Love letters straight from the heart...

So, I was saying yesterday about how I’ve been looking through old letters, right?  Well, one of the reasons they've been on my mind is because a book I wrote last year has just come out.  It’s called Kind Regards and is basically an anthology on the lost art of letter-writing. 

Yes, I love letters. Real letters. Hand-written letters. Ideally letters that have been written from the heart, rather than from duty. Honestly, how can you not love them?  I have, not just the one box that I showed you yesterday, but a fair few boxes of old letters.  I can throw away most things without a backward glance but not letters, and not photos.  Reading old letters is like time travelling – it takes me back to the person I once was, with all my insecurities and anxieties and hopes and dreams. It reminds me of people who are no longer in my life. It’s a record of the loves and losses I have enjoyed and suffered over the years – my own personal history captured in ink.

Researching the book was a revelation.  At times it was quite emotional.  I knew many of the great letter-writers, but others came as delectable surprises.  Tender and passionate love letters stole my heart. Tragic last letters from people facing death brought a lump to my throat. The correspondence between parents of sick or dying children made the mother in me weep.

Psychotherapists believe that writing letters – honestly and from the heart – acts as a powerful form of self-therapy; that it can bring clarity and a means of expressing emotions. Somehow the act of putting pen to paper gives a further depth and meaning to the words – one that an email can never quite duplicate. Do you have to send the letter?  No. J

“Sir, more than kisses, letters mingle souls; for, thus friends absent speak.” John Donne

I have many beautiful letters in my collection and many that make me laugh out loud.  For years my best friend Jane and I used to write long long letters to one another – looking over them makes me smile so much. We were so damn pretentious as teenagers – writing to one another in Latin, and quoting left, right and centre.  But the one that really cracks me up is where she carefully transcribed all the lyrics from several Black Sabbath songs.  Only downside? Her writing is atrocious! 

Sadly there are no beautiful love letters in my collection. Maybe I never had poetic lovers.  Maybe I just didn’t inspire beautiful letter writing.  I do have one curious declaration of adoration from a guy who wrote me a (very long) short story about how I couldn’t love him because I loved my cat too much – and then went on to describe how the cat was stolen and had experiments conducted upon him and lost his mind (the cat, this is).  Yeah, nice one, fella.  And nope, he never got into my knickers! J  

Then there were the weird sex psalms from this musician who had a wicked imagination and wonderful handwriting.  I tell ya, I nearly fell into bed with him over the shape of his Ss alone.  And, hilariously, the letter sent from a boyfriend when he was abroad and drunk.  Followed (apparently the moment said letter had slipped from his fingers into a mail box in Paris) by a frenzied email begging me to ‘Burn it! Throw it away! Please. Don’t read it.’  Umm, yeah…well, what would you have done?  

But love letters?  Real true love letters?  That stuff that scorches your soul? Nah. Nary the one. L

I mean…not letters like Katherine Mansfield wrote to John Middleton Murry… Not like those from John Keats to Fanny Brawne. Vita Sackville-West to Virginia Woolf. Oscar Wilde to Lord Alfred Douglas. Anais Nin to Henry Miller. Zelda to F. Scott Fitzgerald. Flaubert to Louise Colet. The list goes on and on. The kind of letters you would read again and again, hunting for yet more nuances, more levels of meaning. 

But anyhow. J Modern lovers, mainly - it has to be said - the young (whose idea of romance is a quick text) could learn a bit.  All I'd say is this:  if you love, write a letter.  Of course, it's not just about romance.  A letter doesn't have to be about soul-rending love: write newsy letters, thank-you letters, "I'm thinking about you" notes, a "Hello" card...whatever... Write, not just to your lovers, but to your friends, your children, your parents. If you can’t bring pen to paper, then yes, an email will suffice but the thing is – you can’t unfold an email; you can’t smell an email; you can’t trace your finger over an email and know that the other person's hand has moved over the selfsame paper.  Can you?  A letter is a direct psychic link with another person – it’s way beyond physical. 

Okay, so that’s a bit tangential and Kind Regards covers all manner of things to do with letters, not just soul attachments and so forth.  There is a little bit of history, some snippets about stamps and envelopes and anecdotes about this and that, and even a few hints on how to write letters, for those who may have forgotten.

And, if the name on the cover looks unfamiliar?  Well, what can I say?  I used a pen-name. J

Kind Regards is published by Michael O'Mara Books. It's available now in the UK and on Kindle - released in the US in December.  

The past in a box...

So I’ve been sitting here, in my study, on the sofa, by the window, with the SP, with tears dribbling down my face.  And not just from the virus thingy.  I dunno why…(well, I do, but it’s not really important) but I opened up the wooden box that my brother had given me way back in the late sixties or very early seventies or thereabouts.  He’d been working in London with this guy who dealt in antiques (and who, incidentally, hung out with all kinds of major rock legends) and he gave it to me (my brother, not the guy, or the rock legends).  The box, that is. And it’s a bit of a memory chest…with stuff in it going way back. 

I haven’t looked in it for years but this morning I did.  And, oh my.  Such strange things; things I’d forgotten all about; letters from people that I haven’t read in…what?...forty years in some cases. Things like...

A photo of me and my sister with Father Christmas.  

A pic of me and my mum and the ridiculous dachshund, Bella, with the bald stomach (the dog). 

Invitations to 18^th birthday parties, including one I designed for me and my (foster) sister’s joint party (the one which started off so well but ended in hilarious – in hindsight - disaster).  

Good luck cards, Congratulations on passing your driving test cards. Medals from the war. A rosette. Clippings from the local newspaper.  

My great-uncle’s indenture papers, his merchant seaman reports and his astronomical notebook.  

A Blow Monkeys’ single, with a large bite taken out of it. Why? Not a clue.

'Chin up' type postcards from friends...including one of Harrison Ford, which did make me smile.

And I read the letters – in this box mainly from my family.  My mother’s – practical, newsy, talking about animals and the weather, worrying about my manners and various coughs and colds and whether she should send me stamps and if I’d get a train back from somewhere or other because the petrol would cost £5 (obviously in the days when it was cheaper to travel by rail than car!).  My sister’s – well, just the one, laughing at how rubbish she was at writing letters and telling me about the Sunday joint (the meat one). And so weird, hearing her talk about her baby (my eldest nephew) and her bump, my second eldest nephew who hadn’t been born then, not to mention their three younger siblings who were…where? 

And the funniest, loveliest letters of all, strangely enough, from my brother.  From when he first went to America to live.  A few years after our father died.  He’s one of those rare people who writes pretty much exactly the way he talks (unlike his emails which are terse and to the point, to put it mildly).  And one bit really struck me…

‘Janie. Bean. I’d like to hear how you’re feeling – not so much how you’re doing at school – I’m sure you’re doing as well there as you want to.  So tell me – it occurred to me that you kept most of those feelings to yourself.  So let me know if you feel you want to – otherwise it’s OK if you don’t want to?! (if you see what I mean).’

I wonder what I replied?  I wonder if I did reply?  Cos he was right.  I did keep feelings to myself.  Always did. Always do pretty much.  Which is probably wise in many ways, but equally probably not very healthy.  Cos when you suppress feelings, they sort of stagnate and have a  nasty tendency to go bad.  And that, I wonder, is why I've been so ill?  Maybe it's time to get out my paints again.  Cos, though I never say or write what I really feel - I can't ever lie in paint. 

And then, at the very bottom, I found this - one of several 'Biff Kards' (anyone remember them?) and it made me laugh and laugh... 

So, tell me...have you got a box like this?  :-)

Please don't dose your baby with formaldehyde

The other day I was talking to someone on Twitter.  She was looking for wooden bunk beds and I said, ‘Hey, try and get ‘em secondhand.’  Not just because of cost (though heaven only knows that’s a big consideration) but because you won’t be running the risk of your child breathing in nasty toxic chemicals. 

It reminded me of when I was writing my little book Spirit of the Nursery.  It struck me that  parents always want the best, the freshest, the newest, for their babies and yet, sadly, newest and brightest and sparkliest often isn’t best for babies.  It’s ironic that many parents, acting purely out of beautiful best intentions, may unwittingly be providing a toxic nightmare for their baby. 

I hate to be alarmist but I figure in this case ignorance really isn't bliss.  Reports state we’re exposed to up to 300 volatile organic (carbon-based) compounds within the home. It’s thought that thousands of cancer deaths annually are brought about by indoor air pollutants – the hoard of chemicals that quietly seep into our homes.  And the greatest threat comes from new materials – from paint, soft furnishings, carpets, furniture, wallpaper – exactly what you’re probably planning for that gorgeous new nursery, huh?

Sadly, it’s a real concern as babies are even more vulnerable than adults to toxins. They’re smaller and have faster respiratory and metabolic rates, so they inhale pollutants far more easily and swiftly, and the build-up in their bodies is more concentrated.

So, what do you do?  Keep it all as natural as possible really.  Look out for paints which are water-, milk-, plant- and mineral-based.  Sure, they aren’t as mark-resistant as your average vinyl matt but who cares when they offer peace of mind.  Choose natural thinners, such as linseed oil and pine resin turpentine.  Recycled wood floors (carefully sanded) are lovely – lino and cork are also non-toxic.  Natural floor coverings (sisal, coir, seagrass etc) look great but are harsh on the knees and are a pure horror to clean (ever tried picking playdough out of seagrass? I don’t recommend it).

Don’t be sniffy about buying secondhand furniture.  Sand it down, clean it up and it’ll be good as new (and have more character).  Please, above all, avoid MDF.  I dunno if you know but they use formaldehyde in the manufacture of pressed wood products and it is released from the products over time – a process known as outgassing. How long?  Nobody’s quite sure but five years, possibly even ten, maybe even more.  What effects can it have? Watery eyes, burning sensations in the eyes and throat, nausea, difficulty breathing. It may even be a trigger for asthma. And it’s not just used in MDF – formaldehyde outgases from many new products – carpet, carpet adhesives, and some fabrics. L

Funny thing, while I was writing this, a press release pinged in from VUPbaby.  They hadn’t crossed my radar as, well, my own baby is coming up fourteen now.  J  But I like their ethos.  They were concerned about the amount of toxins and chemicals, not just in nursery stuff but in children’s toys and general products.  They’re celebrating their third birthday this month and are offering lots of their best-selling products at a pound a shot.  Check ‘em out. www.vupbaby.co.uk

You might also be interested to know that Spirit of the Nursery is now available as an ebook for Kindle.  It’s not an interior design book but more a musing on how to provide your baby with the best possible environment for his or her early years. It includes a lot more safety tips but also more esoteric information on providing a safe space – physically, emotionally and spiritually – for babydom.  Obviously it doesn’t have pictures but I’m making up for the lack with a Pinterest board with all kinds of ideas and inspirations.  Hope you like it. J

Wine tastings are so last decade...beer's the thing

Adrian’s away again.  Last week it was Zagreb, this week it’s northern Bohemia in the Czech Republic and then straight on to Munich for the Oktoberfest.  I can’t say I begrudge him one little bit – beer festivals aren’t exactly my game. J 

People (well, mainly men; well, okay mainly beer-drinking men) always say he has the best job in the world.  To which he always shakes his head.  ‘They think all I do is stand around boozing,’ he says, with a hangdog expression. And I raise an eyebrow. ‘Or sit around boozing,’ he adds and I nod.  He looks hurt. ‘There’s a lot more to it than that,’ he says with a sigh.  And I say, ‘I know.’ 

And, to be fair, there is.  He prepares for ages before these trips, talking to people, checking out the details of obscure bars and breweries, making contact with even more obscure brewers and publicans, making lists of which particular obscure beers and lagers he needs to taste.  And when I say taste, I mean taste as in the whole swirling it round the glass and sniff sniff sniffing thingy. And yes, the gobbling and swilling round the cheeks malarkey too.  

Because beer, you see (taste, smell, hear) is just as complex as wine.  I’ve never been much of a beer drinker (even when I drank) but I used to quite like the sniffing bit – yes, things like woodsmoke and grapefruit and mango and coffee and …oh you get the drift.  Adrian swears that beer is actually more complex than wine and that there is certainly way more variety.  He’ll even tell you that beer has ‘terroir’ – just as much as any grand cru.

Years back, when he announced that he was going to make a living out of beer, I laughed (and, I hold up my hands and admit, quite freely, that it was not laughing in a jolly way but more in a bitter and twisted way).  ‘Good luck with that,’ I said, mentally figuring I would need to write a couple more books a year to make up the shortfall.  But I was wrong.  Now he writes regularly for the Telegraph and for the Sunday Times travel magazine and for a host of specialist publications around the world.  He's won shedloads of awards for his writing. And he’s written a fair few books too – all in praise of beer and things beery.  So I eat my hat (or rather neck back my pint – or I would if…oh you know what I mean).  The Bonkers House now keeps afloat on...mainly...beer.

Some of you already know this of course.  But what you probably don’t know is that he also does pretty damn good beer tastings and talks.  Honestly, I thought they’d be grim as hell but nope – turns out my husband can actually be damn funny and informative and…erudite.  People love them. They smile. They laugh. They make notes. They sip and slurp and nod at one another. They say he makes them thirsty.  Apparently you can't even get rid of them at the end of the night - they just wanna stay chatting and drinking and wotnot. 

So, I guess what I’m saying is this.  If you or your company or whatever is considering a wine tasting (you know – for one of those corporate thingies, or team building or wotnot) then maybe think again.  Go for beer.  It’s cool.  It's different. It's - er...edgy.  No, really, it's not just louts necking Stella or old guys in tweed caps with whippets nursing warm pints of mild. It's...y'know...rock and roll.  Jesus, even rock stars are doing it... 

Drop him a tweet or check out  his blog.  He’ll happily travel if you meet his expenses – and his fees aren’t aimed at city bankers.  Seriously – give it a whirl.

Ti Sana - Italian for "sort me out quick!"

Okay, so I have to confess (and I don't like confessing weaknesses), I’m still feeling rubbish.  Funny thing, loads of people lately have been saying to me, ‘Oh, you need to eat properly – you know, normal food.’ I suppose they mean as opposed to my usual funny diet of fruit, tofu and muesli (and lately not so much of the muesli).  But -  get this – I’ve only been feeling rubbish since I started ‘eating normally’ – ie proper meals (vegetarian still of course).  So maybe my body liked the light diet?  Or maybe I just need to be ill for a bit?  Who knows?

Anyhow…if I can just hang on a bit longer, I’m heading off at the end of the month to Ti Sana Detox Retreat, in Italy. Testing out their raw food detox for Natural Health magazine.  Oh yeah! 

And what do they promise?  ‘Bright eyes, a beaming complexion, a toned physique and a brand new positive outlook’ Bring it on, babes!  Cos, not to put too fine a point on it, I look like forty shades of shit right now. J

Actually I’m more than a little excited about this.  I love Italy (one of my bestest old friends is an Italian contessa) and this place gets great reviews.  Alongside a diet of organic raw foods and juices (with most of the ingredients home-grown), there’s a gym, a sauna, pool and steam plus plenty of exercise classes and I get scrubbed and massaged and generally fiddled around with… Okay, so I’m not quite so wild about the idea of the Angel of Water treatment (fancy Italian for colonics) but hey…I’m going with the flow. Basically I'm going to let them do with me what they will. 

Plus there’s a consultation with the spa doctor and a battery of tests.  And I like tests.  Hey, I even used to like exams.  So, all I gotta do is limp through the next week or so and then, I’m off, off and away…and the nice people at Ti Sana can sort me out. 

Where is it?  Oh yeah.  Forgot to mention it’s in an 18^th century village in Lombardy – the centre’s been created out of an old Italian noble’s house near the River Adda.  Not far from Milan, not that far from Lake Como…

Fancy coming? J

Wellbeing Escapes - a nifty UK company specialising in spa and wellbeing holidays are sorting it all out for me...Take a look at their website and drool...  

Knee-deep in mud... why? Why?

I haven’t been hanging around social media much over the last few days.  Truth to tell, I’m still  not feeling great and the screen has been doing my eyes in, so I spent most of the weekend curled up by the fire, watching the flames and…y'know...dozing, dreaming.  J

And then I logged onto Facebook and came back to earth with a crash.  Saw this picture, posted by Hen (she of the wondrous yurt) and just thought, why?  WHY? L

At first I thought they were pigs.  But no. These are sheep, Australian sheep.  The caption read:

“Six weeks after being packed into a live export ship and sent halfway around the world, this is the miserable end for the thousands of Australian sheep caught up in the Ocean Drover disaster. Rejected by Bahrain and 'fast-tracked' to Pakistan, this photo taken in Karachi on the weekend shows they are now knee-deep in mud in hot and humid weather, at a clearly unsuitable holding facility. Pakistan has declared them diseased, and ordered them culled rather than sold for slaughter.”

And I know awful things are happening – to people, quite apart from animals – all over the world. But sometimes an image is so graphic it just hits harder than any number of words. And while there is not a huge amount you and I as individuals could do about, say, Syria... we could surely do something to stop this kind of cruelty?  I mean... why?  Why do we send live animals over the ocean, subjecting them to huge stress and misery, just so they can be killed and eaten elsewhere? Why? 

As some of you know, I don’t eat meat but please…this isn’t a case of rampant vegetarianism. I’m not telling you what to do; I’m not saying you shouldn’t eat meat.  I’m just saying, this kind of thing surely wouldn’t happen if there wasn’t the demand for cheap meat?  If you’re gonna eat meat, then please – think about where it comes from. Think local, think small-scalefarming.  Think about supporting farmers who actually care about the animals they rear.  Yes, it will be more expensive; probably a lot more expensive.  But then, I guess I’d say – maybe don’t eat so much or so often.  Even Adrian, who is a confirmed carnivore, has a meat-free day once or twice a week.  

One of the best cookbooks ever (IMHO, from back in the day when I used to cook) is Elisabeth Luard’s European Peasant Cookery.  In it she explains that the healthiest (and tastiest) cooking (all over the world, not just in Europe) tends to use meat in moderation, as flavouring rather than the main event. 

It makes perfect sense to me.  But then, we just don’t like to think about where our food comes from, do we?  It puzzles me, it really does, that people will happily munch a steak that has come from god knows where yet will wrinkle their noses with distaste at game – which has at least lived free with space to breathe and run and fly.  It’s a mixed up, muddled up world for sure. Or will carefully ensure their children get their five pieces of fruit and veg a day but will happily feed them burgers and sausages made from heaven only knows what. 

All I’m saying is…just maybe think about it.  Eat what you choose – truly, it’s your choice – just be aware of what you’re eating and where it came from. It's not only better for you and your family but, by  heck, it's one helluva lot better for sheep like those poor sods in Karachi.  

Okay, that's it.  Back to the fire.  

Sleep meditation, dream yoga and astral playdates

So, I’m reading The Tibetan Yogas of Dream and Sleep.  Slowly. Cos every time I read a page I fall asleep. J

Why? Cos I wanna be able to meditate when I’m asleep. Seriously, how cool would that be? The idea is that, eventually, you learn to remain aware at all times, even during deep sleep.  Why? Um, cos it’s possible I suppose. Because I love meditating while awake so figure more of a good thing is great. Because sleep seems like such a huge waste of time. And also because I’ve had a glimpse, just the tiniest glimpse, of what maintaining consciousness during sleep can do.

When I was younger, I used to be able to lucid dream really well, quite easily. At first I used it just for fun. I'd go eavesdrop on friends or I’d head off travelling.  It was awesome – shooting over huge waterfalls in Brazil or scooting over the desert in Arizona. Or flying up and up and up, through the atmosphere and out into space. 

But then, after I did art therapy and  read a lot of Jung, I started using lucid dreaming in a more serious way.  I trained myself to ‘go lucid’ whenever I had a nightmare – and I would confront the monster or whatever and find out what it really was, underneath its scary skin, beyond its sharp teeth.  And, once the skin was removed, the teeth had stopped tearing and biting, once the bright light of consciousness had shone on it, had brought it out from the shadows, the monster stopped being fearsome – and that particular nightmare would cease.  

If you stay lucid in a dream, you can ask anything – and receive answers that just aren’t possible in the waking state.  

But now? Oh who am I kidding?  I can’t even keep control of my mind during daytime consciousness. I really am like Dory in Finding Nemo – a two minute, nay two second, memory span. And I have lost the ability to lucid dream entirely.  But I'm not giving up.  Nobody said it was easy but if I’ve done it before, I can do it again, right?  Because really, it shouldn't be hard.  After all, everything is a dream anyhow.  We dream our world, our experiences, each and every one of them.

Whether we’re awake or asleep aren’t we just experiencing our mind’s projections?  Of course there are logical limitations – if we jump off a building we won’t tend to fly (in waking life); if we walk into a fire we will get burned (ditto) and so on.  Though humans can do extraordinary things under certain circumstances - I've had a few strange experiences myself.  And bear in mind that there are yogis who think nothing of flying or walking through (not just over) fire or translocating. But I think I’ll have to save that training for another lifetime. Unless, of course, I take a quantum leap. J

But the dream training is actually quite helpful, particularly when it comes to emotions, desires – even if it doesn’t result in lucid dreaming.  When a reaction arises, you simply remind yourself that you, the object or person and your reaction to said object/person are all dream. Your reaction to anything and anyone does not originate ‘out there’ but 'in here'. Your reaction is entirely down to you, your thoughts, your mind.  Your choice. 

Easy huh?  I wish. Maybe I’ll start by going back to astral touristry, or astral playdates.  Y’know…baby steps. J