Baptiste and I were sitting the very lovely Le Chandelier café in Dulwich today. It is my new favourite place.
I love the food and the coffee, the tea, the chandeliers and the cakes, so I do tend to go there and sit in my favourite chair for a while, on my days off.

I have a new toy. It does, in fact, rise far above the description. The word toy does it no justice at all. It is an iTouch. The latest techno gadget from MAC. It does everything except phone calls. I love orange and will not move from a human answering my queries and I hate O2 advertising, so I am stuck with out an iPhone, but the Nokia N95 has the best camera on the planet, in mobile terms, and I cannot move from that, so the world is great and you now know that not only am I a techno bunnie, I am also a techno snob.

It does not stop there. I love Chanel lipstick and cannot go out without my moisturiser from the Pharmacia Santa Maria Di Novella. I use Eskandar bath oils and love good, raw chocolate. So if you are ever stuck for a present, my likes and dislikes are clearly delineated.

Back to the Chandelier. I was telling Baptise, and it was gently floating over his head I feel, that I was feeling much more positive about the MAC store recently, having had to return a couple of things and the marvels of my new “thing” fresh in my mind. The very delightful waitress floated over to take our money and joined in the conversation: she had just bought a new lipstick from the MAC store and it was really good. She was surprised by the quality and they had really gone up in her estimation too.

Baptiste shut his eyes and sat back. I merged into the new dialogue seamlessly.

I am not yet alarmed by the prospect of going to Jaipur, despite the bombs there last night. But I am supposed to be working on the next two collections of clothes. And what am I doing? Stroking the puppy and writing weblog. Anything except what I should be doing. I will gird my loins and apply myself at once.

Psychics, Mystics, Witches and longings

I am recovered after the time at the Mystic Arts. It was hot, oh, so hot, but good. Lots of charming people all hovering on the edges of normal. Some dangling off the side, too, but most had a grip on a version of reality. It may not have been a totally pukka version according to all that says these things are Pagan, and I am not naming names, but it was good.

The flowers are outside the shop as usual, all enjoying the sun before the next trip along by the truncheon of police and the very charming Oliver with his council posse. I feel rebellious and naughty, but what is new? I think the rules are deeply silly, and until anyone gets deeply out of their pram enough to take me to court I will resist the rules. Me and the fishmonger, the vegetable shop, the nail parlour…… all down the street it is as if it never happened. So I am not really so brave and out there, alone.

I have watched the fabulous weather from inside for the past eight days or so, and it has been OK. I thought I would log to be basking, but no, I am happy watching the gradual undressing of the majority of the female version of human and wondered what is it that happens to taste, style, self esteem and any kind of modesty.

Oh, I sound so old, I know I do, but I come from the place that likes to look elegant and stylish. I shun bulgy, skin tight and transparent over very tight G-strings. I do, I do. But here in South London there is no such hindrance to total exposure of all that could be shown. No imagination needed. Plus the Primark Label is showing a lot, too, so people are not using their wallets to protest against the treatment of Tibet, just Facebook.

The body image is such a fascinating subject. Being a shopkeeper, resisting fashion and going along the stylish and elegant route I do work with a lot of women and their body image. Probably no more than most boutiques, but from a particular perspective in as much as I can say yes to anything up to a size 30, and help to work towards a positive and empowered way of dressing. A woman yesterday returned clothes that her husband refused to let her go out it. An interesting moment, hearing that, but it got more challenging as she then proceeded to take herself to bits in front of the mirror, was going to weight watchers and probably barely glanced at being a size 10. She had her mother with her who really did help her by saying that her figure was appalling and she would fit nothing in the shop.

I have metal shutters, internal ones, that roll down, noisily, when I have peaked on listening to crap. They crashed down yesterday.

You could say that I am judgemental, you could, but I don’t think it is that. I suppose having always struggled with my own body image and finally come to terms with it in my 40’s, I can see how endemic it is, the dysmorphia that we all live with. Not all of us, I know, but many.

We had a large number of police in the street today. Sun shining, police everywhere.

I went towards one who was calmly leaning on a bollard basking in the sun, and asked him what was up. Apparently the council were giving shop keepers tickets for having A boards out side their shops.
Oops, that’s me.

Well it was such fun. The police were there to protect the councillors from us shopkeepers. And it took a big deep breath to keep smiling through the highway, by way and council regulations. Ah, me, the delights of 21st Century victim culture.

Well I got fined for having flowers and an A board, threatened with court, a criminal record and then the policeman, 7 of them, noticed that we had no tax disc on the car. No tax disc at all. It had been stolen honest, governor. Finally they gave me 5 days to get another. Oh, it a great afternoon in Balham. But it was all smiles in the end and I waved them off as cheerily as I waved off the Born Again Christians on Monday.

The house is garlanded in wisteria, the frogs are chirping? Or is it ribbitting? Endlessly. And we have had breakfast and lunch in the garden several times now. Ah, it is so nice. We have also had the joint cased several times today and a wallet stolen. Horrid. But at least it had no money in t and was nothing more serious. Just boring and time consuming nonsense.

Talking of which, I had an amusing time on the weekend and could, I know, easily cause offence. But that is not my intention. If it upsets, I am sorry. But, three people in printed T shirts came and ranged themselves around me in the shop on Monday. I could see what was coming: They were Christian Fundamentalists wanting to convert me.

It is not on my list of experiences, so I was polite but firm, and in the end had them all praying for me as it was all I was willing to accept. It was a long prayer, as I am obviously an infidel. (I have been told this by several different people including the Hari Krishna lot,) But finally my soul was rescued from purgatory and they moved onto the Muslim Fishmonger.

I do think it is important to admire the chutzpah of standing in a shop on a busy day in a prayer circle over a woman dressed head to toe in black with her hand on her hip standing on one leg.

Another Ah, it was lovely was the experience of letting our son save up for a Gameboy PSP. It took a while and we contributed £22 to the final effort. Let him drown in it for 4 days, seeing him emerge from the playing experience with his aura shredded, blinking with red, sore eyes. A few more days of intermittent playing and I carefully planted the thought that an ipod would be so much more fun.

A few days later he asked what he could get for him Gameboy. 24 hours on ebay and it was gone! Oh, joy. Ah, it was lovely. A quick trip to the MAC store (the computer shop, not the make up shop) and he is in bliss. We go to school with a whole DJ experience that everyone can share in and we do not have that horrible PSP in the house any more.

I am working hard at really enjoying making clothes. I do not know why I have to work at it, but it seems that I am not fabulous at enjoying this. I seem to excel at suffering, though, which is excessively dull and it is time to move on.

So to this end I have been making an effort to thoroughly enjoy the clothes that I make. And they are turning out to be a real pleasure. I spend hours refining the shapes with a tailor in India, but when they get back here, all wrapped in plastic I somehow do not feel that I can just take. So they lie and wait for customers. Patiently dangling on hangers until someone comes along, and with a slight intake of breath, lifts the hangar off the rail to devour the colour, fabric, style and shape. Once on, they are taken home to be made the owners own.

So I am now playing this game and have been tempted into wearing a delicious, very sexy, short A line top in black. Heads are turning, let me tell you, and at 48 that is a treat!

Otherwise it is raining. Oh, so lovely. But it is all so green. I will be running tomorrow in Battersea park at 6.30am then breakfast at Borough market. Anyone interested in a run and a good coffee, meet me at the top car park at 6.30am. (The one by the river.) Come rain or shine. But be warned, I am a beginner……

I have been blessed with the gift of avoiding things I do not want to do.
Why is it a gift? Because it is a rare area of my life where I feel little guilt by contrast to the waves, swathes and layers of guilt that blanket other parts of my reality.
Plus there is the joy, as an employer, of asking someone else to do it for you. Charmed, I am sure.

I am good, in as much as I do not take advantage. I do not ask people working with me to collect my children or do my laundry, but dusting, hoovering and other delights I can delegate and do.

There are other areas of my life where I experience cowardice on a baroque scale. Window dressing is one, I hate to do it alone, another is sorting out the rails. I shirk, shy and cower at the thought. Why? I have absolutely no idea at all. I can admit to being rather stunned by my lack of willingness to tackle both the windows or the rails.

Up to now I have done the windows on a weekly basis, girded my loins, taken a deep breath and dived in. Each time has been a resounding success, really it has. I have taken responsibility for myself and my business and triumphed.

But laying out the clothes on the rails. Argh!! In the most childish, mouse-tortured way possible I put my hands to my face and hide whilst I scream, I hate it. I have a woman who works with me and she does an amazing job. She loves doing it, takes all day and just transforms everything. I look at what she can do and feel way down on the scale of rail dressing skills. So I dis-empower myself, waiting for the lovely Sam to come back and rescue me yet again.

But recently my patience wore thin. The rails looked messy, bundled up, nothing could be seen and it was not singing arias in the way I feel it can, should or ought to. Philip came to my rescue. He actually asked if he could change the whole thing around. Oh, Joy! I quietly swooned inside at the thought of just so much rescuing. Phew, Hurrah, Oh my God yes! and various other displays of delight escaped from my lips. I left him to it and had a day off.

Of course, I came in today and….. (I know he will read this) I hated it. But I loved him for it because it was done out of the best kind of love and friendship, it was good, it was great, but not how I wanted it. I dragged my husband upstairs and together we changed it all around, completely and utterly. It was exhilarating, fun, challenging and looks fab. How brave am I, courtesy of some one else?

Now I am about to call the tax office. Is there no end to the challenges one has to take on as a grown up?

I ran early this morning and it was so wonderful. At 5.30am the sun was just beginning to rise, and as I got warmed up and into my stride, running through the dew and the perfume of may blossom, suddenly there was that amazing moment when the rays of light cut through the shadows, the birds are still and silent for a moment, the shadows suddenly seem so dark, the light spreads it’s wings and it is morning.

It is the most blissful moment and I miss it every day, either because I am asleep or my practice is being done inside. I forget how wonderful that time is. I forget how wonderful so many things are in my longing to be elsewhere, doing other things. But today I was absolutely there. Breathing, watching, running and loving every second. I even managed to keep a mantra going and thought of nothing stressful until I ran across two very unsavoury characters on bicycles. Luckily I had the very large poodle with me.

And now it is belting down rain.

Otherwise, designing clothes is an interesting life choice. Then personally selling them takes it to a whole other level. I meet wonderful people. Not all women, but mostly, and it is such a great experience to help them go through the choices and find new ways to look, new ways to feel about themselves. It is similar, very similar to making a beautiful portrait or doing a transforming piece of bodypaint or a great beauty make up on someone and they look in the mirror and see something so very different than their usual perceptions of themselves.

I spent a couple of hours with a woman yesterday, going through all manner of different options and by the time we had finished she looked so great. So comfortable and so happy. But not because she was wearing a “tunic” (as I was offered the other day in a shop, so I could hide myself away in it) but because she had found clothes that brought out her elegance, her colouring and her character. I loved every minute. It also makes the drama of the making and the shipping so worthwhile.

I am looking into manufacturing here, but I cannot truly see that it will simplify anything. I think it will just add more drama and responsibility to an already huge task. But I will not be daunted. I will pursue the idea until I know for sure that it is or is not viable. To this end I have signed up for Drapers Record and am attempting to make sense of the short courses available at the London College of Fashion. Argh! They say they have no more catalogues and their website is a labyrinth.

It is my day off and I have a long list of tasks to complete. Will I get to the end without stopping and relaxing? How many of the more hideous tasks will I try to side-step? How responsible and grown up am I, really?

Two odd experiences recently, both worth a mention. One was a film Shortbus, lent by a friend. Not for the sexually squeamish, but not pornographic, either. An interesting tightrope walk between the two, all about orgasm or not. The other was being directed towards Tainted Love by Marylin Manson. I sat on the sofa with the children last night and went through the punk years of my youth, looking at Toyah Wilcox and the Thompson Twins, Madness and Bowie all neatly corralled into some delightfully lightweight arena by Marilyn Manson. Strange. Good, but strange. Talking about body image, as I frequently do and have done today, knowing whom he was married to, seeing his face and his version of reality it was a little odd. Not bad or shocking, but I then watched him being interviewed on some USA talk show with Dita and after a few minutes gave up. Wrapping paper. Pretty, but highly disposable.

There are so many levels of reality, so many versions of who we are, who we think we are, who we want to be and who we curl away from. So many things we hate, about ourselves, the world, our history and the reality of others. Where is the centre of it all? Where is the place of total acceptance, no judgement, no history colouring now, just exactly how it is and it is fine?

I often wonder if when I get there, will I just disappear? Will it all peel away and reveal some totally other existence? Will I be astral travelling through the Eagle Nebula? Ah, my dream trip.

Today has been great. The art of relaxing taken to the nth degree, and I do feel so wonderful.
It has been several days of unalloyed pleasure recently, friends, laughing, good food, fabulous children and learning to relax -at last.

Truthfully things, life, has been so stressful recently that the levels could not be sustained. Something had to give, and the result is the ability to be still, to read a good book, lie in a comfortable hammock with two children and a dog, take long hot baths and watch good movies.

For me, that is all I need.

A perfect Sunday.

I am having a good day. Not just financially, but in myself, too. I have been surrounded by people that I like and love all day and it does make such a difference to my outlook on life, but it passes. I still long for endless continuity; wanting things to stay good all the time, but is so childish and I am working so hard at being a grown up. Here I am, 48 years old. Third or fourth career, mother of children, married, washing machine, 4×4 car and I still feel like a child most of the time.

I look around me, at times, and wonder if all other women feel the same. Do they look in the mirror and wish it was different? Suck in the cheeks, tilt the chin up slightly, bring one foot forward and then lie to themselves? I honestly think they do, but they just hide it better. Or perhaps not even that. I am sure I hide it really well and that there are those out there who know me, but most would think I have it wrapped, sorted and ready to go.
So there we are. I do not, and as I ponder yesterday’s epiphany, I can see that my entire adult life has been spent in the field of body image. From a body painter to a photographer, a yoga teacher to a clothes designer, it has all been focussed on the body in some form. Most of it, probably all of it if I really think through, has been about transformation, change, illusion, alteration and archetype.

I have always had my own body issues and endlessly deal with those of others. As the mother of a daughter, now I really do realise the extent of the carnage we all move through. All the time. I can rant, I know I can and have been told that I do, but I would like to propose that on the new website, that Devotion will present in a couple of weeks time, there is a section on body image. I know it is not a purely female issue and if there was a way of opening a forum for all of us who deal with this to add comment it could be interesting.
How it will then move anything in the public arena, I really have no idea, but within each of us with issues there is so much angst that can be so painful and being able to see that we are not the only ones is a powerful tool for change.

I watched two drunk women in mini skirts the other night. Such high heels they could barely walk, and thought about how that is an acceptable face of women as far as the current media projection is concerned. It is a sad sight, but as far as licensing laws, alcohol advertising, fashion magazines and so on, totally perfect. Of course I could be so wrong, that there are other ways, and hey, what is wrong with a pair of heels now and then? I can be seen as being judgemental of the choices of others, I know, but at the same time I can look at the most successful boy at my children’s school and see that he is chunky, bellied and badly dressed. By contrast, the most successful girl is skinny, well dressed and preened to the cheeks. Quite a contrast.

I cannot change any of that, the journey for every one of us is profoundly personal, but I can change me and my reaction to myself. And the most powerful tools for change are identification, awareness and a desire to do things differently. For me the shop is a huge statement of the other options and the dressing for work each day in the clothes I make, another. But there is more to grounding one’s self than just what is worn. The more it is part of the consciousness, the simpler and easier it gets. The most engaging and attractive are always those who totally accept themselves. Victoria Beckham being an excellent example of someone who does not accept anything about herself at all, and so she never looks real, comfortable, attractive.
Gosh, another sweeping judgement. Could also be an observation. Let it be just that.

Gently peeling an onion

Sounds like part of a recipe, I know, but it is not.
I wish it were, I would have a certain sense of control over the affair, but it is a term used in recovery from addiction.

It is the process that happens to someone who chooses to change, to put down the thing or things, like alcohol, drugs etc that are causing harm and issues with daily life. I choose my words carefully because it does seem to be outside of one’s control, to a degree. If one does not change, one being me, for now, I will use again and that is a given. So I have to move into another space of being. Anyone who wants to stop acting out addictively has to look at big life changes. Friendships, lovers, social life, work, family, all of it has to change. It can be messy and it is doubtlessly hard but infinitely worth it.

As time passes, the layers of pain, fear, anger, depression, loss and inadequacy peel away. Therapy helps, talking, new friends on a similar path and some version of spiritual practice all lift away the layers and things change.

Over time, say 5 years, the first hard cracking heavy and protective layers are gone. After that it is the tighter, more intense layers that are peeled away until the kernel rests. Please do not for a moment think that the kernel is just one event. It is not. The prophet, Kalil Gibram says ‘your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding.” It is the hardest thing to crack. The cracking releases so much emotional pain and suffering that I certainly find myself avoiding it. And then there are layers to the kernel, too. Like some massive cosmic joke, it seems to be endless.

I am there, inside the kernel, listening to the laughter but not actually finding it funny at all. I have been describing myself as feeling like a snake in a chapatti tin for several weeks now, but I had an epiphany about two nights ago and I now stand looking through the crack and finally see the bottom of it. The steaming, smoking fires of growing up and taking responsibility. Argh! 48 years old and still trying to shirk, contort and fall over to avoid being an adult. It is just so tiresome, but here I stand, looking at myself with amazement that it really has taken me so long to see myself and my games.

The gently part is not really true of the process at all, but it worked better as a heading than the reality of tearing away the screaming flesh of all the walls with tears coursing past.

God, such drama, and all without swearing. Actually, giving up the expletives has been easier than I expected. They do slip out occasionally, usually two a day, in quick succession, but so far today there has been nothing.
And I am taking more and more responsibility. I really am.