I was on the telly!

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Hello all, how’s everyone? This is just a quick one because I think that a lot of you saw it already but I WAS ON THE TELEVISION last Thursday, talking about the blog. It was a morning television show called This Morning and it went very well, or at least I thought it did.

Mum was less convinced. Her very first comments afterwards; “Was your mouth dry? Your mouth seemed very dry.’ I don’t know how you know if someone’s mouth is dry – or why she felt she had to lead with that observation – but she thought I looked nervous at first but I got the hang of it as it went on.

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Guinea pigs, Michelangelo and skipping airline queues – welcome to the weird and wonderful world of angels

Well, as predicted, the angel stuff is not sitting well with me.

So far I’ve read two and a half of Doreen Virtue’s books in the hope that one of them will make more sense to me but they’re largely the same book repackaged in different ways. She may spend her days in the ‘angelic realm’ but she’s no fool when it comes to business. Sell the same thing 40 different ways and you’ll find someone to buy it. Including me now, which is irritating me.

But everything about angel therapy is irritating me.

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I don’t believe in angels. Not one little bit. Can Doreen Virtue, queen of angel therapy, convince me?

 

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OK, so I’ve put this off for as long as I can. Get your wings ready and your heavenly thoughts going – we’re about to dive into the world of Angel therapy. Yup, angels are very, very big in self-help land (well, self-help is the new religion).

So here goes…

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My deeply moving and profound conclusions about F**K it therapy by John C. Parkin. It’s getting spiritual and long. Sorry.

 

Oh dear. I’d written a lovely final post for F*K It. It was wise and wonderful, profound and witty. It’s now gone. Not sure what I did but I obviously didn’t save the draft. Oh well, F**K It – here’s a very hastily – and reluctantly – written post. Thing is, I don’t want F**k it to end. I really don’t.

I want to live in a F**K it world forever, preferably in Italy, drinking wine in the sun and listening to John and Gaia uttering funny, wise words which serve as an antidote to all the crap we listen to every day of our lives.

The crap that tells us that if we’re not pushing harder, doing more, striving to be thinner, fitter, richer, more successful, then we’re not doing it right.
As one friend put it, reading this book is like letting out a sigh of relief.

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Say F**K it to a book deal

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A couple of months ago I said F**K It to something quite major and I didn’t tell you about it because I worried I’d made a big mistake. I was worried that it was a sure sign that self-help had made me crazy.

In April I was offered a book deal and I turned it down.

I was offered something that I’ve dreamt of my whole life and said ‘No, thanks.’

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Self-help in the sun. With wine. What’s not to like? My F**K it week with John C Parkin

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Well I’m back from my F**K It week and I don’t know what to say except it’s been emotional. Much more than I was expecting. I thought the week would involve standing in the sun shouting ‘F**K It’ with a bunch of strangers and then maybe doing some sort of embarrassing dancing. And maybe some tree-hugging.

As it turned out there was no dancing and only one tiny little bit of shouting, right on the last day. There wasn’t even much swearing, actually. In fact it was more deep and beautiful than boisterous and funny (the tone of the book) and that’s a good thing. Although I did hug a tree – but that was for a laugh. The tree did not laugh back, which is a relief.

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I reject myself

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Hello! hello! It’s Friday, it’s sunny and REJECTION THERAPY IS OVER. Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah.

I’d like to say it’s been a triumphant month but it hasn’t. It was so un-triumphant I stretched it over two months and even then I bombed. Oh well, such is life…

When I started it,  I’d planned to do all sorts of wacky things – audition for a show! Go to Claridge’s and ask them to let me take a nap (thank you Victoria for that idea), phone up Buckingham Palace and ask if I could come to their garden party (again, thank you Victoria).

But as it turned out, I could not make myself do any of this.

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