Tuesday, 29 March 2011
It's now been over two weeks since I stubbed out my last cigarette and just eight days since I started yoga classes, and can't recommend the latter highly enough. It's something that had always fascinated me but was a little sceptical about the kind of hippies I might meet, there. Fortunately, the people are - guess what? - absolutely normal; no John Lennon/Yoko Ono clones to be seen and no long-haired, levitating septuagenarians with incense pouring out of their ears, or whatever is that happens to them when they achieve nirvana. For me, it's a wonderful mixture of Gym Replacement Therapy with added carpet and relaxation: you get the effects of a workout while being caressed and nuzzled by inexplicable peace and calm. It's amazing, your abs muscle up while your soul gets a handjob. You do have to intone a mystic note at the end, but it's a small price to pay for feeling like the King of the World afterwards. I've decided to consecrate my former tobacco budget to yoga. Grief, I must be getting old. Still love drinking, though.