Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Yogi Where?
And here six weeks later I've just had my last yoga class. Not necessarily last forever but last in the series. We ended up having a replacement tutor for the last two. That was a good thing, even in as much as it was a bad thing, because he wasn't very good for beginners, though he clearly was very good. It showed, therefore, that in these early delicate stages you do need a good teacher. So whilst I'm inclined for more, I'm not sure how I'll fare in the 'drop in to any level' sessions. We'll see.
I usually sleep jolly well after a lesson - though I can tell in the next couple of days I will be experiencing some discomfort from some of the comedy moves I barely managed to get myself into. Did you know I cannot balance? Have I some kind of palsy? I apparently needed to find my centre and concentrate on it. Turns out that was gazing out of the window at the War Horse billboard. Who'dofthunkit?!
Still despite the jolly sleeping to look forward to, to head off too potential aches I've just drawn a bath. And by drawn I don't mean with watercolours (no, that's the next course I've signed up to). In true Victorian style to ensure sufficient hot water coverage over self I had to boil the kettle. The hot-water here serves sufficiently for long showers and dish-washing but not for a full bath. So the candles were lit and the kettle's freshly boiled hot-water dispersed into fragrant bubbles of fruity scents. I slipped off the towelling robe, bought for just such occasions and into the delightfully warm, but not too hot, bath. At this juncture I was reminded of the inevitable fact that not only am I too big for the bath, the bath is too small for me. And yet still I must find additional hot-water. I adjusted the bubbles accordingly and realised that with the limbs at odds with the water-line, I looked not a little unlike Whoopie Goldberg in the Annie Liebovitz photo, but without the milk. Which amused me greatly.
And there I lay, dappled in candle light gently dousing my exposed parts in warm water, until such time as my sudden movement upwards caused a surge of bathwater that extinguished one candle and took out 50 pages of my book.
C'est la vie.
I usually sleep jolly well after a lesson - though I can tell in the next couple of days I will be experiencing some discomfort from some of the comedy moves I barely managed to get myself into. Did you know I cannot balance? Have I some kind of palsy? I apparently needed to find my centre and concentrate on it. Turns out that was gazing out of the window at the War Horse billboard. Who'dofthunkit?!
Still despite the jolly sleeping to look forward to, to head off too potential aches I've just drawn a bath. And by drawn I don't mean with watercolours (no, that's the next course I've signed up to). In true Victorian style to ensure sufficient hot water coverage over self I had to boil the kettle. The hot-water here serves sufficiently for long showers and dish-washing but not for a full bath. So the candles were lit and the kettle's freshly boiled hot-water dispersed into fragrant bubbles of fruity scents. I slipped off the towelling robe, bought for just such occasions and into the delightfully warm, but not too hot, bath. At this juncture I was reminded of the inevitable fact that not only am I too big for the bath, the bath is too small for me. And yet still I must find additional hot-water. I adjusted the bubbles accordingly and realised that with the limbs at odds with the water-line, I looked not a little unlike Whoopie Goldberg in the Annie Liebovitz photo, but without the milk. Which amused me greatly.
And there I lay, dappled in candle light gently dousing my exposed parts in warm water, until such time as my sudden movement upwards caused a surge of bathwater that extinguished one candle and took out 50 pages of my book.
C'est la vie.
Comments:
It's a tricky business having a bath. What humans really need is a method of dry cleaning themselves.
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