China to Italy and back again.

Bereft of funds, I've taken a weeks holiday and decided to immerse myself in a few creative projects, making the best use of my imagination to picture that my kitchen in North London is actually somewhere blissful, like a yoga retreat in Spain, or a remote island in Fiji.

I was sure that if I stretched my creative limits far enough, I could feel the warm sun on my back and the cool breeze in my hair, and that the pizza I bought from Budgens would taste as though it had been freshly baked in a wood-fired oven in, oo, Verona.

Not all great plans come to fruition. For a start, last weeks blazing sunshine and midsummer temperatures have faded in to grey skies and freezing cold winds. Added to this, my flatmate not only works from home, but this week has been struck down with flu and on her own admission is transforming the atmosphere of the flat in to that of an old people's home. An old people's home for the very elderly. And the very sick.

So what better action to take than to get out of the house, abandon my creative projects, and head in to town for a relaxing massage? What could be better than an hour of having my knots gently eased out whilst dozing face down on a plump treatment couch, surrounded by candles, low lights, soft towels and gentle music, with the scent of aromatic oils teasing me in to a stupor?

I found a deal through KGBDeals, offering the choice of an hour's reflexology session with a ten minute foot bath, or an hour's relaxing aromatherapy massage followed by a ten minute hot cupping session. I booked the appointment. Game On.

Half an hour before I was due to leave the house, I searched for the exact location on Google maps. And I found a single solitary review of the salon. Let's just say that it wasn't a very positive review. Something about finding a pubic hair on the towel, and the place being very grotty. And the massage being rubbish. I read the name of the salon again. It was a Chinese Medicine shop.

And all of a sudden I knew exactly what I was letting myself in for. This wasn't going to be the relaxing experience I had in my mind when I bought the deal.

Then again..... as an exercise reminiscent of my travelling days, it might just be perfect. I caught the train.

I arrived 20 minutes early and decided to take a look around. Next door I discovered an Italian Gelato shop called Scoop. They also did coffee, so I ordered a latte and sat down to drink it, jokingly chastising a guy sitting at the table next to me with his laptop, who wasn't drinking any coffee or eating any ice cream.

"I make the ice cream" he said.

Now this sounds like my kind of man. Not only did he make the ice cream, he also owned three shops full of ice cream. And the latte I was drinking was so incredibly creamy - was there ice cream in this too? Surely this was a million calorie latte?

We chatted for a while. I promised to return for ice cream. If it tasted anything like the latte (he assured me that his Gelato would hold its own in Italy) then I would be a fool not to.

I went next door for my appointment. I filled out the registration form, hesitating at the question "What symptoms do you have that has brought you here?"

I only wanted a relaxing massage.

I decided to tell them that I had a bit of back pain. Well, who doesn't.

"You need a treatment massage. It cost £10 extra."

"Thanks, but that's okay. I only want the relaxing massage today"

"Okay, but with treatment massage, you feel better"

Well, actually, sunshine, I've had numerous treatment massages and they leave bruises. Instantly I was transported back to my trip in South East Asia, where the masseurs spoke very little English and didn't seem to be able to either hear or understand the word "OWWWWWW!" no matter how loudly you said it. One young woman carried out Reflexology on my foot using a wooden dowel, and when I cried in pain she said "Yes, hurt now, feel better later!"

Well how about I feel better now, and don't hurt at all for the rest of the week?

When the form was completed and I had agreed on a Relaxing Massage Thank You, a very small Chinese woman took me downstairs and using her hands and raised eyebrows only, gestured that I should remove my clothes whilst she was out of the room. She spoke no English.

The room was a very bare treatment room. I was back in Laos. Except colder.

She returned when I had gingerly clambered on to the treatment couch. I say 'treatment couch' - it was actually more of a fortified pasting table, with an oval cut in one end for my face. Fearing that the damn thing might collapse at any minute, I tried not to neither breathe nor move.

And it turned out, she did speak a little English.

"You need treatment massage. You pay ten pound. Relaxing massage no good for you. You pay ten pound, you get treatment massage, you feel better".

*sigh*

After 5 minutes of holding my ground without making any sudden movements lest I end up on the floor (and required a whole different type of treatment), she relented and started to massage my back with Johnson's Baby Oil, using firm thumb strokes to pick out every knot along my back, and sighing as she twanged each one.

It wasn't the most relaxing of massages, it has to be said. At some point I realised that she thought that my spine ought to be located in the front of my body. But I comforted myself with the prospect of Italian Gelato and tried not to panic when she needlessly knelt on the side of the pasting table, making it creak and groan rather loudly. I also tried to ignore it when she sneezed.

After the massage I was lucky enough to receive a free consultation where I was told which vertebrae were out of alignment, and which of the treatments would fix them. They were trying to help. I wasn't asking for help. I was asking for a relaxing massage.

An hour and twenty minutes after entering Laos, I returned to Italy, and bought a waffle cone filled with the best tasting ice cream I have ever had.

If any of you were around Covent Garden yesterday afternoon, and saw a white woman with a sore back eating ice cream and making sex noises all the way to Leicester Square.. that was me.

Thank heavens I was on holiday - I would never do this in my own country....

I know, I know...

... Wait months for one blog post and then two come along at once.

Today at the office, the problem of me not being able to see my network drive was finally resolved by the IT systems manager. (you see I told you I was crap at computers).

He asked to have access to my computer for all of 10 minutes, and then disappeared back to his office. Five minutes later he returned, and asked me to shut down all my applications. Imagine my surprise when I closed down the last window expecting to see a serene image of the Chinese Kast mountains and found a full screen version of this staring back at me...

Got to love working in IT.

Why bother typing?

There are two things that I've had on my big long list of things to do, that I've finally got done.

The first being to set up my free view and TiVo box, and the second being to install Windows 7 on my computer and dictate into my machine using Dragon NaturallySpeaking software.

Setting up the free view box took next to no time and now the TV has a perfect picture. The TiVo box however, has never been much of a godsend. It is about to join the list of things that I have been wishing to sell on eBay which are now sitting in the kitchen and under the threat of being taken straight round to the charity shop.

Despite my fears, it didn't take long to plug the box in (show me a person who loves fiddling about with the wires behind the TV and I will report them to the authorities) however once the box was switched on and running through the guided setup I hit a minor snag.

The phone wouldn't dial.

Without the phone dialling I can't access any channels.

If I can't access any channels, I can't record every episode of "DIY SOS: The Big Build"

I'm screwed.

I fiddled with the Micro filter.

I fiddled with the cables.

I even fiddled with the remote.

I tested that the phone still worked.

And then I had to resort to Google.

The first thing I found on Google, were a few different phone numbers to try which offered a small ray of hope. The second thing I found on Google was the news that my box was now so old that it had been discontinued from service. Oh. Maybe not so encouraging.

I thought I would be heartbroken, but instead I'm slightly numb. Perhaps the shock hasn't yet set in. Or perhaps it has been so long since it worked that I've gone past the point of really caring.

I bought the box in 2005, and three months into using it my house was struck by lightning. And I still had 12 episodes of Roobarb and Custard Two left to watch. It is hard to recover from such a blow.

After finding a replacement box, a friend took both of them to perform the quick task of swapping out the hard drive. Fifteen months later after he had finished renovating his loft, he gave the box back to me. When I finally had the courage to tackle the wires, I discovered that the remote control had stopped working. When I finally located another remote control, it was time to leave my house and the TiVo had to go back in its box and into storage.

Some might say it just wasn't meant to be. Perhaps this is God's way of telling me that I watch way too much TV. Perhaps he doesn't approve of DIY SOS, big build or not.

The installation of Windows 7 onto my computer, however, has been slightly more successful. Probably, mainly due to the fact that it wasn't me that did it. And I work in IT. Shameful.

My Techie friend, Big Alv, came round last night and did the whole lot for me. And all for the price of a turkey casserole. Bargainwill stop

The other thing that he did was to help me install Dragon NaturallySpeaking. After testing out this software, I imagine that it's probably best not to train voice recognition software whilst suffering from a grumbling head cold with a croaky throat.

The other thing that I've discovered, if that even though I have a lot of things to say rattling around my head all the time, when it comes to actually dictating into the machine, the words just simply dry up and disappear.

This cannot be! How can I not be able to speak?

I think the issue lies in actually sitting and dictating rather than wandering round rambling away to myself as I normally do. Because that's when the best ideas come - when I'm off in another world doing something else.

However, apart from a few minor corrections, I've actually managed to dictate this entire blog post barely touching the keyboard. And that's with a croaky throat. Impressed, huh?

and just in time for winter too. If I really get the hang of this I can type up my blog post while sitting on my hands keeping my fingers nice and warm. Result.

Bert the Not-So-Silent Assassin

I hate cats. I really do. Cats make me itch. Cats make me sneeze. Cats make my eyes swell up so hideously that I have to hide in the house for days. And worst of all, Cats know all this and they seek me out.

Last week I went round to my sisters house whilst she was away, to pick up my printer. It was meant to be a quick trip: open front door, place printer in jumbo Ikea bag, leave house and struggle up to the high street to catch a bus.

Not the case. Bert was home. And he was hungry. And he was lonely. And he made a bee-line for my ankles, so I took pity on him and gave him a bit of fuss, at which point in the space of five minutes he had managed to writhe over just about every square inch of my clothing, sucked on my sleeves, chewed my watch strap, climbed on to the top of my head, chew my ear lobe for comfort (his way of saying Thank You - touching, but very itchy) and ground half a body's worth of cat hair through two layers of clothing.

Poor little Bert. So very cute. Such a tiny little cat. And so lonely whilst Mummy was away for the week. Clearly the neighbour coming round to make a fuss and feed him every day simply wasn't enough, and knowing that my sister would be away for just over three weeks with the same arrangement, I decided to step in.

More. Fool. Me.

The journey to bring him over wasn't too difficult, save for the fact that Bertie turned himself in to a starfish when it came to jamming him in to his pet carrier, and then yowled and mewed all the way up the road and throughout the entire bus journey (which thankfully wasn't very long).

He had a good look round the flat when we arrived, had a bit of a sniff round, had a bit of food, had a scratch on his scratching board, and then alternated between purring on my lap and having another foray in to the kitchen.

When I went to bed he was quite happy, curled up on the couch, no doubt subconsciously growing extra fine cat hairs to shed especially for me.

All was going well. Until 5:30 this morning.

yowl. me-yowl. yowl. meowl. meowl. yowl. yowl. yowl. yowl. yowl.

I buried my head under my pillow and thought "Oh sod off, Bert", grateful that the bedroom door was closed, grateful that I was pretty good at sleeping through anything at 5:30 in the morning.

yowl. yowl. yowl. meyowl. me yowl. yowl. yowl. meow. meow. yowl. yowl.

Crunch.

Crunch? I raised my head from the pillow.

Panic in the streets! Fire in the hole! Bedroom security breached!!

The little git had only shoulder-barged the door. I leaped out of bed, scooping Bert up under his belly and in a single movement catapulted him out of the bedroom door and halfway down the hall like a sinus hand grenade.

You may think this mean, but somehow little Bertie didn't get the hint. Two minutes later: meyowl. yowl. yowl. yowl. yowl.. yowl. yowl. Crunch.

You little f**ker.

Some might argue this point with me, but 5:30 in the morning is absolutely no time to be spiritual. Not with a cat. I jammed the door shut from the inside and ignored his cries for another two hours.

Not that this helped in keeping my bedroom cat hair free. He'd barged his way in to my room when I went out this morning and when I came home was snuggled cosily on one of my pillows. And as I type this from the safety of my blockaded bedroom, he is sitting outside waiting for me. And guess how I know this? Yep, you guessed right.

youwl. yowl. yowl. yowl. meowl. meow. ow. yowl.

Still Chewing That Frog

Yes, yes, I've been away 'forever'. I've been dying to blog but never finding the right moment. I've been away from the Kabbalah Centre but never truly away from the Kabbalah Centre. Kabbalah has never left me. Sometimes I wish it would.

Sometimes I wish that I didn't know that Cause = Effect, that every action has an equal reaction. Sometimes I wish that in the moment where I am struck down with fear at work, that I don't feel as though an invisible being is scribbling my response in a notebook and shaking his head. Tut, tut, failed once again. Sometimes I wish that I could walk past beggars on the street and not feel truly guilty when I don't put my hand in my purse and find them some change.

As you can see, I am still working on being a little bit easier on myself. All the same, sometimes I have my head in the clouds so much that it begs belief.

I saw a blind person on the platform of the tube the other day and I watched them in wonder. "How amazing they are" I thought. "How admirable that they can find their way around without being able to see. I would never be able to cope in the way that they do, and Beezrat Hashem, I hope I never have to prove that statement"

Whilst I am watching in silent respect, a woman approaches the blind man from the other side and says "Excuse me, would you like some help getting on the train?"

The blind man turns towards her and says "Thank you so much, that's so kind of you to offer help"

And I am left standing there feeling like a right selfish muppet. I just didn't think to ask.

Last night brought a short-lived redemption when I was asked by a woman in a car the direction to Muswell Hill. I gave her directions, remotely proud that I was able to assist. Until she pulled away from the lights and I realised that going straight on instead of turning right would have been a much quicker and more direct route. *sigh*

Anyhow, my latest challenge is my tax return. No, not my tax return for 2010-2011, but the one for the year before.

Being self employed whilst having no real fixed address and no real business to speak of was a bit of a mistake, so it seems. Add crippling depression to that list and you have a recipe for disaster. But somehow I thought that if I stuck my head firmly in the sand, that the tax office would somehow overlook me and I would slide under the radar.

Hmm. How wrong can I be? They caught up with me.

There is something about tax returns and everything financial that makes me a) feel totally sick and b) act completely irresponsibly. With my lack of financial prowess, Long Live P.A.Y.E., I say.

But I couldn't put it off any longer, so I took the day off work to sort out my tax return once and for all, having received the form for the last year and having printed off the one for the year before.

I am going to get this done early in the day, so that it is out of the way, I said to myself, after which I am going to feel a wonderful sense of liberation and relief!!

Yeah, right.

I woke up late and started procrastinating. I had a lazy breakfast. I watched a little bit of TV (because it was a day booked as Holiday, after all). And then I started to go through my email, and came across an article on Procrastination. Touché, Light I said. I read the email. s-l-o-w-l-y... (not that I am in the habit of dragging anything out, of course).

The email contained a link to this rather fabulous little video:

Eat That Frog! Movie: "There's an old saying that says... "If the first thing you do when you wake up in the morning is eat a live frog, then nothing worse can happen for the rest of the day!" Do what needs to be done, when it needs to be done, whether you want to or not."

Even though it was nearly 2pm, I decided that better late than never, and I started eating that frog. Gingerly. I started nibbling its toes by digging out my paperwork, and gave its rump a good lick calculating all of my income and the dates for the past two years.

And it is nearly 7pm and I have only just completed the self-assessment portion of my first tax return. What a nightmare. This frog tastes like shit. I am reading the handy notes as I go through:

20% writing down allowance

Where you have spent more than £50,000 in a year on equipment, or (on or after 6 April 2009) you have purchased a car with CO2 emissions of 160g/km or less, add all the expenditure together to make a ‘main pool’ of costs. Deduct:

• any Annual Investment Allowance (AIA) up to £50,000 (excluding any cars) that you are including in box 22

• any equipment that qualifies for 10% or 100% allowances

• any items which go into a separate pool.

Add the value of any main pool from the previous year, less the value of any disposals you have made during the year.

You can then claim a writing down allowance (WDA) of 20% of the remaining pool value. For example, if you have spent £70,000 on equipment and have claimed £50,000 of this as AIA, the balance of £20,000 qualifies for a 20% annual allowance of £4,000, which should be included in box 24. The amount remaining in the main pool after the 20% allowance has been deducted should be carried forward to the following year.

Excuse me, but WTF?? Is it possible to get these notes in English? If this is Tax Return 101, then give me The Dummies' Guide instead.

Anyhow, I'm not going to bed until it's done and until I have completed my second bugbear task of changing all of my addresses. It's going to be a late night.

I imagine I shall feel ever so slightly sick from eating too much frog in one day, but who knows, perhaps the after-taste will be worth it.

Virgin on the ridiculous... again

So here I am blogging about my Internet service when I was going to blog all about my interview from Friday.

I was going to tell you all about the amazing struggle I had preparing a presentation in PowerPoint even though I had over a week’s notice to prepare and two clear days to write. I was going to mention how at one point I feared for my sanity when, as expected, my head went in to such a mad scramble on the morning of the interview that I was virtually in tears through the inability to think straight.

I could have told you all about how a very good friend of mine watched me plummet from confidence on the subject to an uncontrollable panic attack when the slides wouldn’t come together. And how he smiled when returning to the house on the day of the interview to find a half eaten bread roll sitting on the table, which, he said, put how my stomach was feeling in to a nutshell.

And I was going to mention my outfit nightmares – from the dress that was way too tight (partly because the flap on the skirt was still sown shut at the back and partly because it was a size too small but the only smart thing I had in my wardrobe), to the heels that were too high, and combined with the tight skirt made the journey to the train station feel like I was on some kind of bad trip where the pavements were getting longer.

I might have even mentioned how, just before leaving the house and already running slightly late, I got the loop of my jacket caught in the top of my dress, and nearly passed out trying to free it.

Or how I was in such a desperate state that I begged the Angels to help me to think straight. And how oddly enough, on the train it seemed to work (with adverts for Aussie hair products reminding me of LIGHT-headedness)

And at some point I might have mentioned that on several occasions before the interview I had been visualising sitting with my sister having a drink afterwards, and receiving a call to say that I had got the job. And how, even though I interviewed on the closing date for applications, that is exactly what happened.

It was going to be the show stopper at the end of my piece.

Except that my bloody internet is down.

So after a lot of turning things off and on, rebooting the computer, unplugging the router, I gave Virgin a call and went through their automated menu.

I was initially impressed, because the automated menu does everything to confirm who you are, check your account details and record exactly what part of their service you are having an issue with. I pressed various buttons to confirm that, yes, it was a problem accessing wireless internet, and that yes, I had already unplugged the hub and rebooted my computer. I even pressed numbers on the phone corresponding to my password to confirm my authenticity.

So at this point I kind of expected to go straight through to someone who a) knew who I was and b) was aware of what problem I was experiencing with their service.

Yeah, right.

“Hello can I help you?”

“Yes, I have problems connecting to my Internet”

“Is this a wireless or wired connection, ma’am?”

“Errm…. Wireless, like the button I just pressed in your menu system”

“And what is your account number?”

WTF?? “I would give you my account number if I had access to the Internet, but I don’t. And your menu system has just spent ten minutes confirming who I am, so I was hoping that you would have some information there?”

“Can you then give me your phone number, ma’am?”

*sigh*

The call took a long time. The analyst insisted that I switch off the hub all over again, and reboot my computer (which took forever).

Then he deduced it must be a problem with the hub and asked me if this was the first time I had used the service.

Do they not give their Help Desk staff any information to work with???

Eventually after a series of long pauses which told me that he was completely out of his depth in resolving the issue, he deduced that there was an outage in the area.

No, really? I swear, watching the little globe on my network flash on and off like a f**king Christmas tree light had never given me that impression.

“It will be fixed by 8pm tonight” he said confidently. “I will give you a call to confirm when the service is fixed”. It was ten to eight. First rule of thumb when working on a help desk: don’t make promises that you cannot keep. I thought that it was more likely that he was knocking off work at eight and that therefore he wouldn’t have to deal with the aftermath.

Anyhow, at this time of writing (8am), the internet is still down and after another call to Virgin it is confirmed that it will be out for the rest of the day.

I can’t wait for the service to be back up again so that I can start responding to all of my emails – specifically that one from Virgin, entitled “We’d love to hear from you!!”

Oh no you wouldn’t. Truly. But you’re going to anyway.

A little bit of history repeating...

Oo, I've never liked interviews.

Don't get me wrong - I fully understand the purpose of interviews. The company wants to find the right person for the job. I get that. But can't we all just be a little more friendly about it? I mean, do I have to prove that I am capable as well as funny, chatty and friendly?

It doesn't matter how much I prepare, I never get asked the darned competency-based questions that I was prepared for, and for the life of me I cannot think on the spot. Instead of pausing for a second to find the right answer, or stalling for time by saying "I'm sorry, could you clarify what you mean?" (at which point they say "Yes, Ms Rookie, are you thirsty and would you like some water?") I go completely blank and start talking at the same time. I open my mouth at the start of what I think might be a really good example, and then I keep talking until I make my point or can see the whites of their eyes. Whichever comes sooner.

Anyhow. A few months ago I was contacted - nay - Head Hunted - by a chapI had interviewed with six months before. "It's a much higher level role" he said, "I think it's far more suited to your skills - no technical requirements this time"

I felt excited. And very flattered. "We want to fill the role very quickly" he said, "Can you call me asap for a chat?" I rang. We chatted. It was all very relaxed.

"I haven't "managed" people before" I said, "but I've lead a team"

"Well, we all have to start somewhere" he replied. It all sounded rather promising. And the salary was to die for. I started to daydream about the flat I would rent and the clothes I would buy. And having a fully paid off credit card.

The interview was arranged for the following Monday. "Less of an interview, more of a chat, probably" was the promise "And you haven't met Mark either, and he might have a couple of questions"

I turned up at 5:30 after a full day at work, feeling very ropey. I'd been trying to shake off a rather nasty bug for a couple of weeks and had spent most of the day wanting to sleep under my desk. But that's okay, because this is going to be more of a chat. They've met me already, and I am being Head Hunted. I was relaxed.

Too relaxed, as it turned out. It was the most gruelling interview of my entire life. Mark didn't want to ask a couple of questions. Oh no. Mark wanted to put me through the wringer. After half an hour I wanted the ground to swallow me up as I clawed my way through each unprepared rambling answer. After an hour I wanted to stop the questions and say "You know what, guys, I think that you and I both know that I'm not who you are looking for".

Perhaps they were just giving me 'another chance' to demonstrate my skills. And instead I just dug myself deeper and deeper, finally nailing the lid on the coffin with the answer that I could be available within a week. Like, hello? Yes, they were looking for the role to be filled very soon, but were expecting people to provide at least one month's notice...

*sigh*

I consoled myself with the knowledge that there has to be a reason for this event in my life. Nothing happens without a reason.

The reason has just arrived.

A few weeks ago I was kind of Head Hunted for a role with a company I interviewed for last summer. This role is much more aligned to your skills, my former interviewer said, no technical stuff this time. If you're interested we'd love to see you again.

Yeah, yeah. Thought you would catch me all relaxed, did you?

Yes, Yes, I know..

...I've been away for quite some time. In fact, I've been away for so long that I don't even know where to start with my Blog. I mean, so much has changed that I don't even know what to tell you about first.

For all I know, I could start mentioning how my life is going, and you could think I was a complete imposter, hacking in to my blog account and typing merrily away about this totally different life. You could disown me completely and stop 'following' me at all (although, let's face it, it's not exactly strenuous for you to have been 'following' me for the past eight months, given that I have written virtually bugger all, is it? You can hardly blame me for straining your eyes at your computer for longer than is healthy, unless you have been staring out my blog waiting for some letters to magically appear on the screen. Which I doubt).

All the same.

Okay, so where to begin.

Update Number One: I am now working full time, so now I have a reason to be mentally exhausted and have little time for blogging. I know, I should have warned you that you needed to be sitting down to read this blog. It's only nearly four years since I have been in full time work (not long at all, rather scarily). And before all of you hardened full-time daily bloggers give me a pasting for being such a lightweight... well... just.. er.. don't. Please? I have been learning so much for the past few weeks that my little over-active head is just about falling off.

The only thing that I can say about working full time at this very moment is that it is a death knell for the creative process. When, exactly, am I meant to find the time to aimlessly daydream about winning the lottery or earning millions being a motivational guru? I have tried this during my hour-long commute on two buses and one train but found the experience of being jammed under a banker's armpit or being prodded in the back by the sharp corner of a handbag a bit of a distraction. Added to that, when am I meant to watch films or read all of the billions of inspiring newsletters that I signed up to during my days of leisure which flood in to my hotmail account every day? Or even, to that end, read my email? Is that what weekends are for now? Seriously?

Update Number Two: I have to finish up writing this blog because it is nearly 11 o'clock and I know that I will hear the kids at about 6:30 am.

Oh, so now I have your attention?

Told you things had changed.

The most valuable life lesson of all

Yesterday was my second trip to see Juliana.

I met Juliana about a year ago at a Kabbalah connection. Instantly I fell in love with her energy - she has a serene, gentle loveliness that made me warm to her instantly. She is 51 and from Romania, a very sweet voice and a way of saying things that cannot help but make you smile.

At the time, I was still wrapped up in my head with the whole job situation - flip-flopping between new ideas and fear, confidence and crushing self-defeat. So, no change there then. She was easy to talk to and I opened up a little.

After sharing my woes, Juliana then said very peacefully "I have cancer at the moment. I am about to start a fast for six weeks." She had already had one round of chemo, but the cancer had started to spread from her breast, and under her own thorough investigation, she had found a holistic fast that she could follow.

A couple of months later, I met Juliana again. She told me that the fast had been a success and that the scan results were very good. And so still she continued to heal.

And for a while my thoughts were not on Juliana at all. Then three months ago, I noticed her name creeping to the top of the healing board, and I started to worry.

After a month of wishing to be able to see her again, she arrived for Saturday shabbat. Immediately I went to ask how she was and her eyes clouded up with tears.

"I am in pain." she said "The cancer has now spread to my liver and my lungs and my bones. It is everywhere. There is a lot of pain"

I didn't know what to say. What can you say? I said I was very sorry to hear that she was sick, and moved to sit next to her during the shabbat. Towards the end of the shabbat she leaned over and said "You have to understand, the only reason why I am crying is because of the energy here - it brings out my emotions. It is good to be here. I know that despite the pain, I am healing. I know that the doctor's do not believe I will survive, but I know I will get better"

Her courage and conviction was astonishing. The following week she was at shabbat, still in enormous pain, still smiling. "I went to the hospital the other day because I was so sick" she smiled "The nurses said to me 'You have to stop laughing so much, otherwise the doctors will not believe there is anything wrong with you'"

How she could continue to laugh was beyond me. How little my troubles seemed by comparison.

Two weeks ago, an email was sent from the centre to ask that Juliana be included in our prayers as she was facing "severe health challenges". It also said 'if anyone wants to go and visit or give her a call, contact us so that we can arrange'.

And I didn't. Not immediately. Why? I was afraid of what I might find. I was afraid that she was going to die. I was afraid of not knowing what to say. Of not being any use. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me.

And then my sister told me of the experience she'd had when she lost her first son, how many people kept their distance because they simply didn't know what to say and were afraid of saying something totally appalling (foot in mouth syndrome), and she said "Just be there. Nothing else matters. It doesn't matter what you say. Just go and visit her"

So I did. And none of my fears were realised.

Juliana had spent a week in bed, in so much pain the she was literally unable to move. So she looked forward to the day when she would be able to get out of bed. And after a week, she could. Two days before I arrived, she only had the strength to sit in her garden for one minute. And on the day I visited we sat in the garden for 6 hours.

Juliana's philosophy is very simple. Live every moment in Joy. Have peace within yourself at every moment and dismiss every negative thought. When you are having a really bad day or a really bad moment, change it as soon as you can to doing something that you love, to bring about that feeling of joy.

She advised me not to even bother applying for any jobs or contacting any agencies unless I was in a state of joy. And if I couldn't find that state of joy, then I should find something to do that helped me to find it, without any guilt. She told me to spend two or three hours taking action, and then to go out and connect with joy, and share - to generate the right vibration to attract what is already mine.

She explained her own view on the Law of Attraction.

"Imagine," she said "you have two children. One comes up to you in a temper tantrum, wailing and crying and tugging at your clothes - 'I WANT A SWEET!! GIVE ME A SWEET!! PLEASE I WANT A SWEET NOW! I NEED A SWEET!!'. And the second child comes up to you with a look of joy on their face "Please may I have a sweet? I would so love to have a sweet! I look forward to having a sweet! Thank you!" Which one are you going to give the sweet to? The first child you would probably want to beat with a stick (haven't we all 'wanted' to do that at some point? Please note: I am not condoning the beating of small children with sticks) but the second one you would take delight in giving them a sweet because they asked so nicely. This is the way that God sees our requests.

"The second thing is, that you have to know that God already has the sweet for you"

I went to visit Juliana for a second time yesterday, and once again left feeling that she had given me more that I could possibly have given her. She is still absolutely certain that she is healing. She is still talking about three years from now, five years from now, ten years from now. She is still astounding the doctors. When her son took her to visit last week, they were astonished that she was walking. The doctor said to her son "Your mother is very, very sick. But she seems to be doing some really weird things which are making her really well".

I know that I am going to be friends with her for a very long time to come.

Life is a game. It operates on two levels - the physical world that we can see, and the metaphysical world that we cannot. The physical world feels real, but it is illusion - everything depends on how you look at it, everything depends on choosing how you want to see it. Every choice is free will.

Or as Juliana reminds herself with every challenge "This is not the truth. This is just what I believe"

So, the agency wouldn't put me forward for the job that I would have to commit to for 3 months. A bad thing, right? I only want to work. I am prepared to do anything. Maybe the girls at the agency were intimidated by me. Or maybe they didn't like my £5 Primark patent plastic shoes. Or maybe all of the agencies are conspiring against me to find work. Or maybe "God" is punishing me for being so negative for so long.

Or maybe, just maybe, something better is coming.

And I look forward with Joy, to that. I'll keep you posted.

Flip Flopping between Hope and Despair

It's a funny thing, life.

And then some days it's just not so funny.

My living situation seems to get worse and worse. My finances are almost at an end, and by that I mean that my only credit card is virtually chocka, and my overdraft is within a whisker of being exceeded. I receive £65 a week in job seekers allowance, and this has to pay for rent, food, my credit card bill, mobile phone, contact lenses.

You see how the sums are not quite adding up here?

And I do want to work - more than anything. But I think I missed out on the job-finding gene. I just don't know how to find work. Everyone seems to be recruiting online. You want a job on a supermarket checkout? Visit the website. And just how does one get a job sweeping the streets nowadays? Apply through the council website.

I'm not setting my sights too high or placing myself out of the market, but my CV is an IT CV. It doesn't say 'shop assistant' or 'administration clerk'.

I signed up with a temping agency for administration contracts - they were happy to help me out. I got two days work, and as for the rest? Well, things are a bit quiet over the summer months, apparently. They will pick up in September again. I've rung them twice today and they haven't called back.

So I tried to sign up with another couple of agencies. Both of them refused to take me on because I had an IT CV. One of them suggested a 3 month contract but then declined on putting my CV forwards to the company because the company wanted assurance that I would stay for the whole contract, and looking at my CV would no doubt decide that I was likely to be offered something else in the meantime.

Okay, so that hasn't happened in the last 3 years, but hey, nice to know I'm considered to be in demand.

So the panic has started to set in, and with the panic comes regular bouts of stress-induced illness and a complete inability to speak to anybody. Which isn't really conducive to a successful job hunt. Because what I want to say is "Please, I'm on my knees here - just give me a fucking job" which isn't really the best way to get an interview.

So I bottle it all up, and I 'cope'. Except that a close friend recently told me "You might be bottling things up, but you're not coping. And you're just not willing to show people that you're not coping". She's right. I'm not actually coping any more, and putting on a brave face is becoming harder every day.

There are a few sad things that I find about being in this situation.

First, nobody is just going to turn up and give me a job without me taking any action. And I am taking action, but just not enough. One negative conversation and I am back on the floor again.

Second, you only attract things to you by being on the right vibrational frequency. Feeling the joy of the job that is waiting to come towards me is getting harder by the day, as the pain of my current situation grows.

Lastly, that I am so unhappy with what I am not, that I am losing sight of who I am, what I have, and how lucky I am.

I am not dying of cancer.

I am not living on the streets.

I have clean water to drink.

My life could be a whole lot worse. And how wonderful it will feel when it just gets a little bit better.

The World Cup, Paul and the New Moon

So Spain won the World Cup.

I could have told you that. You mean you didn't believe the great Kabbalistic Paul the Octopus? Or perhaps you didn't care. Whatever.

Anyhow. The odd thing about the World Cup was that the first day coincided with the New Moon of Cancer - 11th June. And the World Cup final coincided with the New Moon of Leo.

The New Moons at the Kabbalah Centre always have a theme in line with the energy of the coming month, just to get us all in the mood. But because the New Moon of Cancer fell on the opening day of the World Cup, they held a football theme. And because the New Moon of Cancer also fell on a Friday night - shabbat - instead of having the usual buffet snacks, we had a full shabbat dinner.

Each of the tables in the dining room were allocated the nationality of a world cup team, indicated by the nation's flag.

Halfway through the meal, we played a game. Each table had to nominate a captain. Each round consisted of a single question, with the answer being either A or B - some related to football, some to Kabbalah, and some were more general knowledge. The captain would confer with their table and would either remain standing if the answer was A, or sit down if the answer was B.

Those who got the answer wrong and who were either standing up or sitting down when they shouldn't be, were eliminated at the end of each round. After a promising start when it appeared as though we would all win the world cup (hurrah! Unity!), gradually the numbers started to dwindle.

Our table were knocked out two questions before the end, after incorrectly guessing that there had been 5 versions of the iPod Nano (there had been 6).

In the final round it was down to two teams, and the round was a sudden-death question for the captains, with no conferring.

And the winner? Why, Spain, of course.

And my table? Germany. Oops. Sorry.

Serendipity

Yes, yes, I know, I've been away from my blog for so long - part sorting my life out and part due to having nothing much that I actually wanted to say (for once).

I mean, how many times can you play the 'Woe is me, my life just gets worse and worse' card and expect to get away with it?

But now I have something to write about. Actually, I have two things to write about, but this one has to come first.

You may remember that I have the boredom threshold of a three year old child on a long car journey and as such, I find it a challenge to meditate. In fact, it is fair to say, that getting through ten seconds of meditation without thinking of something that I need to add to my shopping list, a conversation I had earlier in the day and an email that I really need to send (yes, all three) is nigh on impossible.

Monkey Mind In Extremis. Hey Ho.

So whenever I am browsing through my email and see a free download for a guided meditation, I sign up to whatever newsletter they wish to send me, and download the file.

On Wednesday I was promised complete relaxation in 3 minutes. For free. So I signed up, and downloaded.

The file was okay - it had some effect at least. I mean, I still had several conversations going on at once (whoever said that the sign of Gemini was twins was grossly underestimating) but I was chilled enough not to be bitter about it.

And along with the free download was a free chapter of a book. So, in my nicely 3-minute-chilled state, I decided to have a read.

The chapter of the book was about reading through the palm of your hand. No, really. It explained how you could 'see' pages of a book that you have never read before and gave a technique to try it. It gave a few examples of success stories, and also explained that if you don't see what you were expecting, to check the pages either side. It then told a little side story of a woman who was out walking and pondering what the definition of Serendipity was. She passed a bookstore, walked inside, picked the first book she came to, and opened it to find a definition of Serendipity.

Well, of course she did. These things happen all the time.

Anyhow, I was curious to see if it would work for me (wondering if the Universe could get past my Monkey Mind) and searched my bookshelf for a book that I hadn't read before.

I came across 'Know Me, Like Me, Follow Me' by Penny Power. No doubt this book would be all about networking, email marketing, business profiles, etc. But really I had no idea.

So I sat with the book on my lap and followed the steps:

1. Hold your dominant hand 6 - 10 inches away from the book, and close your eyes. This bit is easy.
2. Focus your energy on the point a couple of inches below your navel - the Dan Tien. Yep, got it.
3. Allow that energy to travel up your spine, in to your throat, then down your arm and out through your hand in to the book. Hmm, okay... but I still don't see how...
4. Feel the exchange of energy with the book. Is this really an 'exchange of energy'? Is this what I am meant to be feeling or did I just rush the last bit?
5. Ask for a page number. SIXTY THREE. F**k me, where did that come from? No need to shout. Okay, 63 it is.
6. Imagine the layout of the page - what does it look like? Oookaaaaayyyy.... so the only page I can imagine is a bold title across the top, then a top paragraph, and then the rest is text. Maybe I am rushing this. Does it have a picture? No, I don't see a picture. What do you mean, you don't see a picture? You're not seeing anything - you've got your eyes closed, you muppet. Look, just shut up and let me get on with this, okay? This is the only page I can see. Yeah, well, whatever. Just you wait until you open the page. It's bound to have a picture.
7. Ask for the subject of the page - what is it about? What words can you see? Serendipity. Oh, of course it's not Serendipity. Gee, I wonder where you got that one from. Okay, pick something else. I can't think of anything else. Yes, but it won't be fucking Serendipity, will it? You've just read a story about Serendipity - that's the only reason you've thought about that word. Okay then, I can see the word 'chance' in the middle of the page. Oh yeah, because 'chance' is really different. Oh look, just leave me alone, okay? This is all that I'm getting and yes, I do know that in about 10 second's time I am going to be bitterly disappointed so just get off my case.
8. Open the book to the page you thought of, and prepare to be astounded. Yeah, astounded at how wrong you can be...

So, where was I? Oh yes, page 63, a bold title, a floating paragraph, followed by a block of text, something about Serendipity, and the word 'chance'.

I opened the book. My jaw dropped. And then me and my Monkey Mind laughed for a good ten minutes.

Scroll down and judge for yourself.....

SERENDIPITY

Serendipity is the effect by which one accidentally discovers something fortunate, especially while looking for something else entirely.

A brilliantly worded explanation on Wikipedia.

When you are not looking for the answer you will discover what you need to know. Get your head around that thought! One of the toughest ideas I have to teach when explaining the power of social networks and social media is the power of serendipity.

This phrase sounds spiritual and deep, and is hard for task-oriented people to get their head around. However, we are learning that the random nature of social media is what creates success for all those that take part.

Let's just explore this further but using the offline world. We know that the more people we meet, the more we 'get ourselves out there', and the more we create a brand tht others respect and know, the higher the chance of success. My most recent experience of this was when I decided I would like to write this book.........

Errr.... Surprise?

What's the saying? The best laid plans of mice and men....

Last week I received a Top Secret email. Oo. Curious.

Unbeknownst to me, my teacher at the Kabbalah Centre was an avid cyclist, spending hours on Sundays out on his bike, notching up the kilometres. Until he had his bike stolen.

Let's just say that he was absolutely gutted, but being the guy that he is, didn't moan about it to a single person.

Of course, nothing stays secret for long in the One Percent, and one of his students heard of his plight and wanted to help out, hence the Top Secret email.

The plan was to ask around his students as quietly as possible, get the funds for a new bike and give it to him as an early birthday present.

Oo I just LOVE secrets! Not even the Chevre at the centre knew about it. It was secret, secret, double secret!!I In fact, it was so secret, that I started to panic about being struck with Secret Tourettes whenever I was around the centre, fearing that suddenly I would shout his name and "BICYCLE! SECRET EARLY BIRTHDAY SURPRISE!!!!!" at the top of my voice in the middle of shabbat. It was one of those secrets that I was so excited about that if I'd have grinned any more, the top of my head would have fallen off.

I was also sorely tempted to start talking about how much I liked cycling whilst he was within earshot ("Isn't it just the best way to get around? Wind in your hair, whipping through the traffic...."), or to tell him I had just bought a bike and wondered what was the best bike insurance...

Within the space of a week, the funds had been gathered, which gives you an idea of the admiration that his students have for him, and messages were written in a card.

The next part of the plan was to actually present the card to him, with minimal fuss. The guy who arranged the collection said that the best time would be 9:30 am Sunday (today) after morning minyan. And it would be great if we could be there.

So the trick was, how to show up at the centre at the end of a men's connection, and be there for the presentation, without arousing any suspicion. Hmm, tricky. I had never been to the centre on a Sunday and had no reason to just drop in. A thousand What If's raced through my overactive mind. What if I totally blow the surprise? being one of them. I cannot lie for toffee. Plus, I was still grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

I agreed to meet a friend outside of the centre at 9:30am, in the knowledge that in Kabbalah Time (where all events start at least half an hour later if not more), the presentation would take place no earlier than 9:45. And if I showed up with my friend, then I knew that she would find a reason to be hanging around in the bookstore for no apparent reason whatsoever.

She was late. Not only that, but by the time I arrived, I could already see the men leaving the centre. So now what do I do? I rang my friend. "Go in!" she urged "I'll be there in two minutes! They might be doing the presentation now! Go in!"

The door was locked, but another of my teacher's students - also hanging around in the bookstore for no apparent reason whatsoever - opened the door and let me in. It appeared that prayers were still going on. Or at least, something was still going on.

My friend arrived seconds later and we hovered excitedly in the bookstore, waiting to be called, not wanting to be seen.

So it was a slight surprise to us when our teacher walked through the bookstore on his way out, wheeling a bike.

I could literally feel all of us silently screaming "WTF?!!" whilst straining to look totally normal.

"Hello ladies" he said, looking slightly bemused "Why are you here? Are you flyering?"

"Err. Yes.. Yes.. No.. Zohar Project" we all gabbled, nodding frantically at each other for support. Well, that was natural. Not.

"Ah, okay. So do you need me for anything?" he asked.

"No, no! we're fine!" we all chimed together.

He said goodbye and left, leaving us partway between hysterics and total confusion. What? So did he have the presentation or not? Had he received the card? What was with the bike? Was that his bike? What was going on? The guy who had invited us to the presentation was nowhere in sight.

One of the other teachers appeared. Did he know what had gone on? We tiptoed around the subject and found that he had overheard little bits of conversation and had an idea what was going on. And before we could stop him, he said "I'll call him, hang on" and then in horror heard him say "Hi. Yes, did you know you have your students here to give you an early birthday surprise? Yes, they are here now! Waiting for you". Noooo! Noo Noo Noo!!!! We waved our arms frantically, but it was too late.

Oh blimey, were we going to blow all of this and ruin this Top Top Secret Surprise?

Well, apparently not. The presentation had been given at 9:25 just before we had all arrived. And the surprise was so great that he was simply in shock. I don't even think he had registered the names on the card and put two and two together when he saw us. And the bike? An old one that he had borrowed.

So. Mission Accomplished. Secret maintained, teacher blown away by surprise gift, Kabbalah Time wins again.

I think it might take a while to recover from the sight of him walking through the bookstore pushing a bike.

Penny Power - Know Me, Like Me, Follow Me

Only 1 2 3 4 5 6!! more Big Sleeps until my Birthday. Hey Ho. It's strange that I have reached an age where I no longer want to celebrate.

Hey!! I will get a lot of presents!! woo hoo!! *sigh* Seems a little bit ridiculous when I have just sold most of my belongings. Although I did receive a very beautiful gift the other day but have nowhere to hang it in my current abode. Perhaps when I turn the big 4-0 I will magically become more patient, too. My Dad worried me the other day by asking me what I wanted for my birthday and then saying "Too Late! We've already bought it!" Oh fab. It's either going to be amazing or truly useless - I guess the excitement is in not knowing which!

Hey!! I will get some money to go out and buy something special to commemorate this turning of age!! Woo hoo!! *sigh* Except that also seems a little bit ridiculous (I was thinking a nice piece of jewellery) considering that I cannot afford to pay my rent. Maybe I'll just have to write an I.O.Me and come back to that one later when my finances are looking more rosy.

I guess I was hoping that by the time I reached 40, I would have something more to celebrate than just reaching a certain milestone.

Anyhow, I digress. Last night I decided to turn up to one of Nick Williams "Inspired Entrepreneurs" social gatherings, as Penny Power, the founder of ecademy, was a guest speaker.

I have been a free member of ecademy for the length of time that I have been unemployed, and as it is aimed at small business support I didn't feel that it was really my forum. I receive the newsletters every day, and retained my membership knowing that if ever I did get a business up and running then it would be an excellent place to dabble.

My impression of Penny Power was that she would be very business-like and serious. A real ambition freak. I don't know where I got that impression from. Perhaps her success in business simply intimidated me.

She started to talk. The first thing that she did was to thank Nick Williams for buying each of his attendees a copy of her book "Know Me, Like Me, Follow Me". Then she started to explain that her purpose in life was to serve.

I hadn't expected her to use that word.

As she continued to talk, sharing pieces of her own history (like when her husband Thomas, and herself, were fired from ecademy at the time of the dot com crash, and lost their dream home) I really began to like her.

Yes, the fact that she was earning 100,000 a year when she was 23 still puts her in a different league, but what a warm and caring woman. And funny. Very funny. In fact, after ten minutes of her sense of humour, I knew that she would be one person I could spend a lot of time with.

She also made a couple of great points.

1. when you look at all of the roles you play in life - in her instance, mother, daughter, sister, wife, founder, author, speaker, etc, etc - remember that they can all be boiled down in to one: Friend.
2. Social networking is no different online than in traditional business: People buy from the people they like. If they can get to know you, and like you, they will buy from you. So be open, and be authentic. Let people get to know you.

As usual, I wasn't part of the crowd dashing to have my book signed during the break and to have a quick chat. I figured that the people who actually owned businesses would benefit from her time more than I would. But as she was walking out of the door, I stopped her and expressed my surprise to her, that I didn't expect her to be this way at all. A compliment where compliments are due.

Her response was simple. She laughed and said "It is so much easier just to be yourself"

Well, Amen to that.

A day of Learning

Or should that be a lifetime.

• You know that you need to pay more attention to the job-hunting process when you save a modified version of your CV after 45 minutes of editing, only to find that you applied for exactly the same job 6 days earlier.

• You know that when trying to arrange payment for some work which the client was hoping to get for free, hearing "I'll speak to the customer and see what they say" isn't a good thing.

• You realise that you ought to get a bit more familiar with the latest web application versions, when you don't realise immediately that WWE is not a web application, but instead stands for World Wrestling Entertainment.

• You know that when you hear your Kabbalah teacher of 8 months say that he no longer knows how to help you, you're either very close to a breakthrough or totally screwed.

• You know that on the last 30 seconds of "60 Minute Makeover" the screen will be filled with five people in every room plumping dozens of cushions and nudging colour coordinated vases two millimetres to the left, alongside one person still putting up wallpaper.

• You know that half an hour after the film crew have left, taking all of the throw cushions and vases, the beneficiaries of "60 Minute Makeover" are going to have to work out where to put the seven boxes of kids toys, their entire collection of books and half of their clothes, now that two of the wardrobes have gone and storage space has been ripped out and replaced with something more 'aesthetically pleasing'.

• You know that you really need to take more care of your bikini line when you say to the nurse during a smear test "Apologies for the state of my bikini line" and she doesn't reply "Believe me, I have seen much worse."

• You know that you miss your sister when the nurse tells you to relax completely and think of somewhere sunny, and you immediately think of being on holiday with your sister on the same beach in Barbados, drinking nice little cocktails with umbrellas.

• You know that it's not such a good thing when one experienced nurse cannot find your cervix and calls in a second nurse for assistance.

• You know that it's even worse when the second nurse cannot find your cervix either and says "That's the best I can do" after ten minutes of twisting and rotating a speculum firmly against the walls of your bladder.

• You know that it's a good thing when you don't wee even just a little bit throughout all of this poking and prodding.

• You realise you will soon be turning 40 when you tell someone your date of birth and they say "Oh! Only 8 more Big Sleeps!"

The Big Personality Test Results

The rest of the British public had finished filling in their forms on the BBC Website for the Big Personality Test, so I decided to have a go. The outcome surprised me a little. Well, part of it.

I scored High in three areas, and Low in two.

Openness - High

Describes to what extent you are open to novel ideas, creative experiences and different values. I guess dancing around a washing up bowl of water at 3am and whacking 5 willow twigs in to the dirt at 5am might count as some of the above, both of which I encountered with a sense of fun. I like new things. My mother always said I was a bit different. All I need to do now is to translate that sense of openness to a working world, where new tasks and projects still (internally) catch me like a rabbit caught in headlights.

Extroversion - Low

Describes to what extent you are inclined to experience positive emotions and how attracted you are to social, stimulating experiences.

Hmm... define 'social stimulating experiences'. Sounds a bit dicey to me.

I guess I can agree with the first part of the statement - I have to work at being 'glass half full'.

Apparently introverted people aren't shy, and I'm not. I have always been the type of person who can amuse herself for hours. You name it - Lego, Playpeople, reading, colouring in. Who wants to take turns when there is only one bike? And share sweets? Forget it. My pocket money, my sweets. Buy your own. I have never needed a crowd of people to keep me occupied (which is what this is all about) and spend a lot of time on my own. Way too much time.

Wow - no wonder I have bob-all. If the laws of the Universe and 'what you give you get back' are anything to go by, then this simple test explains a lot...

Agreeableness - High

Describes to what extent you are concerned about the feelings of others and how easily you form bonds with people.

I thought that agreeableness was a good thing - getting along with others. Apparently not. High agreeableness = people pleaser = doormat.

No wonder I didn't want to play with other kids or share my sweets.

Okay, so list of things to do (so far):

1. Spend more time with other people.
2. If you can't afford to take a bottle of wine, take a nice pack of biscuits.
3. Take biscuits out of handbag when you arrive rather than thinking that your friends look like they are putting on weight and would be better off without them.
4. If someone offers you some work 'without pay but it would be good experience for you' tell them to stick it where the Light doesn't shine. Politely, of course.

Neuroticism - High

Describes to what extent you react to perceived threats and stressful situations.

See 'Rabbit caught in headlights' above.

Apparently being neurotic isn't such a bad thing - in fact, if it is combined with a Conscientiousness rating of High then it can make for a successful career.

Conscientiousness - Low

Describes to what extent you are organised, strategic and forward-planning.

Oh. Surely this should be High. I am organised. Kind of. Or should that be a bit OCD?

I've always known where I am heading. Hmmm... then again, let's rethink that. No, I haven't. I've been wandering round in the flowery maze in my head since the day I was born. Avoiding all people and keeping my sweets to myself, thank you very much. The other thing about conscientious people is that they get things done. They finish what they

The Eyes Have It

So, like any other introspective and somewhat anal human being, I watched Child Of Our Time, the Big Personality Test tonight.

In advance of the series, the BBC were running a Personality Test on their website, and the results are already available for the UK. And given that the Big Personality Online Test is currently unavailable due to high demand now that the program has finished, I figure that there are a lot more people out there in the UK pondering where they fit in.

The tests measured 5 attributes of personality, namely Openness, Conscientiousness, Extroversion, Agreeableness and Neuroticism. Can you guess where I would score high? Go on, I bet you can't. Anyhow, all will be revealed when the fellow web-dwellers of the nation hurry up and finish their tests so that I can have a go.

Whilst I was waiting, I decided to search for a test they had mentioned. Buggered if I can remember what attribute it was testing for, but it was created by Ali G's dad, Professor Simon Baron-Cohen.

The test is to see whether you can accurately read a person's emotion just by looking at a picture of their eyes. And I was pleasantly surprised, because I scored 30 out of 36.

What perturbed me were the ones I got wrong....

Men's eyes being friendly.

Men's eyes being caring.

Men's eyes being interested.

There's a link there, somehow, to my single status, perhaps.

And further evidence to my personality being conscientious to the point of dangerous perfectionism (I so wanted to get every single question right).

It's fun. It takes ten minutes. Have a go and see how you get on. But don't send me a photo of the reaction to your results, because there's one chance in six I won't be able to guess...

Mind in the Eyes Test

Car Boot Take II - careful what you wish for

My last car boot sale, back in early December 2009, was a highly profitable affair. I had 15 boxes of crap (I mean, high quality goods) to sell, including my life's collection of CDs, two socket sets, a genuine 1977 Donald Duck marionette puppet, boxes of books, heaps of tatty handbags and backpacks, roller blades and a pair of blue snorkelling fins, size 6.

I came home with 10 boxes filled with half of the CDs, most of the books, most of the handbags, the roller blades, the fins... and £165 in my pocket. So something must have sold.

And I was sure that I would have sold more if it hadn't completely pissed down with rain all day. It rained heavily from start to finish, bar one hour around lunchtime where it decided to give us a break with some light drizzle.

Before I moved house I went through the car boot boxes again, and gave several boxes full of naff items away to charity. I also sold the rest of my CDs as a job lot for £80, which is not to be sniffed at. My friend then gave me a couple of boxes of DVDs, some silk scarves and pashminas, and a box of travel books.

All I needed was a nice sunny day and a second car boot sale, and I would be quids in. Sure as eggs are eggs. And this weekend, that ideal opportunity arrived.

When my Dad and I set off for a local (and rather huge and promising) car boot sale, I had six boxes of high quality goods. They were bound to sell. The weather forecast was looking good. I was on to a winner.

5 hours later found me packing 5 boxes back in to the car, having made a total profit of £35.

Why? It was too bloody hot.

All of the punters had gone to the seaside, or were sitting under trees in their back gardens, lighting barbecues and drinking Pimms. Or burning to a crisp in the sun and getting trolleyed on cheap lager. Or whatever it is that people wearing "I'm drunk but your still ugly" T-shirts do when they are not at a car boot sale (my still ugly what, precisely? I am perplexed that they didn't seem to finish printing this garment...)

There were rows and rows of traders, all baking in the sun or selling from the relative shade of their car seats, occasionally meandering up to the nearby ice-cream van across earth that was too parched to dig a jumbo umbrella in to without dying from dehydration. The few people who had turned up to have a browse seemed to be far too wilted to reach in to their pockets for a little bit of small change, and far too limp to carry a DVD 100 metres back to the car.

I've seen more life in a beige rug, to be honest.

Later that evening, 4 of the boxes were dropped off at a local charity, to see if they would have any better luck. One of the boxes contains items that for reasons unknown to me, I am loathe to give away without just one more try at getting some cash for them.

It wasn't all bad, though. For one thing, I now have heaps of small change. For another, the roller blades, the spider catcher and the dust buster have finally gone. And I did put a smile on the faces of the people I pushed to reluctantly haggle with me, when I accepted the first offer they made. Oh, and best of all, I timed my visit to the ice-cream van perfectly - 5 minutes before he left - thus preventing the day from being a total disaster.

In any event, even a job with minimum wage is going to make me feel like a millionaire in comparison to what I brought home.

Yes, okay, I get the hint. If I want to earn money, I need to go out and get a bloody job....

What's with the Conversations About God?

Perhaps this is a sign from the Universe for me to stop talking about the Light and miracles and spiritual holidays and energy, and start doing as a means of actually manifesting something for a change, but over the last couple of days people have wanted to talk to me about God.

I was walking to the station on Wednesday, and bumped in to a chap who I think lives in the flat opposite. I say I think because people's faces never stick. But I know I have said hello to him at some point not so long ago. At least, I think it was him.

Anyhow, he stopped me in the street and said "Hello again, I'd really like to have your phone number"

There's nothing like the direct approach, I guess, but I don't really like giving out my phone number to virtual strangers.

I hesitated, so he continued "I'd really like to spend some time with you and talk to you about God".

Oh, okay, not exactly the best chat up line. I made a hasty exit with the excuse that I had to dash and would probably see him around.

Or maybe hopefully not.

Then yesterday the door intercom beeped and I answered it. It was the Jehovah's Witness who had caught me on the doorstep a few weeks ago. Now, what was her name? Tania? Delia? Lobelia? Can't remember.

"Hello, is that Natasha?"

Errr... noooo... there is no Natasha here...

"I came to speak to you a little while ago. I would love to talk to you about all of your Kabbalistic things"

Hmm... I thought about letting her in, but decided that I didn't want to spend the next half hour having someone try to convert my beliefs under the pretence of being interested in them. I am under no illusion that it would be a tall order to convert a JW. She is a lovely lady, but if anything, all that we have in common may be a terrible memory for names.

I'm not in the mood for converting anyone, as it happens. Love Thy Neighbour. Whoever they may be. But when you have job applications to complete, perhaps long meanderings on Theology and Philosophy are really not a priority.

I wonder who will be next....?

A Hairy Challenge

Last night was the New Moon of Gemini.

I know, I know - this is all a little bit early, but in the Kabbalistic calendar we have already moved from lumbering, earth bound Taurus to flitty, flighty, up-in-the-air Gemini.

Now, I'm not saying that it is difficult for Gemini's to finish what they start, but since opening this blog post I've already changed my mind three times on what I want to write. And then I thought I might go and get something to eat, but I couldn't decide what, and then I listened to a bit of music and...

Where was I? Oh yes, beards.

It is beard season at the Kabbalah centre. Not a place that a pogonophobe would choose to be. Facial hair, by all accounts, (and maybe even other hair - I hadn't even thought about other hair) stores negativity. And so during the negative periods such as The Counting of the Omer, the men grow their beards as a form of protection. A kind of hairy shield, if you will.

Personally I would consider any beard as a shield that will keep them safe from women. Or at least, keep them safe from me. You never know what could be lurking in a beard. I like to keep a safe distance just in case.

Anyhow, I digress. Again.

What fascinates me are the variety of beards being grown at the centre and how they change the general appearance of the owner of said beard. We have full, thick, chunky beards, wispy beards, patchy beards, beards a totally different colour from head hair, beards that you could lose an arm in, and beards that you couldn't run barefoot through.

There are beard owners who have had beards before and seem at ease with their facial hair, deftly curling their moustaches out of the way of their top lip before they eat. And there are beard owners driven half crazy by their facial hair, scratching and rubbing away in discomfort.

The variety of beards is endless, and it reminded me of a conversation I overheard between two men when I worked at GSK. One of them was baby-faced and smooth skinned, the other had a defined five o'clock shadow by 10:30 every morning and was known to have grown a substantial beard during a single IT migration weekend.

"This is really amazing" said Babyface "I can't believe all of the stubble that you have at this time of day. I can leave my face for ages without shaving. You and I should get together some time and have a proper beard growing competition"

"Great idea" says the second guy "What are you doing Tuesday lunchtime?"