There are worse ways to spend a Sunday than sitting in a grand 18th century ballroom, selling pop-up Christmas cards to all and sundry. It was hard work, but as I love nothing better than a bit of people watching, it was a pleasure too.
Ah yes, but it’s not just any Christmas card. It was designed by yours truly and you won’t find it anywhere else in the world. And it was slotted together by hand. The recipient will never throw it away…etc etc.
I also love the customers who spend upwards of £20 on cards in one fell swoop. Kerching!
My husband and I were both exhausted at the end of the day, but I had booked myself into a rejuvenating chanting and gong bathing class. It was just the job. I have a voice that makes Florence Foster Jenkins seem tuneful, yet I love chanting. It is so soothing and I don’t care if I look like an idiot, sat there droning words I don’t understand.
I’ve just paid for a silent retreat that I am doing next Sunday and frankly, I am counting down the days. Six whole hours of glorious quiet. Priceless.
Stillness is in every moment.