OR, TRYING TO KEEP SANE WHILE WAITING ON MY MOVE.!
I’m still waiting, and we all know how I hate waiting.
Been nearly two months since returning from Turkiye’s beautiful mountains. Easter, Ramadam and Idh had to be got through in my eternal endeavour with the long slow machinations of red tape.
My seeds should have gone in and I should be half-through rebuilding but one person’s cock-up has ground it all to a halt.
On Monday I got out of bed and cut my bloody hair. Swore I wouldn’t cut it until my move had gone through. This was clearly a bad idea. I looked like I had a mullet and my hair was, well, heavy. Chop chop and that was sorted. Next was to paint over the writing on the back of my favourite shirt. I had already done it once but forgot to seal it with an iron and washed most of the design off with the bloody letters staying firmly in place. So I got to it and was very pleased with my Boho look along with a neat short ponytail.
So, when I saw blue skies this morning I knew I had to run up to Hyde Park and have my breakfast under a tree, gazing at nature and enjoying it before the ubiquitous chemtrails dimmed the sun and cloud was over us as usual.
I cut up some fruit and bunged it in a half-eaten natural yoghurt along with seeds and honey, grabbed my copper water flask from the fridge and raced out the door. I knew I was cutting it fine as it was already nearly nine but I was determined to get into London’s magnificent bit of green before the sun was stolen from me. It’s all about the early bird now. I really should have been there for early doors at eight, but I’d finally snatched some sleep after waking three times in the night.
It was worth it, it was beautiful. The wild part of Hyde Park is very special as few people walk across it preferring the footpaths like good sheep. The darling buds of May on their many blossom trees make it pretty as a picture. In the shady parts, the vibrant green of new shoots soothes the soul. It’s a magical fairyland for just a short part of my walk with dew between my toes and birdsong lifting my heart.
I practised walking backwards up and down a gentle incline where daises were abundant. This exercise is good for balance and my poor old knees ligaments and muscles. With that out of the way, I sought a tree that would be just right, not too dense to allow the morning sunlight through its majestic boughs, but not too well used, not too suspiciously dog friendly if you know what. A magic tree was just right for me, and I found it. I unpacked my modest breakfast and leaning on the huge plane tree trunk gazed towards the sun while eating. Grateful to be alive in the short time I knew I had with the sun. Along the bank of the Serpentine the Royal Horseguard was doing its morning routine with a lot of shouting of commands and rest dust rising from the splendid mounts trotting along the clay passway. I was very glad I wasn’t feeding the ducks there for the billowing red cloud of dust looked choking.
After licking my spoon of residual honey I started on some Qigong and yoga stretches and breathing. My knee and foot quickly seize up if I don’t push myself a little most days. I realised how tight my calf muscles were when I started my ground exercises. Ouch, bloody ouch. Looking more like an overturned spider rather than a taut well-oiled machine, I gradually loosened my rusty joints and muscles. It was so lovely gazing up at the blue sky through the branches of this noble tree, I nearly forgot the likelihood of lying on some creature’s urine, however, I was grounding myself properly without my yoga mat. Laying on the grass with nothing between me and Mother Earth except a cotton T-shirt and shorts was really connecting to the natural electricity and replenishing my poor body.
Then came the planes and the chemtrails and then came the clouds and a bitingly cold wind. It was time to go home.
At the weekend, however, I would be rewarded with two boiling-hot days with clear skies, it would seem they took two days off from their geoengineering madness and I got myself a suntan and vitamin D top-up.
I spent all the time on my little terrace finishing the hand-sewing of my flowery cotton skirts that I had run up on my hardy old sewing machine. I made homemade lemonade with mint and stuck with my booze and fags abstinence, I felt wholesome and virtuous and listened to Zen music. I planted seeds and made chilled spinach soup with the last of my pulled spinach plants that had run to seed. This was the life in my rather limited conditions in Central London. I felt giddy with virtue and love for life. I was replenishing my body on a cellular level.
I’m glad I squeezed in the two blissful days on the terrace, for the Bank Holiday Monday would see the return of the planes and the downpour of chemicals and thick clouds. You indeed need to seize the moment these days.
As I write this I can see my last ten days have been very productive. I have been making the most out of this spare time and have caught up on all the half-finished projects that I have kicked to the kerb and hidden in dark corners awaiting my return to them.
I finished two stone sculptures by biting the bullet and staining their beautiful white pristine surfaces with natural pigments which means you can finally see the details in them. Out came my sewing machine and basket of sad ill-thought-through clothing experiments all of which are now lovely cotton garments for Turkiye. I cut and coloured my hair. Helped my friend with his No Corruption Alliance leaflet and logo. Filed all the random and loose paperwork. Made a steady stream of fiery gingernuts to help me through the ordeal of properly cleaning and sorting all of my apartment until my headquarters of mess is confined to the kitchen. Went on missions to local libraries to obtain a large quantity of books both fiction and how-to books. I designed a flower pattern for the back of my favourite white shirt with freshly discovered fabric crayons from my newly organised arts cupboard. Resealed the bathroom tiles and freshened up the flower design on the floor.
I revisited Hampstead Heath too and went to newly found organic shops and my lovely farmers market thus replenishing my depleted larder. My genetic activity knew no bounds. I had finally acknowledged my slovenly attitude and finished doing what had needed doing for years. I even repainted canvases left out on the terrace while I was also cleaning there. sorted my annual boiler inspection and challenged (successfully) my bloated and distorted bill over the phone reading my meter readings to the chap as he busily and I must say very helpfully rectified all the shit.
Now I can say that I am finally clear of all clutter both mentally and physically and well on my way to getting over to my Utopia, guilt-free and ready to tackle the huge amount of work there on my own, as usual, travelling solo
(Oh, and made a long-awaited tea cosy!)
Old Bird Travels Solo! 