Yesterday Vick and I did Qi Gong in a leafy Brighton park with a nice slim teacher. We moved slowly and felt a kind of magic from connecting to the heavens and the earth, corny as that may sound. It was dangerously hot, but we didn't collapse and faint. Then we sat on a squashy leather sofa and drank fizzy elderflower cordial.
In the afternoon I stumbled into a "grief circle" which was part of an Extinction Rebellion event, campaigning against climate change. We took turns to speak about anger and sadness and guilt and fear to do with the damage to the planet. The woman who ran it felt that by talking about grief and connecting with each other it turns into the expression of love.
Josie
Jeremy Hunt calls himself an entrepreneur. I looked him up on Wikipedia and he has several failed enterprises but it doesn't matter as he has loads of money. One of his bright ideas was making marmalade and selling it to the Japanese. They didn't like it. In spite of everything, I find that rather endearing. I have a mental picture of him in a steamy kitchen stirring vats of boiling oranges and spitting sugar and trying to get a decent set. On the other hand, there is loathsome Boris, making buses out of old boxes. He paints them red and likes putting the happy people inside. What a pair. Neither fills me with confidence.
The lovely sunshine has driven thoughts of Brexit from my head, and it has been all strawberries and meals in people's gardens and gin and tonics with the Dumbrellites.
I haven't got much get up and go but I think the Qi Gong did me good.
Vicky
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