almost runic inscription:

-- TIME IS NOW --

She knows me well, that nice niece of mine.

I opened it.

It’s a small book of poems superimposed on illustrations and inspired by cosmology and nature. The poet created them, one a day, during April 2013, for National Poetry Week. And it says things like…

"It’s always the same.

It always happens the same

with mass and energy:

one created destroys the other,

and the yin-yang of the stars

maintains the indifferent symmetry

of space and time."

And this…

And this...

I like it. I like the thick sludge of its paper; the crisp clarity of its type. I like its subject matter and its production. I like its poems but I like them more because of the way they are presented. And it strikes me that maybe this is the way to offer poetry to our modern minds. Because it’s said (I typed ‘sad’ then and that true) that we don’t read poetry so much these days. Maybe we might make poetry manifest, tickle it tactile, snaffle it sniffable and strokable. A challenge maybe for my poet friends X, Y and Z?

And Time? The last gasp of the book says this: Kairos - a time lapse, a moment of indeterminate time in which everything happens, the right or opportune moment (the supreme moment). Time is Now.

According to a report in the New York Times, you can fall in love with absolutely anyone. All you have to do is ask the person 36 specific questions. Why these? Apparently it’s all about vulnerability. The study’s authors said: “One key pattern associated with the development of a close relationship among peers is sustained, escalating, reciprocal, personal self-disclosure.” Er, right. In other words, be open, be honest, be vulnerable. Presumably this is reciprocal. You would take it in turns, right? But then, it occurs to me that it plunges us straight into that classic human ‘thing’ where, all the time you’re listening to the other person, you’re framing your own reply, your own witty anecdote, your own even more open and vulnerable response. How many people really listen?

Actually, I’m not sure you even need to ask all those complicated questions. Just before Christmas I went on a Zen retreat. Every day we would sit down in front of one another and ask one question: ‘Tell me who you are?’ And then we would just…listen. It was the most unusual experience. Some people were reserved, barely saying a word; others told the most intimate, the most revealing, often quite traumatising, things. And your job was just to sit and witness what they were saying; to act like a mirror. And a curious thing happened. These people were a real mixed bag, all sorts, men and women, ranging wildly in age, shape, colour, class, character. But, as I listened to them, as I focused on their faces as they talked, I started to feel…awed. They were all just incredibly beautiful somehow. Each and every one of them. I suppose you could say I fell in love with them. And I know that sounds horribly hippy dippy but it wasn’t like that – it was really quite indescribable, quite extraordinary, quite…beautiful.

But then…what does the New York Times mean by ‘falling in love’? Would I have wanted to jump into bed with these guys? Would I have wanted to spend my life with them? Would I have wanted to cuddle up by the fire cosy under the snugly throw with them? Er, no.

And, actually, the most interesting part of the study was the bit that isn’t being talked about so much. The bit where the participants silently stared into each other’s eyes for two to four minutes. And I did a little bit of that on the Zen retreat too – and, you know what, that really is the strangest thing. Double dare you to try it.

Anyhow, what you really want to know is what the questions are, don’t you? Here you go.

1. Given the choice of anyone in the world, whom would you want as a dinner guest?

2. Would you like to be famous? In what way?

3. Before making a telephone call, do you ever rehearse what you are going to say? Why?

4. What would constitute a “perfect” day for you?

5. When did you last sing to yourself? To someone else?

6. If you were able to live to the age of 90 and retain either the mind or body of a 30-year-old for the last 60 years of your life, which would you want?

7. Do you have a secret hunch about how you will die?

8. Name three things you and your partner appear to have in common.

9. For what in your life do you feel most grateful?

10. If you could change anything about the way you were raised, what would it be?

11. Take four minutes and tell your partner your life story in as much detail as possible.

13. If a crystal ball could tell you the truth about yourself, your life, the future or anything else, what would you want to know?

14. Is there something that you’ve dreamed of doing for a long time? Why haven’t you done it?

15. What is the greatest accomplishment of your life?

16. What do you value most in a friendship?

17. What is your most treasured memory?

18. What is your most terrible memory?

19. If you knew that in one year you would die suddenly, would you change anything about the way you are now living? Why?

20. What does friendship mean to you?

21. What roles do love and affection play in your life?

22. Alternate sharing something you consider a positive characteristic of your partner. Share a total of five items.

23. How close and warm is your family? Do you feel your childhood was happier than most other people’s?

24. How do you feel about your relationship with your mother?

25. Make three true “we” statements each. For instance, “We are both in this room feeling…

26. Complete this sentence: “I wish I had someone with whom I could share ... “

27. If you were going to become a close friend with your partner, please share what would be important for him or her to know.

28. Tell your partner what you like about them; be very honest this time, saying things that you might not say to someone you’ve just met.

29. Share with your partner an embarrassing moment in your life.

30. When did you last cry in front of another person? By yourself?

31. Tell your partner something that you like about them already.

32. What, if anything, is too serious to be joked about?

33. If you were to die this evening with no opportunity to communicate with anyone, what would you most regret not having told someone? Why haven’t you told them yet?

34. Your house, containing everything you own, catches fire. After saving your loved ones and pets, you have time to safely make a final dash to save any one item. What would it be? Why?

35. Of all the people in your family, whose death would you find most disturbing? Why?

36. Share a personal problem and ask your partner’s advice on how he or she might handle it. Also, ask your partner to reflect back to you how you seem to be feeling about the problem you have chosen.

Back in the day, when I first started blogging, this kind of thing (but much shorter) used to do the rounds as a meme. Maybe we should all answer the questions - and all fall in love with one another? *smile*

And, you know, the thing that is still making me ponder, is the sheer ordinariness of it all. If one can fall in love with anyone, does that mean nobody is special? Is there really no preference involved? It's something I've been pondering for a while...this preference thing. Another blog post maybe.

I can’t remember the last time I went for a job interview so I was amused, and somewhat puzzled, by the kind of questions that are now being asked by potential bosses. None of that old ‘And what do you think you’d bring to the job’ stuff – apparently now it’s all ‘What dinosaur would you like to be?’ or ‘Who would win in a fight between Superman and Batman?’ Or ‘If a hippo falls into a hole how would you get it out?’ Or even, ‘What type of ice-cream are you?’

WTF? According to the Association of Accounting Technicians (no, I have no idea who they are either) the questions are designed to see whether you’ll freeze or flourish when confronted with the unexpected.

Aimee Batemann, spokeswoman for the AAT said, ‘The best way to maintain composure and reduce the chances of embarrassment is to try to prepare for every possibility.’ Oh, get real Aimee! How the hell can you think of every possible weird or downright barmy question you might get asked?

Anyhow. I thought the questions were rather good fun so, in an idle five minutes (waiting for a hippo to extricate itself from a hole) I answered the ones that are apparently doing the rounds of the, er, accounting world.

Q: If you were a fruit or vegetable, what would you be and why?

A: A tomato – unable to decide exactly what I am.

Q: Who is your favourite Doctor Who?

A: Pass. Can we talk about my favourite James Bond instead? Or better still, just look at him? By the way, if you Google 'naked Daniel Craig' (as one might do) I should warn you that there's some very bad Photoshopping out there.

Q: What would you do if you caught a member of staff kissing the boss?

A: Tap my nose at the boss and start taking very long lunch breaks.

Q: Is a Jaffa Cake a cake or a biscuit?

A: Neither. It’s an abomination.

Q: Would you rather know a lot about a little or a little about a lot?

A: Knowledge is overrated. However much you think you know, you can never really know. I hope I have learned the wisdom (and hopefully the humility) of having a beginner’s mind.

Q: Do you like to sing in the bath?

A: No. I like to bathe in the bath.

Q: Which three celebrities would you like to join you for a night out?

A: Hell would freeze over before I a) voluntarily had a night out and b) asked celebrities to join me.

Q: What would you do if the sun died out?

A: Moon bathe (in furs).

Oh, the other ones? If I had to be a dinosaur I’d go for velociraptor (Jurassic Park did a fine job on their PR). Superman, doh (though if it were a question of which one I’d snog, it’s Batman all the way). The hippo? Call Hippo Rescue, I suppose. And the ice cream? What kind of stupid bloody question is that?

Did I get the job?

Okay. Your turn.

Long time, no blog. I’ve been off with the fairies, dreaming, dozing, delegating my life. Now it’s time to wake up. Why do I never follow my own advice? I took a look in my book The Natural Year and there it is…

‘Autumn shouts ‘wake-up’ to the psyche – it’s time to dust yourself off after the languor of summer and take life head on again.’

I’m late, I thought, as I blinked my way into the day (hideously early as always on a school day); September has nearly ended. And, see, there goes my mind again, skittering off on a tangent, now thinking about the song. Flibbertygibbet mind.

I made far more sense when I was younger. J Let me remind myself what I said then…

autumncozy.tumblr.com

‘Neither yin nor yang can hold power over this time of the year – the year is held like scales in perfect balance. This is a transitional time when you need to keep balanced and centred, just like the year itself. But it is also a time when the powers of creation are coming up again – from the clear energy of fire comes the manifestation implied by earth – not just the harvesting of the fields but all kinds of creation, new beginnings, the start of something different. Earth energy can kick-start you into new directions and differing ways of living life.’

Okay.

And how? In practical terms?

‘In the early part of autumn you should begin a warming and toning diet. Shift to wearing light but warm clothes and take oil baths and massages to begin gently to warm the body.’

I can do that.

‘Autumn is a time for storing what is necessary and getting rid of what is no longer needed. It’s a time of clarity; of dumping the dross, of getting rid of things both physical and emotional which no longer have a place in your life. It’s time for a second big clear-out, an ‘autumn-clean’ if you like.’

Hmm.

‘According to Chinese philosophy, if you cling sentimentally to old attachments and desires, you will end up feeling anxiety, grief and a profound feeling of melancholy. These feelings, in turn, will affect your body – predominantly your lungs and large intestine. The result will be flu, colds and a general case of low resistance, of feeling under par. If the problem goes deeper it might bring breathing difficulties, chest pains, skin conditions and other unpleasant results.’

Ouch.

Okay, so time for a clear-out. Some decluttering. A detox. I get it. Care to join me? J

The Natural Year - A Seasonal Guide to Alternative Health and Beauty - now updated for Kindle

So, following Peter Oborne’s resignation from the Telegraph there has been a lot of debate about whether there is any form of independent journalism left. He said: ‘It has long been axiomatic in quality British journalism that the advertising department and editorial should be kept rigorously apart.’ Absolutely. I remember, when I started in journalism at City Limits magazine, there was an absolute insistence that advertising could not, and must not, influence our writing. Since then it has all become blurred to the point of illegible.

There have been dark mutterings about travel writing too – about how it’s rare now to find negative reviews in magazines and papers. Why? Because the writer’s trip has been funded by the hotel or tour company (who may well be taking out advertising too) so the water becomes very muddy. But this is nothing new. In an ideal world, the paper or magazine would fund the writer for the whole trip – this still happens on a rare few papers (the New York Times comes to mind) so the writer can be totally, truly independent. But no UK paper has the budget. So, unless a writer has personal wealth, one has to rely on freebies from the hotel, resort or travel company. And that is why you will see the same old places being reviewed all over the shop – usually glowingly. I don’t like that. What I do like is Queen of Retreats. I came across this outfit a few years ago, when I was looking for independent recommendations of great spas. Someone on Twitter put me in touch with Caroline Sylger Jones, who runs the site and she was great – hugely knowledgeable, highly discerning, full of integrity.

Caroline at HHH in Greece.

Queen of Retreats is different from other online retreat, spa and healthy holiday websites. It’s not a travel company and it’s not a listings site. It features in-depth reviews of places its writers have visited and experienced (not just for a sample day but for the entire programme). Said writers are all highly experienced: they know their Trager from their Thai massage and they can gauge whether a yoga teacher is good, bad or off with the fairies. So many reviews in magazines (and even in papers now) are written by someone who has no experience or knowledge base – without budgets for freelance experts, publications have to rely on staff doing the trip as a perk. Fine if you get the health editor, not so fine if you get the intern who has never set foot inside a spa before. Read QoR's mission statement here.

Anyhow, what I really love is that the reviews are honest. If something isn’t quite right, they point it out. If it’s not ideal for a certain kind of person, they say it like it is. Although retreat venues do host the writer, they understand from the get-go that there is no guarantee of a shining review. Obviously reviews are subjective – how could they not be? But the reviewers are experienced enough to gauge if a place would suit others, even if it didn’t suit him or herself.

"It’s not smart or ritzy and you will need to turn a blind eye and a forgiving heart to the less than shiny bits. The decor isn’t inspired – if your idea of a retreat is all about contemporary interiors, fluffy bathrobes and spa ‘journeys’ look elsewhere."

Yes, it covers some of the big spas and retreats – the ones that have PRs, the ones you will read about everywhere, but it covers them honestly – not because an ad manager is hanging over the editorial team’s head. However it also covers small retreats, the ones that have no budget for advertising or PR, the ones that otherwise wouldn’t get coverage, and that’s why I really love it.

Serenity Retreat in gorgeous Greece

So. Bottom line. If you’re thinking of going on retreat, if you fancy a spa break or a healthy holiday, do check out the website. You’ll find a fair few of my reviews, including my beloved Serenity Retreat, The Body Retreat, Yobaba Lounge, Hellenic Healthy Holidays, and The Pause, rubbing shoulders with reviews of the big guys, SHA, Clinique La Prairie, Canyon Ranch and the Sanctuary Thailand (of The Beach fame).

Canyon Ranch

Do spread the word. Because, in a world where advertising and editorial are all mixed up and muddled up, it’s refreshing to find a place where good old-fashioned editorial ethics still remain. I think these places need our support. Don’t you?

Visit the website at www.queenofretreats.com
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Remember, all those years back, when I talked about flirting? Not about how people flirt (well, not necessarily) but how things can flirt with you? Well, that’s what happened with Tazeka Aromatherapy.

I was kicking around on Twitter, as you do, and noticed this woman tweeting about aromatherapy oils. Not just any old aromatherapy oils but little phials that looked for all the world as if they’d been dropped by fairies, or fallen out of a treasure chest from the 1001 Nights. Pretty shiny things that, for some strange reason, reminded me of being young (I’m trying to catch the connection and I think it might be that trend for shiny metallic Christmas wrapping paper). I don’t really know why but they just…flirted. Appallingly.

I frittered away a ridiculous amount of time wandering around the Tazeka website, trying to decide which blends I needed the most. It was tough – I reckoned it had to be Optimism and Balance above all else, followed by a swift dose of Motivation, Confidence and Concentrate. And yet my eye was also drawn to Meditation Guru (something has to haul me back to meditation practice). Slim Solution? Yup, that would go down well too. Actually it was all starting to give me a headache. Oh, right, Headache Helper.

We got talking, Zena and I, the way you do on Twitter and, one thing led to another and she offered to send me some samples. And I admit, there was a part of me that wondered if they might be all style and no substance but no. These things work, they really do. Plus they're organic and ethical and just darn nice. Read this and see what I mean...

So now I have them all lined up on my desk and I double and triple layer them – because, frankly, one really needs to be optimistic and balanced and motivated and confident (not to mention calm and focused and slim and serene) on a regular basis, right? I also play around with them, like toys, lining them up according to my mood – sometimes they go in chakra order from purple (Wise Woman) down to deep red (Confidence) and sometimes I go for colour clashes.

Anyhow. The business is really really new and at the moment you can only order from the US (which whacks postage on). Sooo…come on, let’s get these out there, okay? If you know any spas or gorgeous shops that would like to run the range, get in touch with Zena. If you know any beauty or health editors (anywhere in the world) who might run a review, get in touch. Why? Because, I don't know about you but I love people who have a passion and who make their dreams come true. Plus I get a serious kick out of a product that not only works really well but which looks pretty damn fabulous too – and these are seriously lush.

I’ve reviewed them, in a slightly more sane and reasoned manner, on Queen of Retreats. Check it out here.

So, I was shown round my room at the brand new VIVA MAYR clinic, and it all looked pretty standard. Nice bathroom - all the usual gear except...
'The toilet has a remote control,' said my guide with a flourish. I frowned. Something was surely lost in translation.

She logged the look, reached to the wall and plucked out, yup, a remote control. 'Very high-tech,' she said. 'Just like in Japan.'

Okaaay. But this is Austria. Back at the original clinic I seem to remember the loos all had a shelf so you could inspect your outgoing messages but this was something quite, quite different. Could you fast forward with it? Pause mid-stool? Record your, um, progress???

We looked at one another, the loo and I. It narrowed its eyes and gave me a challenging 'you'll never dare test-drive me, you scaredy cat, unhygienic English person' sneer.
'You bet I will, you weird unfeasibly bizarre Japanese contraption,' I said. And looked around for the instruction manual.
What? Nothing. Picked up the remote and tried to figure it out. I mean, really...a picture of a woman (water jets straight up the fanny?); a symbol for wind (drying presumably) and a flower (deodorising?).
Oh, what the hell. I took the same approach as I do with any remote - just flail around pressing buttons willy-nilly. Oooh...the fanny current was weird but not unpleasant. Then...ouch! OUCH! It was trying to nuke my ladycarriage. I swear I got up singed.

Anyhow. I still didn't really see the point. Until the next day.
You start each day like this:

"7.15AM - Taking VIVAMAYR morning drink (intestine cleaning). Altaussee's Glaubersalt directly from the inner mountain-spring into your bottle. Pour some warm water into this and drink slowly." (sic)

Ye gods, it tastes disgusting. Like downing a carafe of ocean. Apparently it's supposed to suck all the muck out of your digestive system.

Then you get breakfast, lunch and dinner which consist of...very little. So my dinner looked like this:

No, those aren't dog chew sticks - they're soy bread rolls. And yup, that's a pot of herb tea. And yup, that's it.

Then the gurgling began. Pretty soon I had a concerto going on in my guts - a quartet of stomach, duodenum, ileum and colon. Not long after that I found myself walking smartly to the loo. And again...and again...and again... Let's just say I clocked 15 times within the space of an hour.

And that was when the loo gave me a knowing look. 'Admit it,' it said. 'You need me.'

This may not be the start of a beautiful relationship but let's just say, we've reached an agreement,

Yes, I'm hugely lucky that my job lets me travel so much and go to such incredible places. But, you know, it's not all pampering massages and luscious facials, no sirree.

Sometimes you get what you need rather than what you'd really like. Here at VIVAMAYR, there's no perusing long menus of spa 'journeys' and beauty treatments; no umming and aahing about which massage to have. You see the doctor, who orders a battery of tests. Actually I got off quite lightly with just free radical measuring and mineral analysis (maybe because I looked wild-eyed and terrified about the potential costs - each and every test costs extra here and, although as journalists, we get a certain amount for free, even so it's apparently quite easy to rack up a bill that runs into hundreds or even thousands for extras).
So, they took my blood and gave me an infusion of vitamins and minerals in its place...

Apparently I'm not breathing properly - well, there's a surprise! So I've been doing some IHHT (aka Hypoxytraining or Altitude training) - fetching mask, huh?

Next up, I was booked in for a 'relaxing' massage but... My therapist Jan drove his thumb into my shoulder. 'On a scale of one to ten, where ten is unbearable, how much does it hurt?' he said.
'Er,up at about a nine,' I said, tears in my eyes.
He nodded, and kept pressing.
But hey, it's all good. Turns out I've got a rotator cuff injury (have been struggling with arm pain for months) and no amount of soft soothing effluerage is going to fix that.

Then there's the food. But let's save that for another post, huh?

So, I'm not feeling good. Not good at all. But then, as the charming Dr Sepp Fegerl (the clinic's medical director) says, 'If you want to feel better, you have to feel worse to begin with.' The Mayr Cure goes deep, it seems, and plucks out all kinds of old nonsense from the body.

So, today, as he massaged my poor groaning abdomen, he told me about the 75 year old woman who spontaneously had LSD flashback while undergoing the Mayr. And a similarly aged man who was mightily alarmed when he looked in the loo and saw he'd passed something that looked like a long red tube. It turned out to be something he'd swallowed when he was a child.

And then he smiled (Dr Fegerl, not the guy who'd swallowed the tube). 'Of course, if it's not the right time for you, or it's all too much, we can back off; you don't have to do it now.'

Yeah, well, you know me. I accept most challenges. Not eating much doesn't bother me at all. But it's a bit demoralising when the choices get smaller and smaller each day.

It started off so well - with a pretty solid breakfast of omelette, manchego cheese and spelt roll. A bit anaemic but hey... Because it's Viva Mayr you're supposed to eat in silence (so you're mindful of what you're eating) and you are supposed to chew each mouthful as many times as possible (the aim is 40 chews per mouthful). Why? Because digestion begins in the mouth so you need to unleash as much saliva as possible. And also because this can be the last opportunity for certain cell membranes to be broken down. Don't chew your peas properly and they will just pass through more or less undigested.

Here's lunch...a small (very small) bowl of soup, a jaw-breaking buckwheat roll and two slivers of Camembert. Curiously, the Mayr Cure includes dairy produce and even red meat on its cure. So, fine, if a tad bland. And not exactly a colourful plate, eh?

And for supper? Mayr firmly holds to the principle that you don't eat much in the evening. So supper kicks off at 5pm (and the kitchen closes up at 6.30pm) and, in my case, consisted of herbal tea and, er...no, not dog biscuits...or even dog turds...but soy bread.

Which was all well and good until Dr Fegerl tested me for food intolerances and wiped out eggs, cheese and yoghurt. So, given I don't eat meat and fish...my choices were getting more and more limited, and more and more bland.

And, after that...well...it got a bit pale...

And paler...

And the palest.

Forget the Paleo Diet...this is the Pale, Paler, Palest Diet. Yummy.

I did feel pretty grim during most of my week at Viva Mayr. But then, it was only a week, and one is supposed to take the 'cure' for two or, preferably, three weeks. Over the last couple of days, however, since I've been home, I have been feeling much better. I'm continuing with the dietary programme and finding it an interesting process.

It's totally different from most detox programmes on offer. Forget juicing and raw vegan regimes, the Mayr doctors believe firmly that cold raw food is tough on the digestion. Their principles revolve mainly around getting the right acid/alkaline balance in the body and not stressing the gut with problematic foods and food combinations. At a Mayr clinic you will usually be tested for food intolerances, either via conventional lab tests or by the less conventional kinesiology (muscle testing).

They don't advocate lifetime exclusion diets. Often a short break from difficult foods allows the gut time to sort itself out (to use a highly technical term) and you can reintroduce the food later with no problems.

Anyhow. There are a few general rules and regulations which seem to hold good for pretty well everyone so I thought I'd share them. The proof of the pudding is in the eating, so to speak, so if they do speak to you, then try 'em out. Nothing to lose and potentially a lot to gain.

1. Keep cold liquids separate from mealtimes. There are no carafes of water on the table at Viva Mayr as water is thought to dilute the digestive juices. You're asked not to drink for half an hour before mealtimes, and for 60-90 minutes afterwards. Curiously, the odd glass of wine with a meal is fine - but not the whole bottle! Ideally 'eat' your wine with a teaspoon.

2. Always eat at a table, without any distractions. So, no reading, no television watching, no working at your desk, no browsing Twitter, no conversation even. Focus on your food and be mindful.

3. Smell your food before you eat. Your brain will recognise what you're about to eat and will signal to your digestive system to fire up the right enzymes and acids required to deal with the incoming load.

4. Chew. And chew and chew and chew. The more you chew your food, the more you make it easily digestible. Digestion begins in the mouth, remember, with saliva. The mouth can also be the last chance for some foods (vegetables in particular) to have their outer skin broken, allowing essential nutrients to be absorbed by the digestive tract. If you don't chew, you risk losing out on vital nutrients and micronutrients. You can also end up feeding the bacteria in your colon, producing gas. If you eat meat, then chewing is particularly important - if you're eating steak you should aim for 50 chews per mouthful. Yup, you read that right.

5. Raw food is fine - providing you chew properly. However Viva Mayr has the rule 'nothing raw after four (pm)' - as your digestive powers start lessening after that time and could cause food to sit around undigested overnight, powering up the gassy bacterial brigade.

6. Smoothies are fine - in small doses. They are full of good things but tend not to have enough enzymes for easy digestion. Have one small cup at lunch, if you like, but 'eat' it with a spoon very slowly (as for wine). Eat fruit in the same way - slowly and well chewed.

7. Don't snack in between meals. Instead use mid-morning and mid-afternoon as times to take water and plenty of it.

8. Make breakfast the largest meal of the day, lunch reasonable and supper very small and light. Eat your supper as early as possible - at Viva Mayr dinner kicked off at 5pm. A small bowl of soup is ideal. Or a dish of potatoes drizzled with linseed or hempseed oil (Viva Mayr loves potatoes for their alkalising effect).

9. As far as possible, practice food combining. So eat carbohydrate with vegetables, or protein with vegetables, but try to avoid mixing protein and carbohydrate at the same meal. Though, to be fair, they seemed to mix them up a fair bit at Viva Mayr.

10. One small cup of decent coffee a day is fine - ideally at breakfast. Then switch to herbal teas.

I was on a very strict diet at the clinic and, as you'll have seen, my meals were very bland and pretty uninspiring. But it doesn't need to be that draconian. As we left, we were given copies of the newly published Eat Alkaline: The Viva- Mayr- Principle

by Harald Stossier and Emanuela Fischer

Although it does go in to some of the philosophy behind the Viva diet, it's primarily a cookbook and a rather inspiring one too, packed with nice looking recipes, divided into the four seasons. So, we're talking about things like Early Potato Strudel with Fresh Spinach.

Millet Wraps with Artichoke Dip...

Moist Poppyseed Cake with Warm Raspberry Sauce

In case you're wondering, yes, there are fish and meat recipes too, though Viva Mayr suggest you eat them just two or three times a week.
The meat-adoring, 'health food' abhorrent husband sniffed when he saw the book but when he started flicking through he had to admit that a lot of it looked 'rather good.'

Click the pic for a link

What I should have had instead of wine and chocolate!

So I went down the pub. Had a glass of red wine. So far, so not so bad. Cos, see, the Viva Mayr regime doesn't exclude the odd glass of wine. However, of course, I didn't stop at the one. I had another. And then I went home and, before I knew it, I was sitting watching Poldark with my paw in the bag of mini eggs I'd bought for James. Okay, let's step back there - I had metered out a small bowl of them, saving the majority for James but, well, you know how it goes...
Or do you?
According to a book I read lately for research, we all tend to fall into one of two camps - we're moderators or abstainers.
Gretchen Rubin, author of Better Than Before: Mastering the Habits of Our Everyday Lives

says, 'We're often told, ‘Be moderate. Don’t indulge every day, but don’t deny yourself altogether because, if you do, you’ll fall even further off the wagon.’

You know the deal - it's behind the whole 80:20 eating idea - if you eat healthily 80 percent of the time, it's fine to indulge for the other 20 percent. Except...it just doesn't work for everyone. It certainly doesn't work for me. I'm an all or nothing person. I've tried moderation - again and again - and I come up short every time.

I actually find it much easier to give up something altogether than to just dabble in it. I'd rather fast than diet; I'd rather wreck myself with four hours exercise a day than do a sensible hour three times a week. Maybe that's part and parcel of having an addictive personality?
Anyhow, with Gretchen, I found a kindred spirit. 'I realized that one way to deprive myself without creating a feeling of deprivation is to deprive myself totally,' she says. 'Weirdly, when I deprive myself altogether, I feel as though I haven’t deprived myself at all.' And I nodded in total agreement.

Remember back when I stopped drinking alcohol altogether? I didn't miss it at all. Easy-peasy, lemon squeezy. Now I drink it occasionally, I find that I really can't just drink the one glass, I'll scarf the bottle (and then look winningly at a second). So that makes me one of life's Abstainers apparently. 'When we Abstainers deprive ourselves totally, we conserve energy and will-power,' says Gretchen. 'Because there are no decisions to make and no self-control to muster.'

According to her research, we fall into either the Abstainer camp - those who do better when they follow all-or-nothing habits - or the Moderator camp - those who do better when they indulge - yup, moderately.

How to tell? Could you put a large bar of chocolate in your fridge and eat one square every day? Or have one glass of wine and pop the cork back in the bottle without the barest urge to neck the lot? (feel free to substitute your favourite temptation here). This is the point at which the Moderators shrug and go, 'Duh! Of course I could. Who couldn't?' This is also the point at which the Abstainers snort with laughter and go, 'Duh! Don't be an effing numpty!'

Gretchen reckons that the less we indulge in something, the less we want it. 'When we believe that a craving will remain unsatisfied, it may diminish; cravings are more provoked by possibility than by denial,' she says, and then quotes William James: ‘It is surprising how soon a desire will die of inanition if it be never fed.’

inanition

[in′ənish′ən]

Etymology: L, inanis, empty

1 an exhausted condition resulting from lack of food and water or a defect in assimilation; starvation.

2 a state of lethargy characterized by a loss of vitality or vigor in all aspects of social, moral, and intellectual life.

And then she quotes Samael Johnson: ‘I can’t drink a little, child; therefore I never touch it. Abstinence is as easy to me, as temperance would be difficult’.

Have I wrecked my Viva Mayr Cure? Probably not, but I know myself well enough to realise that I've probably sewn the seeds for last week's good foundations slipping away. For what? For a glass of wine and a bag of sugar? Pretty dumb, huh?

Anyway, the book is great - a real eye-opener. If you are interested in what makes you tick, and why you find it nigh-on impossible to make healthy habits, or to ditch the unhealthy ones, I'd highly recommend it. Click on the cover below to check it out.

Now, I don't do Lent. I just don't. But it's been making me wonder about what (or whom or when or where) we give up, and how, and why.
It ties in very neatly with this book about habits I've been reading.
Better Than Before: Mastering the Habits of Our Everyday Lives

It's not just about learning how to get healthier habits in your life; it makes you ask curious questions about yourself.

For example:

Are you a simplicity lover or an abundance lover?
Do you want to feel empty or to feel full?
Do you want less or more? To shed or to acquire?
Are you a finisher or an opener?

Works for me, but maybe not for you?

I've never really thought about it before but I'm definitely Team Empty. I love how I feel when I fast. I endlessly strive (and fail) to have a clean, clear environment around me. I actively enjoy shedding things - be it pounds or possessions. At which point I pause and ponder...and people? Nice bit of plosive alliteration there, huh? Should I shed that too? Has anyone given up someone for Lent, I wonder? Isn't that a curious thought?

I hate half-finished things. I get satisfaction from emptying the last morsel from the pot (be it face cream or peanut butter) and getting rid of it. I like new things, of course I do - but I will never be a proper shopper. I just don't get a thrill from bags of new stuff. Every time I buy something new, I find my mind worrying about what I can shed in order to make space. And people? Some souls can endlessly gather friends but I have a limit on how many I can have in my life without feeling overwhelmed. It's quite a small limit too.

I think I've said it before but one of the happiest times in my life was when I had pretty well no possessions - just a small suitcase with a small amount of clothes. I lived in a room on a cliff, overlooking the Atlantic on the east coast of the USA, and it was heaven. I borrowed books; I listened to other people's music, I used a car and a bike when I needed them but they weren't mine. I knew nobody.

I am bewildered by choice, baffled by long menus, brutalised by browsing television or Internet, bruised by crowds.

If you are an abundance lover this will doubtless horrify you. You will always want more, not less. Be hooked on bustle and busyness, not silence and serenity. You will love plunging into something new and doubtless will have several things open and ongoing at the same time, be it jars of peanut butter (yes, it's a preoccupation) or projects. I twitch if I see two packets of the same thing open in the kitchen cupboard and my mind goes into meltdown if you throw too many large projects at me all at once. I hate parties.

I'm not saying I'm right and you're wrong. How could I? We're just different. I just wonder, why is it that we have these differences? From where do they stem? I doubt it matters but still...

What do you give up? When do you give up? Why do you give up? Or do you just give in? Tell me.

When I was at VIVAMAYR I met a wonderful woman called Carla. We bonded over breakfast, bowels and barren nights of zero sleep. Look, I'm sorry about all this alliteration which is plaguing my posts of plate - I just can't seem to help myself. Anyhow, it turned out we also shared a love of Latin, catholic tastes in literature and the capacity to read very fast. We squabbled (politely) over Snowdrops

and she passed on Dear Thief

. Now, she didn't like it but, while I wouldn't say it's the kind of book I would press urgently into everyone's life, there were moments at which I found myself pausing and, if not nodding, then at least furrowing my brow slightly.

I have stopped marking books these days. In the past I would underline and circle; I would scribble notes and thrust exclamation or questions marks in margins. That was when I kept books. Nowadays I pass them on and it seems rude, verging on callous, to force my mind on future readers. So now I just tuck over the tiniest of corners at pages which make me pause. Come the end of the book, I look back to see what caught my mind. Often I find it hard to remember why I found the passage so telling at the time; sometimes I can't even remember which sentences even flirted with me. And then again, frequently in the re-reading, what once felt so 'aha!' now strikes me as banal. Anyhow, my overturnings for Dear Thief? Just four.

'Life is short. Life shoots you a lethal dose of time. Time is a drug that wears off. You seem to stare at me from under that crooked fringe as if to say, You brought this up. Or worse, as if to say: Put your pen down, my friend, forget it; I will never be sorry. I was trying to save myself; I failed, but at least I had the dignity to want to be saved. More fool you, if you don't want to save yourself too.'

'The greatest tyranny of all is men's possession of women and women's possession of men. We want to own one another so that the other cannot outgrow us. You know how Chinese women bind their feet until the feet are deformed? This is what we do to one another's hearts.'

'It was a betrayal to share space, to blunder into the other's space; if we really knew one another, loved and understood one another, we would not. It is only when I think of it now that I can see the peculiar premise of that game, that intimacy is a form of distance, that you become sharply aware of the other's existence only in order to avoid it.'

'Do you remember? A stranger came up and declared his love for you, and you kindly corrected his grammar. You saw his embarrassment and you took his hand so that you could draw him down to the grass, with the care of someone handling an animal that is dependent on them - and you gave him an impromptu lesson on the definite article and abstract nouns.'

Will I remember this book in a year, a month, a week? Probably not. I opened my Kindle this morning to read something I had downloaded a while back. There was something familiar about the opening paragraph but I carried on. Then, a page in, I realised...I'd read it before.
I used to read books that had so profound an effect that I remembered them for decades. Was it just that my younger mind was emptier, more fertile ground for others' thoughts? Then I read to learn, to expand, to explore - now I read for distraction.

I was looking for images for this post and came across a post that said that Dear Thief is on the longlist for the Bailey's Women's Prize for Literature. I scrolled down and realised I'd read two of the other contenders, The Bees

and Station Eleven

I seem to recall they were good reads, if a tad bleak.

So I have found a new pile of distractions.

Amazon.co.uk Widgets

So. Sometimes when I feel low, lost, alone, I take myself back in mind to places where I felt secure and serene. I know, I know - one should be able to feel secure and serene anywhere - for, really, it makes no difference where one is, does it? But still...

Yobaba Lounge was such a place. I'd love to take you there. It might not suit, of course - we are all different, we all have varying tastes, inclinations, desires. But, for me, it was a refuge for the mind; a temple of the body; a sanctuary for the soul. I knew, from the moment I got into Gertrud's campervan at the airport and she started driving to Chalabre, that here was a kindred spirit. One of my 'tribe'.

Anyhow. Today I am thinking of Yobaba. I am wandering its corridors in my mind, trailing my fingers over the wooden bannisters, stretching out on that fabulous bed and snuggling into the zebra-alike throw. I am curling up in a hammock, with a cat purring under my fingers. I am giving myself up to the floorboards in savasana surrender in the yoga shala up under the eaves, in the Kether of the chateau. I am floating, a pale starfish, primordial, on the lake.
If I were there now I might even be walking the labyrinth Gertud has sliced into the lawn...

Are my tastebuds tingling? Well, I don't usually get too exhilarated about food but for Gertrud's raw alchemy I make an exception. Can you really make a raw vegan sugar-free hot cross bun? More to the point, one that tastes good? Gertrud did. Follow this link for her recipe.

And, if you want to read more about her house in France and its range of retreats, I wrote a full report for Queen of Retreats - read it here.

Oh, and if you fancy finding out more about my thoughts on the issue of 'home', you could always read my book Spirit of the Home. Click on the cover for more.

So, my piece on Poland finally appeared in the Mail, nine months after I wrote it. A good gestation, eh? Take a look here.

These things always tend to get cut and spliced, squashed and squished into the available space - much like most things really. So, in case you're interested, here's a longer version.

'Evening diving in the ancient glacial waters of Wigry lake. It's the third biggest lake in Poland, but it has the longest and most winding shoreline. Actually, 'wigry' means 'winding' in the language of the Yotvingian tribes, who used to live here thousands of years ago. The depths of the lake exceed 70 metres. Its abyss is like a universe. So is the inside of a quark. Vast, empty space flashed across with impulses travelling at the speed of light in all possible (and impossible) directions. Many at a time. Electric lake eels...'

A passage from Symphonic Bridgesa book I first read almost five years ago, the one that launched me on my meditation/fasting/spiritual rejuvenation malarkey. Wigry Lake wound through the book and it intrigued me. So then last year its author, Marek and muse/soul-mate Malgosia invited us all out to visit. Adrian couldn't come so it ended up as just James and I. And it was magic. It really was.

The Wigry National Park (Wigierski Park Narodowy), nestles right up against the Lithuanian border. It’s the furthest outreach of the Masurian Lakes (Poland’s Lake District) and the most sparsely populated. We fly into Kaunas, in Lithuania and, as we drive south-west, my heart sinks. The countryside is flat and boring, the road straight and monotonous. Yet, almost the moment we cross the border into Poland, everything changes. The roads shrink and start wriggling around perky hills and Fuzzy Felt farms and woods. Then the trees become denser and, every so often, we spot a glint of water. We’ve reached the lake.

Our base is an unassuming but pristinely clean hotel right on the Wigry lakeshore. The National Park snuggles all around, primeval forest and waterways that are home to otter and beaver, wolf and elk. It may be unspoiled but it’s exceedingly well set-up for outdoorsy pursuits. The hotel rents out mountain bikes and Nordic walking poles and you could cycle or hike for days around the well-marked and maintained trails. Or you can take to the water. Whichever way you turn there’s another beach, another jetty, another twisting corner of Wigry: the name means ‘winding’ in the language of the tribes who lived here thousands of years ago and it has the longest and most winding shoreline of all Poland’s lakes (yes, I nicked that bit). The water is so inviting it sits up and begs.

I’ve never been big on wild swimming but the water here almost cuddles you. ‘Are there sharks?’ James asks, as we float, our faces turned to the sun, the mildest current swaying us back towards the reeds. ‘Only cold water ones,’ Marek jokes and we all laugh as James scythes through the water back to shore. But as we peruse the menu on the wall of U Jawora, a lakeshore restaurant, monster pike with dagger teeth glare down from over the bar. I try to divert his attention with a debate over whether he should have pierogi (large ravioli) or fish. ‘I’m not eating one of those,’ he says firmly, glancing upwards. You can’t con a teen.

The food here is solid, verging on stolid, big piles of comfort stacked high and priced low, way down low. Kartacze (potato dumplings stuffed with meat) or pierogi stuffed with potato and cottage cheese each weigh in at a lightweight £3. A thick bowl of creamy beetroot soup served with a hearty side of potatoes (rather than bread) strains to reach £2.

We need the calories with the amount of exercise we’re notching up. We cycle through the forest, keeping a hopeful eye out for wildlife but we’re too noisy, what with our clanking gears and my muffled grunts as I hit yet another tree root. For the umpteenth time, I wish I were wearing padded cycle shorts like Malgosia.

The area has a time-slip rustic feel – it’s hard to pin it down but I’m put in mind of 1950s Americana, Yogi Bear style. In fact it’s all so darn wholesome that, as we sit by yet another pristine lake, watching the sun dip down to the water, I find myself singing old girl guide campfire songs as James takes another swim (thoughts of killer pike clearly forgotten). The place has somehow transported me back to my own teens, to a time when holidays didn’t need to be sophisticated or expensive; when fun came from the simplest of pleasures.

And yes, I got to hear this - an all-time favourite song - live, by the campfire.

‘You know what? I’ve loved this holiday,’ says James, as we sit for the last time on the hotel jetty, sharing a bar of chocolate and watching the stars. He looks slightly bemused but I can’t argue.
'Me too,’ I reply. ‘Me too.’

See the Mail piece for details of where we stayed.
And, if you click on the cover below, you can buy the book and read the rest of the M&M story.

Kindness. I like kindness. Simple kindnesses smack me in the heart, bowl me over, make me cry.
I came back home from a funeral at the weekend. I'd crashed face first into my past and it had brought me up short. I also crashed, quite literally, into the closing doors of a tube train and consequently now have two bruises running the lengths of both arms and a freshly re-torn rotator cuff. I hurt.

'There's a parcel on your desk,' Adrian said. And so there was. A long white box with tissue paper hiding lots of little boxes and bags. I fell on it like a small child at Christmas and uncovered the most deliciously divine care package of gorgeous things. Perricone foundation (I’ll report back); the perfect nude lipstick (Clinique Matte Suede, if you’re wondering) and the perfect nail varnish to give a subtle shimmer to stress-bitten nails (Estee Lauder Blushing Lilac). It didn’t end there. As I snuffled down the parcel, all other kinds of lovelies tumbled out, including some of my very favourite natural brands (Dr Hauschka, Annee de Mamiel). And ooooooh… But wait…let me backtrack and explain how I became the recipient of such a cornucopia of cosmetic riches.

Back in Austria, at VIVAMAYR I met Sasha Wilkins, aka Liberty London Girl. She introduced herself as a blogger but that's somewhat like Mo Farah saying, 'I run a bit'. Sasha is a Queen of Dragons who commands legions of Unsullied (oops, sorry, bit over-excited about Game of Thrones starting again). I mean she’s a digital journalist, ex- Wall Street Journal, ex-Vogue (and many others) and a full-on TV bod but, since 2009, she has been running her own digital seven kingdoms of LLG Media.

Way cuter than Daenerys, dontcha think?

This woman doesn’t just do digital, she IS digital – she rocks social media with her blog,Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, YouTube, Pinterest (click on the links - you can lose yourself in recipes, nice things and legions of dogs for hours). She has a digital media consultancy business LLG Consults, Wilkins & Ross, a digital film production company, and…and…and…and…so on it goes. But what you really need to know is that she loves sausage dogs and she is a damn nice person. Kind.

I’d asked her about foundation (as you do when trying to take your mind off chewing an endless spelt roll) and she’d recommended Perricone No Foundation Foundation. I’d said how rubbish I was at make-up and that I really needed to up my game. We talked a bit about various brands and then someone wandered past and sniffed the air and asked who was wearing that absolutely gorgeous scent. I naturally assumed it would be Sasha but no, it was me – squeezing the last gasp out of a sample bottle of Diptyque’s L’Ombre Dans l’Eau. Seriously, how could anyone resist a scent called the Shadow in the Water? It’s gorgeous, utterly gorgeous – warm and yet crisp at the same time. Like the grown-up sophisticated sister of another old favourite, Jo Malone’s Lime Basil Mandarin.

Anyhow, back to my parcel. Yes, she’d sent it. Not just enough face and body stuff to make me look almost presentable, but also…a whole coffret of Diptyque samples.

I was quite overcome and, yes, I found myself snuffling a bit (rather like a sausage dog actually). Because it wasn’t so much that this was a box of serious loveliness but that everything had been picked out with such care and thought. It was kind, damn kind. And, like I say, that makes me cry.

How gorgeous is Lettice? Pic (c) Sasha Wilkins

Anyhow. If you haven’t already made the acquaintance of LLG - you really should. I have huge admiration for her because she made the decision to wave goodbye to the corporate nonsense of mainstream media in which advertising and editorial are so incestuous they need therapy and a social worker. She now writes about the things she loves, the things that interest her, on her own terms – so that includes a lot of fashion and beauty but also flowers and food. Not to mention sausage dogs. Just check out the pics of Lovely Lettice, a dog with a great line in photogenic stares and her own ramp onto the bed. She’s also extremely ethical and very honest. That’s Sasha, btw, not Lettice (although, who knows, maybe she’s an honest and ethical dachshund – why not?). My second dog was a dachshund, btw, but that's another story.

Oh, and she (Sasha, not Lettice - I really shouldn't have started confusing things with Lettice) has recently published her first cookbook, Friends, Food, Family– so if you like uncomplicated recipes, bursting with flavour and served with flare, check it out. Click on the pic below for more details.

So, there's the thing. Meeting Sasha Wilkins (see previous post) really made me feel like a right numpty. It opened my eyes to what I should have been doing for the longest of times, gave me a kick up the arse and, yes (let's be honest), made me madly envious. It's not that I want to race around doing everything Sasha does (I'm way too lazy) or (don't laugh) be a digital media guru but I'd like to be a bit...tidier.

My website is so ancient, it would probably merit a place in the museum of website-building. My blog is about as basic as it's possible to get. I did get as far as buying a new template for my WordPress blog but then flailed around helplessly and made it look even worse than before.

What? You want to see my shame? Well, you're already here but, trust me, this is the best bit.
My WordPress blog is here: Jane Alexander
And - *wince* - here's my website: Jane Alexander

Now you've finished slapping your thighs in mirth, let's get down to business. I really need to pull it all together, don't I? Have one decent on-line presence. I have shedloads of content - literally thousands of features and book excerpts that I could put out there. But how? Biggest problem is that I just don't have a lot of dosh to spend on a fancy web design. Come to that, I don't really want a fancy web design - I want something that I can update myself easily, quickly, efficiently. But I also want it to look good. No, scratch that, I want it to look great.

WordPress is the way to go, right? A magazine format that looks clean and clear and can pull together all my features, (hopefully) sell my books, and have a nice corner for my blog ramblings too. If it could make a bit of money via affiliate links or advertising, so much the better. I'd also love to feature some great photography so if any of your snappers out there would be up for my sharing your images (suitably labelled and linked of course), do get in touch.

Your thoughts? Any brilliant WordPress fixers you know who have a strong philanthropic bent? My brother has been nagging me about this and I have promised I will get a bit more savvy. Find people, he said. Ask them how much they charge and ask to see samples of their work, he said. In fact, he said, send me samples of their work (see, he knows how web-rubbish I am!)

I also need a name for it - something that pulls together my interest in natural health, manic fitness, yoga, psychology, spirituality, travel, books, music, nature, mythology, dodgy humour, crap TV, love, friendship and pseudo beagles. Something that would sound good before 'dot com' cos being an org of one is a bit embarrassing. Help me out? Best answer gets a prophecy from the Beagle Oracle (remember that?) :-)

James has been studying hard for his GCSEs. I've been keeping my nose pressed to the screen of my PC trying to work. So, come evening, we like to veg out in front of something on the box. Okay, so we should probably be doing something more meaningful, like creating mosaics or meditating but hey...

I'm not mad on zombies but he lured me into watching The Walking Dead and we spent many happy evenings huddled under the snuggly throw. Little rituals... shouting 'Away with you!' over the opening credits; singing along with the theme tune at the end waving our hands in suitable zombie fashion; seeing who could make the other jump at some unspecified moment in the middle of the show; muttering 'He's so dead'. You know the kind of thing.

Now we have Game of Thrones of course, which is totally excellent. One of those cases where the TV series is actually better than the books. I'm waiting for Arya (my favourite) to start her assassin training (as you do). James doesn't see the attraction - he just goes very quiet when Daenerys sulks onto the screen.

We part company on Geordie Shore. I've tried but I just sit there slack-jawed. So, last night, when he said he was looking forward to the TV slot, I winced. 'I'm not watching Geordie Shore,' I said. 'My eyes can't take it.'
'Noo,' he said. 'It's The Island.'

Have you seen this? They (the proverbial They) dump two bunches of people (one group is all-women, the other all-men) onto remote Pacific islands and let them get on with it. It sounds great in principle except these islands don't just have white sands and turquoise ocean, they also have dangerous rip-tides, tropical storms and a lot of poisonous wildlife. It's not just the snakes and scorpions, the stone-fish and the stingrays - even the vegetation is out to get them. Have you ever heard of the Death Apple? The clue's in the name, right?

Anyhow, we watched it and already they're getting on my nerves. This isn't like 10,000 BC (yes, we really do watch a lot of crap!) where they dumped people in Bulgaria in winter without even a knife between them.

This island is teeming with food - and yet they're all lying around limply starving. I harumph and mutter darkly.
'What's the matter with them?'
'Come on, Mum. Would you do any better?'
'Well, yes actually, I think I would.'
We launch into a debate about survival skills. James rolls his eyes. He knows what was coming. And, yes, I spent a large part of my teens building shelters in forests or pitching tents on the sides of mountains. I learnt how to track and trap, how to light a fire from nothing, how to keep (relatively) warm and dry.
'Be fair, Mum. They haven't had any training in that stuff.' Subtext: they weren't weirdo teenagers who skulked around the woods in their spare time.
But really, if you had even the faintest inkling, the slightest possibility that you were going to be left on an island to fend for yourself, wouldn't you at least learn how to fish? And if you were a resourceful vegetarian wouldn't you figure out which plants were edible? They've got yams, for pity's sake! And coconuts! And they're sharing out a roasted scorpion the size of a finger? Pitiful!

Of course, the biggest problem they have is not battling the elements or the animals, but each other. Some guy left the island purely because another guy pissed him off. Wha? Then the other one left. Humans, eh?

Anyhow, I'm wondering if the women will do any better. James says not - that they're in even worse shape than the guys. Which is enormously annoying really.

'Do you have any recipes for natural cosmetics in your books?' asked Frankie Sachs on Twitter.
The short answer is yes. The longer answer is, yes but not really enough to merit buying them purely on the basis of unguent recipes.
So I said I'd post a few here.

Why make your own stuff? Well, some people like that artisanal approach. When I was in my early twenties I used to spend hours buying raw ingredients from Neal's Yard (back when it was just a tiny little shop off the side streets of Covent Garden). It was good fun but the real beauty of home-made products is that you know exactly what is going into them. No chemical nasties. Because, as I'm sure you know, even products which promise, hand on heart, that they're 'natural', 'organic', 'pure' - often aren't.

They won’t keep as long as shop-bought products though so keep them in the fridge and use swiftly.

Here are some ideas from the Beauty Weekend from The Weekend Healer (available in Kindle version - click the cover). See how you get on.

LIGHT MOISTURISER (suitable for most skins)
10ml melted beeswax
45 ml wheatgerm oil
20ml boiled water, mineral water or rosewater
6 drops geranium essential oil (if your skin is very oily use bergamot instead)

1.Put the beeswax and oil into a small heat-resistant bowl and place in a bain-marie containing boiling water.
2.Stir thoroughly and remove the bowl from the pot.
3.Now slowly add the water into the warm oils, stirring all the time until the cream thickens and cools.
4.Add the essential oil.
5.Pour into a clean (boiled) jar and refrigerate.

RICH BODY CREAM
15ml beeswax
20ml almond oil
20ml grapeseed oil
5ml wheatgerm oil
20 ml rosewater or mineral water with 5 drops of cider vinegar added
6 drops essential oil (your choice from cypress, fennel, juniper, mandarin, neroli)

1.Melt the beeswax and pour into a small, heat-resistant bowl.
2.Add the grapeseed and wheatgerm oils, and place the bowl in a pot of simmering water until the oils are blended and warm.
3.Remove the bowl from the pot and slowly add the water, stirring thoroughly all the time until the cream thickens and cools.
4.Add your choice of essential oils. Pour the cream into a clean (boiled) jar. Store in the fridge and use within a month.

FOOT SOAK
Feet often get neglected. Soak your feet for 15-20 minutes in a large bowl of warm water containing the following: 15ml sea salt, 3 drops almond oil, 2-6 drops peppermint or patchouli oil.

While you’re soaking, give your hands a treat. Soak them in warm water for about five minutes. Then massage them with a mixture of 10ml of wheatgerm germ oil, 5ml of wild honey and five drops of lavender oil. Use small circling movements. Push back your cuticles and massage your nails with the mixture.

Image: Andrea Hübner

EVENING RITUAL
Give your face, hair and body a soothing treat.

1. Mix up a luxurious hair treatment.
•Mix together two egg yolks, one tablespoon of almond oil and a drop of tangerine essential oil.
•Moisten your hair slightly and then massage the mixture into your scalp and hair.
•Wrap your head in a plastic bag and then a towel over the top (to add some heat). Keep this on throughout the following steam and bath.

2. Steam. Add two or three drops of geranium oil to a bowl of just boiled water. Put a large towel over your entire head and over the bowl, keeping your face about eighteen inches away from the water. This steam will open the pores for deep cleansing. Stay under for about ten minutes if you can – but don’t become uncomfortable.

NOTE: do not steam if you have thread veins, if you are asthmatic or suffer from a heart condition.

3. Make a cherry mask with fresh cherries (if available). Crush them into a slushy paste and put all over your neck and face.

4. Next pour a hot bath. Add four drops of fennel oils to a cup of milk and agitate to mix. Now add to the bath. Soak for about twenty minutes. Drink a cup of green tea while in the bath.

5. Pat off the cherry mask. Finally unwrap your hair and wash.

Have an early night. Beautiful dreams!

Let me know if you try these and find they work (or not)? And let me know if you want me to post up some recipes from my ayurvedic book, Live Well.

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