I was standing on a sugar-beat harvesting machine. We’ll skip over the health and safety issues of my parents’ choice of children’ s play equipment - It was the late seventies and I was growing up on a farm, so it was quite the norm really. A sugar-beat machine seemed like the perfect piece of equipment for a pre-schooler to be playing on unsupervised.

What was strange about this particular moment was that I could remember exactly what I was saying while I was playing. Well, I say playing - perhaps at a very push you might call it ‘creating music’. You wouldn’t want to be stuck in a room with me as I gave you a rendition of my ‘greatest hits’; I was no child prodigy the likes of Beethoven or Rick Astley - but I do think you could just about recognise it as having some rhythmical aspects.

I had a couple of sticks and I was hitting the machine with them as if it was a 10 tonne, giant green portable drum machine. And as I did so, I was ‘chanting’ the same gobbledygook over and over again.

Why do I remember this brief non-event 45 years later? And why have I always remembered it? It really is hard to say. But for some unknown reason it’s a memory that has always been lodged in my head. There wasn’t anything else that happened that morning. I even remember that it was morning. It was simply a child cocking around on a farm machine, hitting it with sticks and repeating the same noises over and over again. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Let’s fast forward twenty years or so. I was in the military. Struggling a bit with being part of an institution where, by all accounts, I was supposed to do as I was told. Surprisingly, I found that following orders didn’t come naturally to me - apparently ‘orders’ weren’t an invitation for me to express my opinion.

Anyway, I was always keen to learn and try new things. I said yes to everything. Saying yes made life very interesting, I got to travel the world and have the most incredible adventures… but it also got me into a lot of trouble. Looking back, I guess that is one of the things that has never changed. An open mind and being willing to try anything twice. That’s the point I’m trying to make. I’ve always been open to trying things out.

In 1999 I lived in the same military block as a chap called Owen. He was a few years wiser than me and clearly very enlightened. Not only did he have a Buddha statue in the corner of his room, but he also burned incense sticks. It was Owen who introduced me to meditating.

In my eyes he was like the Mahoragi Ogi. Not that I was aware of his work back then. Maybe it’s more accurate to say he was like a follically challenged Temu Patrick Swayze from Point Break that couldn’t surf.

He explained about concentrating on my breath, or thinking of some words to help keep my mind from wandering. It all seemed pretty straight forward, albeit a complete waste of time when I could be doing something far more interesting.

Always willing to try new things, I gave this meditation thing a go. I bought some baggy pants. Some Mala beads and a dream catcher (obviously). I was well on my way to enlightenment.

I knew exactly what ‘words’ I should be using to help quieten my mind. Those same made up noises I used when hitting the sugar-beat machine all those years ago. I couldn’t explain why those sounds seemed the right ones. They just did. And I didn’t really think much more of it at the time.

I sat myself down. Cross legged obviously. Because ya know...Buddha did it that way. I took some long deep breaths, as Baldy Bodhi had suggested - and began to speak aloud those ‘words’ I had made up as a child…and they really did have a lovely feel in my mouth as I said them for the first time in 20-odd years.

Within just a few seconds I was wondering if Carol Vorderman secretly had the help of a calculator hidden behind her numbers desk. There was no way she could be that fast at maths, right? She must have had help.

Leave me be Carol - I’m busy becoming enlightened here. With some effort, I pushed Carol out of my mind and grew just a little annoyed with my weak mind. I’d never reach nirvana if I couldn’t manage to clear my mind for even just a few seconds.

Back to the noises and the breath…in through the nose…slowly say the words…

I wonder where this carpet was made and who chose this brown colour?

Oh fuck off, brain. Just give me a few moments of peace will you?

It didn’t work. No matter how many times I tried, the voices, the thoughts and the inane drivel would come into my head. It didn’t matter how hard I fought to keep them out - they always came back.

Over the next few years I tried to meditate so many times. With the words, with breath, counting sheep…I tried to quieten my head so many times. But it never worked. Not once.

My head was beyond busy. I was doing a job I didn’t like, living in the shit hole otherwise known as military accommodation, and battling an innate issue with authority. So I decided enlightenment could be put on hold for the time being. Meditation was not working for me at all. If anything, it left me more frustrated than when I started.

So life carried on its wonderful roller-coaster for the next few years’. I’d try meditating every so often, and I’d fail again. Always using the same noises I originally made up as a child on that sugar-beat machine; always getting the same disappointing outcome. Sitting still and being quiet just made the utter nonsense going on in my head even harder to ignore. Pretty sure that’s not the point of meditation, to be honest.

Over the years I concluded that the people who can quieten their minds clearly don’t have anything else going on in their lives, and therefore they must be the dullest of dull people. I bet they’d never even tried going out and drinking until they could just ignore their feelings.

Let’s fast forward to just a few years back. I stumbled upon an interview with a monk on a podcast. He was a rotund chap dressed in bright orange. I seem to remember he was holding some beads. I wondered if he had a Buddha statue in his bedroom? Let’s assume he did. He was the sort of chap that wouldn’t look out of place sitting atop of a Tibetan mountain whispering to the birds. He was explaining to the host how best to meditate. And he explained how to do it in the clearest way I had ever heard.

His explanation seemed to click, where Owen the Guru’s hadn’t. I realised those pesky thoughts in my head were actually called ‘intrusive thoughts’, and it was okay to have them. In fact, they are quite normal (I wonder if his mind was also full of Vorders and her numbers?). The trick, he stated, was to acknowledge the thoughts, and not to fight them. It was OK to even smile about them. To put them to one side and to start again.

I was willing to give it another go. Buddha loves a trier.

It bloody well worked a treat. The intrusive thoughts came immediately, as they always had, but instead of getting annoyed with my brain choosing that precise moment to question why Henry from Neighbours always wore dungarees but no top, I simply acknowledged it, put it aside, and carried on with a freshly cleared mind. Over and over again. The key thing was to never get annoyed. Sometimes I just concentrated on my breath, and other times I reverted to those sounds I had always made. It finally worked. Perhaps it was technique. Perhaps it was age. Probably both.

Over time, with a bit of practice, the gap between the intrusive thoughts started to get longer. But I could finally bloody meditate! Now where did I put those baggy pants?

I wish I’d known how to do it years ago, but if I kept going at this rate I’d be knocking on the door of Svarga by the weekend.

Hopefully that’s set the scene for you. Now it’s time for the next part of this tale, before it all weaves seamlessly back together for the finale.

As we are all too aware, the world of AI has come on leaps and bounds over the last year or so. I was sitting in my office at the crack of dawn just a few months back. I’d done a little meditating. I didn’t really have much of a fixed technique - I just think of those noises, and if I’m feeling brave, I say them out loud (quietly) . But 5 minutes or so and I’d emerge as chilled as Bagpuss after a fat one.

I’m not sure why, but I was hit by a thought. And it really was ever so sudden. Perhaps it was the universe giving me a nudge. Perhaps it was simply timing. But I realised that I had something on my phone (in the form of ChatGPT), that I could speak to, that would answer any question I asked of it!

And I had an overwhelming urge to ask it a specific question… I wonder if those meditation noises I’ve been making for 45+ years actually mean anything?

I opened up the ChatGPT App post meditation.

“Hi, I hope you’re well.” I started. I like to be polite to ChatGPT, my thinking is that if I’m kind, it might spare me and my loved ones when it finally takes over the world and destroys humanity.

Anyway, speaking into my phone - as I had absolutely no idea how to spell it - I asked this question:

“Does ‘Om nom sha via’ have meaning in any current or ancient language?”

(You’ll notice that I’ve learned how to phonetically spell it since then).

It’s fair to say that the answer that came back was a little surprising to say the least.

This is what my good friend ChatGPT had to say:

Yes Mike (we’re on very familiar terms), It’s Sanskrit. Om Namah Shivaya (ॐ नमः शिवाय) is one of the oldest and most revered mantras in Hinduism, particularly within the Shaivite tradition. A devotion mantra meaning something like “I bow to Shiva,” or “I honour the inner self.” People chant it as a kind of focusing or grounding practice.

Breaking it down

Om (ॐ)
The primordial sound of the universe. It represents the source of all creation, consciousness and existence.

Namah (नमः)
Means:

• I bow

• I honour

• I offer my respect

• I surrender my ego

Shivaya (शिवाय)
Means:

• To Shiva

Shiva is not only understood as a deity, but also as the embodiment of pure consciousness, transformation and inner peace.

So the mantra can also be understood as:

“I honour the divine consciousness within myself and all living beings.”

Why people chant it

People repeat Om Namah Shivaya to cultivate:

• Inner peace

• Mental clarity

• Courage during difficult times

• Spiritual awareness

• A sense of connection with something greater than themselves

It is often described as a mantra of transformation, helping to quiet the mind and reduce attachment to the ego.

What the actual fuuuuuuuuck…

So it would seem that as a three or four year old kid, I was somehow drawn to the words that were the exact ‘oldest and most revered’ Sanskrit mantra. Then for no apparent reason whatsoever, chose those words and used them through my entire life to meditate or at least try to meditate with - without ever knowing it was an actual frickin’ real mantra!

I honestly don’t know what to make of it all.

It’s a hell of a coincidence isn’t it? Like when that politician fell over onto an Action-man whilst hovering naked and got it stuck up his….you know where it got stuck. No need for those details in such a highbrow piece of writing. It does sound almost unbelievable though. If nothing else, I think it’s one of life’s really cool coincidences that I thought I should share.

So unbeknownst to me, not only have I been cultivating ‘spiritual awareness’ all this time, but also a ‘sense of connection with something greater than me’. Not sure about the mental clarity bit though. That might need some work still.

I’m heading out now to find a hill to sit on and do some chanting and whatever else it is that monks do. Whatever it is, it’s going to be really spiritual. Maybe four times more spiritual than all other people. They’ve told me maybe even five times more spiritual than all other people.

I think I might buy a big gong too. And even baggier pants.


M. x

What do I know about war? “Why don’t you just stick to the usual woo woo nonsense?” I hear you ask.

Well, for the those of you who don’t know, my formative years were spent in the Royal Air Force. I was an Armourer. I made shit go bang.

My first gulf tour was in 2001, I was in Ali Al Salem in Kuwait for four months. By all accounts, that US base was recently flattened by Iranian missiles. My role there was programming and fitting laser guided bombs to fighter jets.

September 11th 2001. I guess you’ll all remember where you were on that date. I watched it on TV in a tent, somewhere in the desert not that far from the Iraqi border. I was over there part of a team enforcing the Iraqi no-fly zone, programming and loading laser-guided bombs. And I’ll be honest, we were all more than a little concerned for a while.

Fortunately intel came through quickly that Saddam had nothing to do with it. Phew. That’s that concern over with. I came home after four months of sandstorms and scorpions and went about life as usual for a year or so…

And then I got the notice… I was heading back out there. This time it felt a little different. And for some reason, that initial assessment that Saddam had nothing to do with it was no longer the case. Apparently Israel had given the US some intel that contradicted that initial assessment. I wonder why they concluded that?

I was being sent out to Price Sultan Air Base (PSAB) in Saudi Arabia - this is the place where the Iranians recently hit a load of American aircraft.

This time the purpose was less clear. I’d be going out to be part of the then potential war, loading air to air missiles onto fighter jets. That seemed odd. Iraq hadn’t put an aircraft into the air since the first Gulf War… It was almost like all we would be doing was making arms companies a load of money by loading missiles worth millions to fly around in the sky for a few hours and then send them back when their hours were up.

March 2003. The night the war started, I was in the WOC (War Operations Center). I shouldn’t really have been there, but my gaffer, who was a bit crackers to say the least, had asked if I wanted to join him to see what was going on and I wasn’t going to turn that offer down. The WOC was an enormous building filled with the folks running the war. Giant screens covered three of the walls. One wall showed the positions of the ground troops, one wall showed where our aircraft were, and the other showed live feeds of all the news channels.

I was there chatting to the other weapons guys. Their job was to track any Scuds that might be launched: calculate trajectory and wind direction and get in touch with anyone on the ground who could be affected by any chemicals. I was told, despite the propaganda spewed out by the press, that Iraq didn’t have any WMDs. None. Not a single fucking one.

And then the screen with the news on the wall started showing our bombs starting to fall.

Over a million lives lost over lies. Millions more people were displaced. Civil wars followed. Trillians were wasted. Environmental and social damage was caused that will last for generations. All because of the insatiable greed and corruption of the ‘Epstein class’. I’m not sure what else to call them.

This is very well documented now. But I just wanted to tell that story in case anyone had forgotten that we went to war over lies just 23 years ago. And it’s the same people telling the same lies who have started this war in Iran. With Trump as their bought and paid for puppet, who is either too stupid to realise he’s been played, or more likely, the pictures and videos they have of him are that vile. Or both.

This post differs from the others somewhat, but it’s never felt more of an appropriate time to share something I’ve written. Below is a chapter from the book I wrote. I know, I still struggle to believe I’m an actual published author sometimes too. But this chapter was written from a place of experience. I won’t for one second claim that my war was anywhere near as bad as others had it. Many came home in flag-draped boxes to heart-broken families. Or suffered life changing physical and mental injuries.

Nor can I imagine the horrors that the innocent people of Iraq suffered. They did nothing to provoke our bombs. Yet they were the ones who paid the biggest price. And what did we learn? Most of the world still remembers the devastation we caused and is rightly refusing to enter this war. But It seems the US has learned absolutely fuck all.

The chapter below is from my debut novel ‘Bird’. Inspired by the true story of my beloved jackdaw, Captain Jacky, who was stolen and locked up in a bird of prey center next to a giant eagle called Alice. Over two weeks she got to know her fellow inmates and shared her love and wisdom.

I’ll let Captain Jacky take over and give you her take on war….

Day 7 - War, what is it good for?

Daybreak seemed unseasonably grim that morning. A fine drizzle hung in the air. The sky was dark and grey, and everything the air touched turned damp and wet. No matter where Captain Jacky sat, she just didn’t seem to be able to get out of the rain. Very few of the usual morning-chorus participants had turned out that day. Most were seeking shelter in some thick foliage somewhere, with only an occasional token effort of song. Territorial music battles would wait for another day.

“Why don’t you come and join me up here, CJ?” called Alice, from her highest perch.

Captain Jacky and Alice shared a long pole that ran through both of their cages, with the wire between the cage splitting the perch. On her side of the bars, Alice was sitting pushed up against the wire separating the two cages. Captain Jacky hopped up and settled down as close to Alice as she could possibly get. Sometimes Captain Jacky would forget just how enormous Alice was. As she sat there, Alice’s vast body seemed to somehow repel the drizzle. Captain Jacky imagined just how lovely it would feel to snuggle under Alice’s wing in her soft feathers. Captain Jacky thought it might feel like the safest place on the planet.

As the drizzle slowly began to clear and the clouds faded gradually away, an aircraft flew overhead, high above them. It painted a straight line behind it in the sky, showing everyone exactly where it had come from. The rumbling sound of its jet engines followed it, seemingly forever struggling to catch up.

“Despite everything, humans can also be pretty marvellous, can’t they?” observed Alice, quite in awe of the sight of the aeroplane above their heads. “They can’t fly on their own, so they invented machines that fly for them. They really are amazing when they put their minds to doing good things. I often watch them flying overhead. There really are a lot of them some days. I assume the big ones are transporting humans around the world, so they can see their loved ones. And the little aeroplanes, like the one going over us now, must be what doctors use to get to emergencies?”

“Well, I suppose you’re partly correct, Alice. The big ones do take people all around the world, so they can go to somewhere called holiday. That’s a place that humans go to when they can’t cope with their lives anymore and they have to escape. I think holiday is a very big place near the sea. The humans all go there to sit on sand to make themselves feel better.

“But the aeroplane that just flew over us - that was a fighter aeroplane. Planes like this are used by the leaders to kill other humans, when countries fall out with each other. Or when one country thinks another country needs some freedom. Most countries that need freedom seem, coincidentally, to have large amounts of fossilised dinosaurs under their ground.”

“Ah, Captain Jacky, I think you’ve lost me now. The humans make aeroplanes especially for when they fall out with each other? Who are they fighting?”

“Well, that all depends on whom the rich humans choose. Initially, humans started off by manufacturing weapons to fight wars between nations, usually in order to claim territory or resources. Now they manufacture wars between nations, so they can justify manufacturing weapons.” Captain Jacky smiled to herself, quietly pleased with how succinctly she had just described the evolution of the arms trade.

“What else have they invented to fight each other with, or is it just these aeroplanes? I’m guessing one aeroplane is enough to conquer any country?” asked Alice, trying her hardest to make sense of this madness.

“When there was a big war many years ago between lots of countries, some of the cleverest humans got together and invented the biggest bomb you could ever imagine. They said that, if these enormous bombs existed, nobody would dare to go to war ever again. Mind you, they said exactly the same when they invented crossbows, so I don’t think any of them actually believed that. But these bombs were so big, they wiped out entire cities.”

“Oh, CJ, you say it as if they actually used them! Tell me they didn’t.”

“They did. Twice. And the humans have tested them over two thousand times since then. Just to make sure they really do work. Although it could just be another way of mad men swinging their cocks at each other.”

“I assume there must be very few of these gigantic bombs around the world? Otherwise the world as we know it could be so easily wiped out,” queried Alice.

“There are thousands and thousands of them. That we know of. All over the world.”

“Oh my days. I hope they are all kept safe. Who makes the decision to use them, CJ?”

“Mad men, Alice. Fucking mad men.” Captain Jacky paused. “The humans also have underwater boats that can travel around the world without ever coming up for air. Like giant angry fish with enormous guns. They also make very strong motor cars that roll on tracks, which have a very big gun in the roof. And they can also fire rockets, with big bombs glued to the top of them, from one side of the planet to the other.

“They have boats so big they are like floating towns. These boats have lots of fighting aeroplanes on them, as well as guns and rockets, and now they have death lasers too. They sail these boats around the world to wherever they need to start a war.”

“How do you know about all these weapons, CJ?”

“My Daddy went to war. He doesn’t like to talk about it much, though, because it makes him feel sad when he thinks about all the bombs he made and the people they killed. He left after the war though. I heard him once say that he didn’t join to be one of the baddies. I’ve read a few of the books about war that he has on his shelf, and watched the news on the moving picture box too. It really is quite depressing. I wouldn’t recommend doing either.

“Don’t all these weapons cost all the spare money that the humans have?” wondered Alice.

“The humans who live in that country called America lead the world in this. By such a long way. They are ever such a peculiar bunch, from what I’ve been led to believe. And not great with criticism either. They spend more on weapons and wars than most of the rest of the world put together.

“Can you imagine if, instead of spending all this money on weapons, all of the nations all got on and decided to spend their money on making the world a better place for all humans and creatures to live in? It wouldn’t take too long to fix things if all the humans put their minds to it,” said Captain Jacky, sorrowfully.

“But it’s hard to be hopeful, Alice. After the lead singer of a Glaswegian rock band was shot over a hundred years ago, and it started the war to end all wars - well, there hasn’t been a single day of peace on the planet. Some argue there have been only twenty-six days of peace since then. Either way, it’s not a great statistic.”

Alice and Captain Jacky sat quietly for a while after that. In fact, hours went by and they barely moved. Across the path, Debbie and Kate spent the day deep in conversation. Captain Jacky couldn’t work out what they were discussing, but it seemed that it was Kate who was doing most of the talking.

As she finally settled down to sleep that night, still pressed up against Alice through the wire, Captain Jacky took a deep sigh, as if she had finally come to a conclusion.

“You know, Alice, we actually already know what will probably happen in the future. We’ve known for a long time now. Years ago, one of the cleverest humans who ever lived said that he didn’t know what type of weapons the next war would be fought with, but that he knew that the one after that would be fought with sticks and stones. I don’t think I need to explain what that means, do I? That’s what will happen if the sane humans let the mad men stay in control. While the humans who profit from wars actually run the world, there is no hope. And how do you work out who they are? Start with the bangs and follow the money backwards.

“But I don’t think it’s entirely without hope. Almost, but not entirely. Because there are also humans who have done brave and important things to make the world more peaceful. They have managed to persuade some of the humans with armies to stop killing each other, and to get rid of their weapons. They have convinced them to sit down and talk about the reasons why they are fighting, and they have helped them find ways of resolving their differences. A very small number of these humans have won a special prize - I think it’s called something like the Humble Peace Prize.

“But actually, most of the humans who do this work are not famous at all. They often live in the most dangerous places in the world, and they take great risks to try and bring peace to the villages where they live. These are some of the best humans. They are always looking for ways to help different groups of humans to understand each other better, and to address the causes of their conflicts. And in fact, some of them have been very successful. I read in one book that there have been more than three hundred peace agreements in forty different countries around the world in the last thirty years alone.

“You see, Alice, quite a lot of the time, the solutions are not that complicated. The hard part is persuading the humans to listen to each other properly, and to believe that they can find the solutions more quickly if they work together, rather than always trying to compete with each other.

“I really do think that the humans could be remarkable again, if only more of them could learn to behave like this. Then, at least, the sane humans could find ways of coming together and ridding the world of those greedy lunatics who are in charge at the moment. That would make the planet a much better place for all of us.”

As the birds settled down to roost, a jet fighter flew overhead, painting another line across the evening sky. Alice looked up at it with very different eyes that evening.

That silly little book is one of the proudest achievements of my life. Ok, I know I’m no Dickens - but I think the story is a story that needs to be told, now more than ever.

It’s about strong women. In bird form, obviously - a fable if you will. Strong women who love each other, who want the best for each other and have each other’s backs no matter the cost. But above all It’s about hope. Hope when there doesn’t seem to be any reason to have any. And fuck me, we have never needed hope like we do now.

So yes. I am proud of writing a book about women. When the world is run by misogynistic, child-killing fucking paedophiles and the internet full of manosphere insecure twats, I think It’s only right that the rest of us blokes speak up. Forgive my colourful language. But I think we’ve all had enough now and it’s time to try a matriarchal society.

Has this got anything to do with woo woo? Well actually yes. Because in my humble opinion, I think we could get a little closer to world peace if everyone was a little bit more woo woo.

M.

Those of you who read Part One of my brief journey into the world of crystals may have noticed that I was a tiny bit sceptical about their healing powers.

And if you can’t be bothered reading Part One, I’ll give you a quick recap. I’ve always had the strong belief that crystals have the exact same magical properties as a Cumberland Sausage. But the purpose of this exercise was to test whether my scepticism was warranted, so I bought some recommended crystals to try out…and that’s where I ended Part One. The crystals had been charged up and were ready to do their magic.

Four of the little beauties now sit on my desk and I have a couple of pendants to wear around my neck.

One pendant (made for me by Duck-Nanny Sally) is a tektite known as Moldavite. After some tinternetweb research, I had discovered that this was the one that all the warnings were about. ‘Not for beginners’, ‘Don’t wear it for long to start with’, ‘Definitely don’t start with this one’, ‘Don’t wear this to sleep’, ‘Beware of the headaches’: the list of warnings went on and on. And that was exactly the reason I popped it around my neck and didn’t take it off. Because, well, it’s all complete nonsense…. isn’t it?

What I’m going to tell you now is simply my recollection of the facts as they happened. Make of it all what you will.

The crystals had been charged under a bright full moon. Because ya know, no point wearing uncharged crystals and expecting results. I’m not an idiot. It would be like moaning about the performance of a car without adding fuel. Or getting on a bike and not peddling. I’m not sure how good these transport-based analogies are, but hopefully you get my point.

I chanted affirmations with great gusto and cleansed the crystals in the moonlit waters of the lake, as the crystal ‘experts’ had instructed. I was all set. I decided to leave the Quartz pendant on my desk with the others to start with, and wore just the Moldavite around my neck.

The first day passed like any other normal day. I’d pretty much forgotten I was even wearing the pendant. I fluffed my pillow, set the sleep timer on my podcast and hit the hay.

The following morning, I woke up with a bit of a start. The dream I had been having was still in my mind, as vivid as if I had just seen it on TV. This is something that very rarely happens to me and struck me as being very odd indeed.

In the dream I had found myself in a shop of curiosities, petting a colourful parrot called Delbert. Nothing too odd there, I guess. Except the parrot was made of paper and worked there as a shop assistant. A helpful and polite living pinata if you will. Curious little chap, and quite a remarkable shop assistant too. Delbert suggested a giant magenta cowboy hat would suit the shape of my head and match my splendid aura. That or a fez, because it apparently went well with my enormous handlebar moustache. He suggested many other items too, such as sage-scented candles to cleanse the artistic space in my office and a potted plant that sings the Eastenders theme tune on the hour every hour.

The shop really did contain an eclectic mix of wonderful offerings. And they left quite an extraordinary array of vibrant images in my mind, as I hauled myself out of bed and into the shower.

As I set about my day, I found I had a bit of a headache. The kind you get when you’ve drunk a few cans of Stella the night before (not that I’ve drunk Stella for decades, but you get my point). It wasn’t a throbbing headache, but there was enough discomfort that I necked a few painkillers to help me out. I also realised my jaw was aching like I’d had a couple of Mitsubishis the night before (I’m not explaining this. If you know, you know).

Other than that, the day passed like any other, and that night I went to bed as usual. Whatever usual may be.

I awoke the next day and stared at the ceiling. Giant. Fucking. Wasps. Not chasing me. But in my dreams. One of them wore a monocle and winked suggestively at me with the monocle-free eye. I can still see them in my mind now. They were the size of a Labrador but with an almost human face. They followed me around telling me about all the places they would like to visit, should their busy work schedules allow. Apparently, Istanbul rates highest in the places giant humanoid wasps would like to see, with Tenby coming in a close second.

So that was two nights in a row that I’d now had these most peculiar dreams. It started to feel like quite the coincidence. And the bloody headache was very persistent. And this jaw ache…

After the following night’s sleep, I awoke again (always a great way to start the day). I lay there feeling almost stunned by the vivid dream I’d had. Then it dawned on me, if you’ll pardon the pun, that I was still dreaming. I was lucid dreaming: conscious within my dream.

I was in an office block somewhere, almost like the set of The Office. I was giving a presentation about the joys of Wild Swimming, and I was quite aware that it was all a dream. Not for long, I hasten to add, but long enough for me to feel ever so discombobulated and for one of the delegates to ask the temperature of the water.

What the fuck is this witchcraft? Lucid dreaming! Seriously? What is this all about?

I gave my stock answer of about 9C. It’s what I always say this time of year when I can’t be bothered actually checking.

And they continued. Night after night of crazy dreams, some of which were crystal clear (if you’ll pardon the intended pun) and some of which were just out of the grasp of my memory. During the day, always the same headache.

In another dream, I was part of a large army storming a beach. I think it was a Viking army. Certainly not a modern-day landing. But to storm the beach we needed to go through a giant fridge door. It created quite a problematic bottle-neck.

I wasn’t really sure how to un-pick these dreams. Chat GPT suggested that I see my GP. Given it took over six weeks for them to call me back last time I needed to see them about something important, I don’t think I could expect an appointment about my ‘peculiar dreams’ this side of 2028.

The dreams were usually comical and at least interesting. However, the headache was becoming a problem: it had got to a point where it was actually starting to hurt. Surely it couldn’t be related to this silly bit of green glass dangling around my neck?

In the end I decided to take the Moldavite off. I had to stop the headaches somehow, and the paracetamol wasn’t touching the sides.

I now know how Frodo must have felt when he finally handed the ring that hung around his neck to Samwise Gamgee. The dreams stopped that night and so did the headaches. My jaw still ached a bit though.

It turns out that Moldavite is a massive knob head.

So I decided to replace it with a clear Quartz pendant. And my experience was that the Quartz seems to be my friend. There were been no side effects at all. I’m not sure I can hand on heart-chakra say I felt any effect from wearing the Quartz at all. But the dreams and the headaches had gone.

A week passed trouble-free and I decided that, for the next stage of the experiment, I would put the Moldavite back on along with the Quartz. I looked like the love child of Mr T and Mystic Meg. This choice was perhaps not the best scientific decision to make, given I no longer had an exact comparison. But I think I’ll leave the randomised double blind peer reviewed experiments to the scientists. I shall dance along to the beat of my own shamanic drum on this experimental journey.

After a week of wearing them both together (as the experts had suggested, I will reluctantly admit), the dreams still hadn’t returned. Nor had the headaches. Was I feeling spiritually enlightened and yet grounded by the Quartz? That might be a stretch. But I did immensely enjoy a talk I watched on YouTube by Terrence McKenna.

Next phase of the experiment: back to wearing just the knob head Moldavite pendant on its own.

The next morning, I awoke with vivid images still in my head from the dream. The protagonist was a bloke I had known nearly twenty years ago. The last time I had seen him, he was a little bald chap who chopped down trees. He didn’t quite look like this now. For a start, he had massive dreadlocks and facial tattoos. He was some kind of medicine man giving me advice on a beach, still with a Yorkshire accent. It didn’t seem the right time to pass comment on his cultural appropriation.

He blew a conch to silence the growing crowd before speaking his profound words:

“Follow the moon, as she shall light your true path”

“Okay, that’s lovely…” Oh, there’s more. I was cut off…

“Treat those who impede your heart’s compass like the annoyance of a fruit fly.”

It was like listening to Marcus Aurelius in a grass skirt.

The little chap now looked me in the eyes through his cascading dreadlocks, his tattooed face more pensive than ever, and delivered his final words of wisdom,

“A faint heart will never know true fulfilment.”

He really had been through quite the transformation since I last saw him in 2008.

Another night I had drifted off to sleep with Bob Proctor speaking in my ears. This time I found myself somewhere in the North East – Newcastle, I think. I’d been dispatched on an emergency assignment to a nuclear power station to catch a giant fish in the waters of the cooling towers. The only equipment I was given to carry out this task of national importance was a small surfboard and a homemade fishing rod with line made from dental floss. And if I didn’t catch the fish, then nuclear disaster was imminent. I don’t think we need to dwell on the minor detail of the absence of any North Eastern nuclear facility, or how a big fish might be causing an imminent disaster

The cooling towers were a deep black bottomless pit…my legs dangled from the side of the surf board…the giant killer fish circled purposefully below… the still blackness of the water only rippled when the back of the monstrous creature silently broke the surface.

Anyway, I somehow averted the nuclear disaster, although I’ll be honest, the details of how I did so are a little unclear. I popped onto the train and headed back to York ready for a hero’s welcome. Well, I had planned to head back to York, but somehow, I managed to get on a direct train to Selby. I awoke from my exhausted slumber as the train passed the designer outlet (yes, I know the train doesn’t pass here), with fear filling my body as I travelled south, parallel to the A19. I finally disembarked at Selby train station.

I was greeted on the platform by a horse called Malcolm, who had disguised himself as a unicorn by sellotaping a large ice cream cone to his head. I’m not exactly sure of the reason he was a wanted horse. But Malcolm confirmed to me what I had believed - that there was no possible way to return from Selby to York. I would be stuck there for all eternity. Without wishing to offend anyone from Selby, it felt like an Event Horizon.

And so the dreams continued. Some mornings I would wake up and they were just out of my reach, but I started the day with an overwhelming feeling that I had just had something peculiar going on in my brain.

Other than the nighttime changes, though, it’s hard to say if the crystals have affected me. The headaches during the daytime were persistent when I wore the Moldavite on its own, but did seem to lessen as each day passed until finally they cleared. As the bloody experts said they would.

I did however come to a clear realisation that I should take some time off work. It’s been a never-ending roller coaster since we first opened the lakes up to swimmers. I have a thousand and one other jobs to do, that I have put aside for the past four years, and I’ve decided to finally get them done. My roof is desperately in need of repair before next winter! So I guess I’m more focussed on sorting things out in my life. That decision marks a definite change. But is it connected to the crystals? Who knows?

I’m also more focussed on writing again, and loving every moment of it. And I’ve picked up my paintbrushes, after not painting for a long time. So again, I’m focussing on the things I enjoy, rather than being a workaholic. Again, is this the crystals? Or just simply my body trying to avoid burn out? Perhaps both?

The single most significant difference to my life over the past month has been the experience of the crazy dreams. Could they be a coincidence? If not, then I have to admit that wearing the crystals – and specifically the Moldavite – produces some kind of effect. If this inanimate object can affect my thoughts during my sleep, prompting dreams about giant wasps, talking paper parrots and a horse called Malcolm disguised as a unicorn, could it also influence life while I am awake? That is the question that I simply cannot answer with any certainty at all.

Not so crystal clear conclusion

Oh, this is a hard one. Let’s just stick to facts. Every morning after wearing just the Moldavite I have woken up with either vivid memories of the dreams I’ve had, or a feeling that I knew I had been dreaming but the memories were just out of my reach. This differs greatly from when I’m not wearing it. Or when I paired it with the Quartz.

When I first began wearing Moldavite, I had a persistent headache that stopped when I took it off or paired it with Quartz. My jaw also ached when wearing it, as though I was under a lot of stress.

Have I had any major spiritual awakenings, as the experts suggested would happen? I’m not sure spiritual awakening is quite right. But there is no doubt that I now have a sense that I need to get my shit together and I would like to write and paint much more. I’ve even had an idea for a new book. This of course could simply be down to wanting to create an antidote to the turbulent world we are living in. Or maybe it is all just a coincidence?

So, where do crystals come on the Woo-woo-ometer?

They started at rock bottom. Zero out of twenty.

Where are they now? Oh dear lord, I just don’t know. The dreams. Maybe I need a placebo? Can I confidently state that I still believe it is all complete bollocks? No, I can’t. Not anymore. Maybe if I used a placebo in the future, I would. But for the time being, the jury is still out. With all that said, the Woo woo-ometer score is the following:

Do I believe that crystals have some kind of power, that science has yet to explain?

Special thanks as always to the design department for their exceptional work yet again. They never fail to deliver.

Oh - and should you fancy checking out Duck-Nanny Sally’s work, she also happens to be a rather talented jeweller.

https://www.howfinedesigns.com/

I suspect that if you request it, she might make you a Moldavite pendant too. But maybe get it made with some Quartz? And if you do try the knob head Moldavite out, let me know if you also have crazy dreams and re-prioritise your life. But be warned, it’s not for the faint-hearted. As the ‘experts’ may have suggested.

M.

‘Scientific evidence supporting the use of crystals for healing or spiritual purposes is almost entirely lacking, with reported benefits largely attributed to the placebo effect or subjective anecdotal experience. While crystals have unique, scientifically validated properties in technology (e.g., quartz in watches, silicon in computers), they do not transfer energy to improve human health.’

Note: ‘Almost entirely lacking’. So with that in mind, I think it’s time I have a dive into the mysterious world of crystals.

I’ve been hearing whispered mutterings about crystals from a good few of our swimmers. It started when we did our Wellness Weekend, and I was approached by a couple of people wanting to set up a stall and sell their crystals to participants. I dismissed them as just folks wanting to hawk their snake oil to a captive audience. It was a very firm no. If I think back, I’m not sure I communicated it as politely as I should have done. Hopefully their Rose Quartz protected them from my negativity.

But as I head along this winding path of Woo Woo, it seems remiss of me not to give crystals a go, whatever that may entail. And so, a short while ago, I took a trip down that rabbit hole and started to do a little research. I discovered a whole world of crystals out there that I simply had no idea existed. My word, some folks are really into them. And I mean reeeeaaally into them. There are books, Youtube channels, shops and festivals, as well as an awful lot of people who claim to be experts in all things crystals. Don’t misunderstand me here, I’m not talking about geologists sporting cardigans with leather elbow patches. I’m referring to folks wearing dungarees and dreadlocks, who claim to have a knowledge of how each crystal behaves and how the different frequency of each crystal can affect your everyday life. Some of these folks are certified crystal healers! It’s like doing a degree in Astrology. F**k me. I just googled degrees in Astrology. The University of Wales Saint Trinity does one. Live and let live and all that…but imagine spending three years studying something that is made up, and then coming out with a Desmond.

I wonder if they do unicorn husbandry? Mind you, I suspect that would be very much like equine husbandry, just with an added ‘horn care’ module.

Anyway, it turns out there is an awful lot of interest in crystals out there. I watched lots of videos made by folks who get so very enthusiastic about these rocks, and I did a little research. Who knew there were so many crystals, each with such specific qualities? And should you be wondering in particular about the supernatural characteristics of these crystals, I’ve done some research so you don’t have to.

I started by filling out a very helpful questionnaire on a crystal shop website, to identify the correct crystal for my specific desires.

1/8 — What’s your main intention right now?
‘Not to go fucking mental at the state of the world’ wasn’t on there.
There were however several appealing options to choose from. I was torn between success and spiritual growth, although I was quite keen on all of the options. In the end, I opted for spiritual growth.

2/8 — Which colour family are you drawn to?
‘None’ wasn’t an option. Nor was ‘What the fuck is a colour family?’ So I went for green because I like trees.

3/8 — Which chakra needs support most?
I simply closed my eyes and let fate guide me, because I have no idea why any of my chakras would need support, or what that support might look like. I hit sacral. I didn’t even know that sacral was a real word. Apparently this will help my creativity, which I assume means colouring inside the lines.

4/8 — Pick a vibe:
This doesn’t seem very scientific. But ya know, I think we left any science at the door some time ago.

I went with ‘deep and transformative’. Because why not?

5/8 — How do you plan to use your crystal?
All the ways. But I had to choose one. I went with ‘meditation/ritual’ because I was a little unsure what the others meant. And if I’m being totally honest, I’m not sure what a crystal ritual is. But it sounds much more exciting than just wearing it.

6/8 — Element that resonates most?
I’ve never really sat and thought much about element resonance. Earth?

7/8 — What do you want LESS of?
‘Stupid questions’ unfortunately wasn’t an option. So I went with less ‘negative vibes’.

8/8 — What do you want MORE of?
‘Luck and new opportunities’. Will they offer me some Felix Felicis?

When the results came back, I ignored them. I’d found out in the meantime that one of our team is really into crystals and all that shit, so, once I’d finished mocking them, I decided to ask them for their advice instead.

I also made sure I bought my crystals from a reputable dealer, because apparently there are also fake ones out there. These are known as placebos. At this point, I think there is a case to say everything is placebo when it comes to crystals. But healing from a placebo is far from being a bad thing. I suppose it just reinforces how powerful the mind actually is.

I thought I should have a read of the website’s description about the crystals I selected, as well as some of the reviews left by customers.

Moldavite
This is the one that the ‘crystal experts’ say to avoid as a beginner. If I’m being honest, I’m not sure how much credibility ‘certified crystal healers’ have. But the crystal that ‘even the crystal experts are scared of’ is also the one that requires you to do your ‘inner work’ first, before working with it. Oh yes, you ‘work’ with crystals. I also have no idea what inner work means.

Here is what some of the crystal-selling website’s customers had to say about their Moldavite:

5 stars - Elle: Absolutely stunning piece, I’m beyond thrilled. I cried when I held it, it’s absolutely full of energy. Seller sent it quickly and it was packed nicely. Very pleased with my crystal, the energy around it is magnificent.

I think Elle might be quite an excitable person. Imagine if Elle won an air fryer.

5 stars - Amanda: The piece arrived quickly and although small (which I expected after researching) the heat & energy I feel when holding this piece is insane! I have to keep it in a tin when I’m not working with it because I actually think it may have been affecting my dogs if that doesn’t sound crazy?! Happy with my purchase thank you thank you thank you!

I’ll keep it away from the duck.

2 stars - Rose M: To be honest I’ve bought many crystals from you before and I was really excited about receiving my first Moldavite. However I was disappointed, I was wondering whether it was real or not, as I don’t feel anything holding this crystal.

I can only assume Rose didn’t complete her inner work.

2 stars - Rose L: Not happy at all. Don’t feel any energy from my Moldavite.

What a shocker. And why are so many crystal users called Rose?

So why did I choose this extreme one, rather than a beginner’s crystal? Because I think It’s all bollocks. It really doesn’t matter if I cover myself in superglue and run through a crystal convention naked. I can’t imagine that it would make one iota of a difference if I wore every single type of crystal and it looked like I’d been dipped in glitter. But time will tell.

So I ordered some Moldavite. It turns out that this little chard of tektite (it’s glass, not a crystal) can only be found at one site on earth: the site of a meteorite strike 14 million years ago. So it is other-worldly and I’m here for other-worldly. And because this chard of green currently sat in my top pocket is an otherworldly tektite, it is apparently vibrating at a higher frequency. And because of this higher frequency, according to the ‘experts’, it can accelerate manifesting at a ‘scary rate’ by removing any blockers to your true purpose remorselessly. Which is very exciting. If it is true.

I’m having my Moldavite made into a pendant by Sally, who looks after our one-legged house duck when we go away. She’s a jeweller as well as a wonderful duck nanny. So I’ll be able to feel the Moldavite’s ‘magnificent’ powers against my skin all day.

Rose Quartz & Guide book

I opted for the additional guide book too, because obviously, I wouldn’t want to do anything wrong. Imagine if I did. All hell could break loose. But it turns out the guide book didn’t offer a lot of guidance really, so I’ll just have to tread lightly. It did however inform me of the emotional healing properties of rose quartz. And apparently it also has spiritual properties: ‘Encourages spirituality of love, links heart to the heart of the earth and the heart of the universe.’ That’s a lot of hearts.

5 stars - Leonardo: Amazing and power product.

Who am I to disagree with Leonardo? If I did, he might use his amphibian ninja skills on me.

Clear Quartz
You might assume this is like Rose Quartz but clear. Oh, how wrong you would be. I opted for a clear quartz power ring. Because everyone loves a power ring. This is what the website had to say about it:

‘This cute Clear Quartz power ring-shaped crystal hangs beautifully around the neck. Quartz is one of the most powerful crystals for healing and amplifying energy. It is a good crystal for balancing energy and also unblocking energy and so is commonly used in acupuncture.’

Here are some of the reviews:
5 stars - Karen: Absolutely stunning pendant! I’m experimenting with it to see how best to integrate its energies. I’ll need more time for this but it’ll be fun getting there. It’s a very eye-catching piece. Thank you.

Oh bloody hell - I didn’t realise I needed to integrate its energies. I just casually popped it on and carried on with life as normal. I feel like such a fool.

1 star - James: After 3 days of wearing my pendant it shattered whilst wearing it.

That crystal really didn’t want to work with them, did it? He’s probably MAGA.

Pale Amethyst Aura Energy Point
‘Drift into peaceful slumber with the Pale Amethyst Aura Energy Point – a shimmering crystal known for its calming, protective energy. Linked to the Third Eye and Crown chakras, the hints of amethyst through the crystal works to clear mental clutter, soothe emotions, and prepare your spirit for deep, restorative sleep.

Place it on your bedside table or under your pillow to quiet the mind and invite harmony into your dreams. Many believe its gentle vibration shields the aura from stress and negativity, creating a safe, serene space for rest.

To keep its energy pure, cleanse under moonlight or in cool running water.’

So, shall I leave it outside to moonbathe, or wash it under the cold tap?

5 Stars - Jill: I bought 4 of these and 3 have gone to my grandchildren, 15, 13 and 7. They were all very excited, especially the 7 year old who asked how a crystal could do all those things, as I read out its properties?!

He reported back 2 days later that the crystal had indeed made him feel calmer! The crystals varied in colour from very pale to one with some amethyst colouring, but all lovely stones. Thank you.

I wonder what would have happened if Jill had told her seven-year old that it helped them get better at football…

It does look very pretty though.

Selenite Wand
‘Spiritual & Metaphysical Benefits:

Energy Cleansing & Purification – Selenite is one of the most powerful crystals for cleansing and purifying both physical and energetic spaces. Its strong vibrations can clear negative energies, blockages, and stagnant emotions, helping to restore harmony and balance to your environment.

High-Vibration Connection – Known for its strong connection to the higher realms, selenite enhances spiritual awareness, intuition, and connection to divine energies. It is often used in meditation and energy work to open the crown chakra and facilitate higher consciousness.’

Now how do I describe this product…about 7.5 inches long if you really push the tape-measure into the carpet. Cylindrical and with a rounded end for no apparent reason. They also do ‘twisted’ ones.

Here are some of the reviews:

Fab - Just what I needed, many thanks

It’s perfect, I love it so much!

I really like the selenite wand, it’s a good size and weight and is easy to hold. Very happy with my purchase.

I absolutely love. When I received it I was shocked on how big it was but still love it & I would definitely recommend it.

Really beautiful and heavy. Looking forward to using this.

I’m not convinced they are planning to use them in the way they are intended to be used.

Green Calcite
‘Calcite Rough Crystal not only increases and amplifies energy, but also raises learning abilities, so makes it a great stone for students, especially younger students who can be more prone to distractions.’

So if you have ADHD, then this is just the crystal for you. Oh look, a squirrel.

5 stars - Richard: A great crystal. Perfect in every way. So happy. Can sense its powers :)

2 stars - Izabelle: Mine wasnt green it was yellow :(

Rare yellow calcite??

2 stars - Ana: I’m really disappointed.

I think Ana would benefit from ‘working’ with a Selenite Wand.

Charging the crystals
Before you get yourselves all concerned about the disregard I have for my own safety, as well as the apparent disrespect I have for the powers of these crystals and tektite, let me reassure you that I’m not that maverick. Crystals need to be charged by the moonlight first, in order to work. Obviously.

After extensive research, I discovered that I had up to three nights either side of the full moon to charge them. Can you imagine if I were stupid enough to try and charge them on the fourth night? What a complete waste of my time that would be.

So I planned to charge the crystals recently, on the night of the full moon. Unfortunately, the moon only made a very brief appearance. However, I did also get a chance to cleanse them in the spiritual water of the Ohm lake. Sorry, M lake. And I did chant affirmations at them with all the enthusiasm I could muster. I’m not sure what the other sauna users made of it all. Or the PBF team.

Sadly, my three-night charging window came and went, with no show of the moon through the overcast skies. I realised I would need to find an alternative way of charging them. Fortunately, according to the internet, burning some sage near crystals works a treat. I’m assuming sage has exactly the same amount of magical charging powers as full moon light. So I did that instead.

I have to confess that I’m not 100% sure how you know whether a crystal is fully charged. But I guess it won’t make the slightest bit of difference. So I shall now let the accelerated manifesting begin.

I think it would be fair to say I would currently rate crystals at an absolute zero out of twenty on the Woo Woo-ometer. But this could all change. I shall report back on my findings in Part 2 of this blog - once I’ve ‘worked’ with my fully charged and cleansed crystals.

Wish me luck.

M.

Captain Jacky was sitting on her favourite branch, in her favourite tree, in her favourite place on earth. The late summer sun was already high in the sky that morning, and the familiar scents she had so dearly missed drifted past on a warm, westerly breeze. Perched atop a giant weeping willow, she sat in blissful silence, absorbing the beauty of her surroundings, and pondering the unforgettable events of her last two weeks of life.

The willow tree stood proudly at the easterly side of the Horseshoe Lake, its cascading branches gently skimming the water below. The Horseshoe Lake is one of four beautiful swimming lakes at Pool Bridge Farm, the place Captain Jacky thinks herself a very lucky bird indeed to call home.

With black plumage, a grey hood, and piercing grey eyes, Captain Jacky is a jackdaw, the smallest member of the crow family. But this little crow hadn’t started life like most jackdaws do. You see, her Daddy is a human who lives at Pool Bridge Farm. He and his young son had been out spotting wildlife one day, when they found her on the ground below a giant oak tree. They carefully carried her back to their house, where she had lived in a cardboard box filled with cosy towels in the corner of the living room. Every few hours, they would feed her all sorts of different food, and she soon began to open her big yellow beak and let whoever was in the room know when she was hungry. Within six weeks, Captain Jacky began to test her wings and fly around inside, causing chaos from morning until night, until it was time for her to fledge the house and face the world outside.

Living on the farm had been quite overwhelming for her initially. She wasn’t really sure what to do or how to survive, so she would come back to the house regularly, tapping on the window with her beak to let the humans know she was hungry. She was rather scared of the dark at first too, and though she explored a little further every day, she always came home to roost before the sun went down. But she couldn’t for the life of her understand why her Daddy would simply refuse to flap his arms and fly with her. The silly man just walked everywhere. But they would play the most fun sorts of games together: she would fly up into tall trees and wait for him to come and rescue her with some ladders, and he would balance her on top of his head while he climbed down. Oh, how he loved this game! He never once seemed to tire of it.

Soon Captain Jacky met the other birds and animals who called Pool Bridge Farm their home, and they became the most unusual group of friends imaginable. Each day they would set off around the lakes and have their own little adventures together.

For those of you who don’t know anything about Pool Bridge Farm and its lakes: well, it has recently become a sanctuary for both swimmers and wildlife alike. It’s located just a few miles south of the beautiful historic city of York, which is in North Yorkshire, which just happens to be the most beautiful county on the planet. Nature is slowly reclaiming the land as it is rewilded, giving a much-needed home to many different species of wildlife. And the biggest change of all is the community of wild swimmers who have now replaced the anglers. They come from miles around to swim in the tranquil lakes surrounded by an abundance of wildlife. It really is quite a magical place.

From her vantage point in the willow tree, Captain Jacky had spotted her dearest friend, Molly the moorhen, wandering below. Like Captain Jacky, Molly was also black, although a little bigger than her friend, with white flashes on her tail and a bright red beak with a yellow tip. Her legs were long and semi-webbed, making her quite at home at the water’s edge. Molly could fly a little, but she would be the first to admit that, try as she may, it wasn’t her greatest skill.

The two friends would usually spend hours every morning putting the world to rights over breakfast, pottering around the lakes, picking up crumbs and gobbling up unsuspecting insects that gave themselves away. Captain Jacky would help Molly find food, pointing out any unfortunate spiders as the moorhen limped along beside her.

Molly had not yet fully recovered from getting her leg entangled in some fishing line the previous summer. At that point, the lakes were still surrounded by anglers, not all of whom were considerate towards the resident wildlife. One of the more thoughtless anglers had discarded his broken line in a bush instead of taking it home, without a single thought for the consequences of his actions. Captain Jacky’s Daddy had managed to carefully catch Molly and gently cut the line from her leg. All the birds agree that the farm is a much safer place for them now, with the anglers gone and a steady stream of lovely ladies in swimming costumes and bobble hats in their place.

“Good morning, Molly! You’re a sight for sore eyes!” called Captain Jacky, finally.

“Captain Jacky! My goodness, where have you been? You’re alive! I’ve been worried sick! We all have! Where on earth have you been? Tell me at once!” called Molly. Her voice trembled with disbelief.

Captain Jacky had been missing for nearly two weeks and there hadn’t been a word from any of the local birds as to her whereabouts. Her many friends around the farm had grown increasingly worried about her and were beginning to fear the worst. Just a couple of days ago, they had all got together to discuss the possibility of having some kind of official gathering in her memory, to say a final farewell.

Captain Jacky took off from her branch into the gentle breeze and immediately looped over with the grace of a visiting swallow. Jackdaws are not especially renowned for their aerial skills, but Captain Jacky seemed to be experiencing the exhilaration of flight like she had never known it before. She landed softly on the ground next to Molly. The most unlikely of friends beamed with joy as they hurried towards each other and began to rub their beaks together tenderly. This is how Molly and Captain Jacky would always greet each other if they had been apart for any length of time. They did it to let each other know just how much they were loved.

Captain Jacky was just about to start telling Molly all about her ordeal when Wilkie the water vole popped out from a nearby hole. Then Fred the heron arrived, his enormous wings almost blocking out the morning sunlight, and Mrs Yaffle, the green woodpecker, swooped in and landed gracefully.

“Oh Captain, we’ve been beside ourselves!” exclaimed Fred the heron, his booming voice echoing around the lake. “One day you were here, the next you were gone! Not a trace left. Nobody had seen a thing. We’ve been out on countless search parties trying to find you, my dear. We were beginning to fear the worst! What on earth happened to you?”

Wilkie the water vole was squinting in the morning sun, having just surfaced from a long night’s sleep in his burrow.

“Good to see you, Wilkie! Any shiny trinkets in there?” Captain Jacky asked, although she didn’t usually really warm to Wilkie’s trinkets. Wilkie liked to collect shiny things that float on the water, like dead insects or pieces of litter, although he rarely saw litter any more now the anglers were gone. Captain Jacky preferred earrings and cake. The coffee cake from the cafe at the farm was definitely her favourite. Sometimes the swimmers liked to share their cake with Captain Jacky, although it was also true that some of them were strangely reticent. But trinkets were always a good topic of conversation with the little water vole, who was obsessed with keeping the place tidy for everyone.

“I can go and find you one! Always happy to share something shiny with you, Captain Jacky. Would you like me to go and find you something? It might take me a little while, but for you, Captain Jacky, I don’t mind one bit,” replied Wilkie, whose kindness never faltered.

“I’m fine, thanks, Wilkie. I’ve had my trinket fix this morning. I managed to steal a hearing aid from Grandpop this morning and drop it in the pond. He seemed to very much enjoy the game. He was so enthusiastic with his encouragement, I must do it to his other one when I get the chance. I think he’ll really like that.”

“I managed to steal a small piece of coffee cake yesterday,” said Molly. “I’ve been stealing some most days, just in case you came home. I’ve been ever so brave. In fact,” the moorhen began, with a hint of pride in her voice, “would you like me to go and get it for you now?”

“That’s so kind, Molly, but I’m fine for now, thanks. It’s just that I’ve had some lovely all-butter croissants and I’m still quite full. If you don’t mind, it would be really, really wonderful if we could all share it later,” replied Captain Jacky, with the tiniest break in her voice. Even though she could still feel the buttery goodness in her tummy, the thought of sharing the coffee cake with her friends later was warming her heart like no other feeling ever had. She wondered whether it would be possible to describe this to her friends. Maybe they might understand later, once she had explained what had happened to her.

Mrs Yaffle joined in with the chorus of questions, demanding to know where Captain Jacky had been. Mrs Yaffle was ever so posh. Well, at least she thought she was.

“Oh Captain Jacquie!” She pronounced Jacky like she was shouting commands to a shop assistant in a fancy Parisian boutique. “One has been out of sorts with worrisome bother for many a day now. Mrs Yaffle has been most put out. One must tell one what has been occuring with oneself.”

Captain Jacky was never really quite sure what she was saying. Was Mrs Yaffle one? Was she one? Were they both one? Wouldn’t that be two?

Fred had once said he thought Mrs Yaffle must have fallen out of the tree when she was a chick and got an acorn lodged up her bottom. But Captain Jacky didn’t really understand why that would make someone refer to themselves in the third person, or fly around with their beak slightly higher in the air than everyone else.

“I was bird-napped and locked up in prison,” began Captain Jacky, in a quiet voice.

There was a stunned silence from all of the gathered animals. Never in all their lifetimes had they ever heard of such happenings.

Gary the Toad had just lumbered up at this point.

“You had me at bird-napped,” he said, in his usual monotone voice, interrupting the stunned silence. He was a toad of few words. The other animals were all looking at Captain Jacky expectantly, while starting to settle down and make themselves comfortable. Clearly none of them would be going anywhere until Captain Jacky had told them the full story.

“Oh Captain Jacky, you vanished into thin air! What happened?” Molly asked again. “Tell us everything! ”

“It all started with our kind neighbours at the golf course,” continued Captain Jacky, in a hushed tone.

“There I was, minding my own business, sitting on a golfer’s head as he was about to hit a ball with a stick.”

“What’s golf?” enquired Fred.

“It’s what the humans who don’t have very good imaginations do, instead of having adventures. They hit a ball with a stick from one end of a field and try to get it into a hole at the other end of the field.”

“That’s it?” asked Fred, with a very confused look on his face.

“Eighteen times,” replied Captain Jacky quickly. This additional information only left Fred even more confused about the humans.

“We don’t need these details,” interrupted Molly, with a growing impatient tone to her voice.

“Mrs Yaffle thrives on one’s details.”

“As I was sitting on his lovely tartan cap, I could see lots of busy humans and so many big green trucks, just past the trees and a couple of fields along, on the next farm. It looked ever so interesting, much too interesting to ignore. So off I went to have a little explore. There were big trucks coming and going, and humans being ever so busy, so I thought I’d see if I could help them out,” continued Captain Jacky. Molly was already looking close to passing out.

“Did they need help, Captain Jacky?” asked Fred. “I’ve found you to be most helpful on many subjects. Remember when you helped that mummy wean her child off its dummy?”

“Well,” continued Captain Jacky. “Somebody didn’t wish for me to stay and help. They must have made a call to the bird-snatchers very soon after I got there. I initially tried to help them fix one of their lorries, but they didn’t seem very keen on that. So I was attempting to give out some priceless Agile tips, to help improve their ways of working. Their inefficiency and lack of prioritisation was staggering!

“Anyway, when a van pulled up and a man got out of the van carrying a box, I thought nothing of it. But just as I was about to pass a screwdriver to a human, they grabbed me. With one well-practised swoop, they thrust me into the box.”

“Oh, I feel faint, Captain Jacky!” Being of a nervous disposition, Molly was struggling to keep it together. “I’m so sorry, you know how it is at my age. I struggle with my emotions at the best of times. Only this morning I was watching the human tele-picture screen through a campervan window, and found myself crying. They were trying to convince the person watching it to buy a tablet that makes their washing machine live longer. That poor washing machine! Just buy it a tablet, for goodness’ sake.”

Captain Jacky continued: “Then I was in the back of their van. I could barely see a thing. I was driven around for what seemed like an age. But I wasn’t going to give up without a fight. I tried memorising the turns the van was making and approximating the distance using time and average speed, to work out where I might be. But it was in vain. After a while, I was just too confused.

“Before I had time to hatch a plan, I could feel the van slowing down. I thought they must be taking me to their headquarters to interrogate me…but it was worse. So much worse.”

Captain Jacky paused. She was enjoying telling the story. Sirius the duck, three of Molly’s cousins, Mr and Mrs Robin, Broken-wing the goose and many, many of the other animals of Pool Bridge Farm had now joined the group, captivated by her every word.

“It was an enormous Prison for Birds. And every single one of them was a hook-beak! We’ve all heard stories of these portents of sky death. We’ve all rushed for cover from them at some point.

“But somehow these hook-beaks all looked broken, as if their souls had been removed from their bodies. Just empty shells, sat on the perches. There were dozens of them being held within the prison, all in rows of cages. Each bird was sitting perfectly still, as if they had already resigned themselves to their inevitable fate of death by perpetual boredom. Each of the cages held just one hook-beak. They had all been sentenced to life in solitary confinement.

“Between the rows of cages were paths allowing the humans to walk around to look at the birds. There were humans all around the prison. Some in uniform busied themselves making it presentable to the other humans. And the other humans - the visitors - all somehow looked as if they were getting some kind of enjoyment from seeing such cruelty. I’d never in my wildest dreams thought such a place could exist.”

Captain Jacky took a deep breath, before continuing the story for her enthralled audience.

“Let me tell you all…The first night’s the toughest, no doubt about it. They march you in, naked as the day you were born, skin burning and half blind from that delousing shit they throw on you. And when they put you in that cell... and those bars slam home… That’s when you know it’s for real. A whole life blown away in the blink of an eye. Nothing left but all the time in the world to think about it.”

Captain Jacky had always captivated the animals with her remarkable intelligence and zest for life. But as they digested her story so far, it was becoming clear to them that her latest adventure had been something quite extraordinary. Not one of them was going to miss a word.

What on god’s green earth is a sound bath? A bath with sound? Does the music come out of the taps? I had literally no idea. Not a clue. I just hoped it wasn’t jazz. It made absolutely no sense to my simple little head whatsoever. I mean, we’ve all laid in some bubbles with a glass of red listening to a few tunes after a long week at work, haven’t we? Relaxing enough, but I don’t think it’s really a suitable group activity. Well, I suppose it depends on the size of the bath and the company. Anyway, whatever a sound bath was, it sounded to me like complete and utter bollocks.

Winter was coming to an end in early 2023. We had just opened our first sauna at Pool Bridge Farm and the world of Woo Woo was slowly revealing itself to me. Danny (who runs Whitby Wellbeing) had kindly invited me to one of the sauna and sound bath sessions he was hosting: a stream-side sauna followed by a sound bath somewhere on the North Yorkshire Moors.

Not having a clue what it would entail didn’t stop me saying yes. Obviously. No good campfire story has ever come about by saying no. And you can tell a lot about someone from their campfire stories. But as much as I thought that having a sauna by a stream sounded amazing, I wasn’t really into whatever the fuck a sound bath was. I assumed it would be some kind of nonsense performed by those unwashed people who wear tie-die tops, with their hair in dreadlocks and too many beads around their necks. Probably vegan too. Not that I was stereotyping people back then.

But I thought to myself that, even if I got nothing out of it, perhaps I would come away with more of an idea about all this Woo Woo nonsense. I might get some ideas I could ‘borrow’ for the future.

And so I arrived for my first-ever sound bath at an isolated location somewhere near Whitby, on a very bleak Sunday morning. It was cold and foggy and the rain mixed into the mist to make everything as wet as an otter’s pocket. There were a dozen or so participants - mainly women, although there were a couple of us chaps there too. Not a dreadlock in sight. But it seemed that they must all have received an email informing them of the uniform of the day: one of those big waterproof robes and a bobble hat. Fortunately, I had borrowed a robe, so I didn’t stand out as the imposter I was. But my hat didn’t have a bobble. Because I’m not a six-year old child. Despite my lack of bobble, this incredibly friendly bunch welcomed me as if I was one of their own.

We split into two groups. I was in the group doing a pop-up sauna first. It was nestled on a flat area by a tree, just a few metres from a stunning little stream. We would spend an hour swapping between the hot sauna and the ice cold stream. As far as I could gather, the next activity would then be to lie down on the soaking wet grass in the rain, while a woman called Jill from Darlington banged her gongs. How was this actually a thing?

The sauna was great, even if it was different from current PBF standards (not that I’m biased, but we are pretty shit-hot at doing lakeside saunas). The surroundings were utterly stunning. And even though it was more of a ‘sit’ than a swim, cooling off in a stream really was quite special.

The pop-up saunas are quite cosy. Once I stopped feeling the need to apologise every time my knee accidentally touched someone else’s knee, I settled in. There is something about sharing a space in such close proximity that really does bond a group. We chatted about every subject under the sun. It turned out these folks were really quite normal, whatever normal may mean. And they were a lot of fun. Far more fun than hanging out with anglers.

We chatted about all sorts of subjects in that sauna tent, as our bodies heated up. Then we would all exit together and carefully navigate the bank-side terrain and into the stream, where we would sit and cool off. The scene would have appeared almost cartoonish to any passerby: half a dozen grown adults squeezed into a tiny sauna, coming out steaming every ten minutes to cool themselves off in a stream. And then repeat. Shrieks and swears filled the air, as did joyous laughter as we all became friends and allies for the morning. Waterside saunas really are awesome.

Once we were all relaxed from our hour-long ‘contrast therapy’, we headed off to prepare for our next instalment of enlightenment: the sound bath.

A gazebo had been erected to keep the elements off Jill’s equipment. It appeared to my untrained eye that Jill was ever so well kitted out with noise-making implements. A whole collection of mixing bowls and gongs of all shapes and sizes were arranged on the ground as though there was some kind of logic to all of this nonsense.

Yes, the stream-side sauna was amazing. But I considered the sound bath bollocks something I had to endure. I thought perhaps I would just have a nap until it had all stopped. Jill wore ‘roomy’ floral trousers and was barefoot (obviously). The scent of the joss-sticks in the air reminded me of a shop in York I visited as a teenager. I couldn’t wait for it all to be over. It would be an hour of my life I wouldn’t get back.

Danny had given me some advice when I arrived: to get as close to the front as possible. So I had rolled out my mat right in front of Jill’s very impressive gongs. I couldn’t have been any closer. The rest of the group laid mats out close by and settled themselves in too. They must also have known the trick of getting as close to the gong action as possible.Some of us were just in our robes with the hoods up and our eyes closed as we lay on our backs. Others had brought waterproof blankets and sleeping bags too. Clearly this was not their first BBQ.

I settled in nonetheless, with just the faintest sound of a nearby waterfall and the occasional thin trill of a robin in my ears, I waited for Jill to start doing her thing, whatever that was. Was she going to prance around us in the wet grass with her tambourine? I closed my eyes, waiting for it all to be over so I could go home. My expectations couldn’t have been any lower. I was an absolute zero on the Woo Woo-ometer.

The session got underway, and Jill began to build us up slowly and gently. The mixing bowls I’d spotted earlier turned out to be Himalayan Singing Bowls. And oh my word, did they sing. A noise from the angels began to fill my ears. Jill was a North-Eastern siren.

I was instantly transported to another world. Even though it was a grey overcast day, with rain drops hitting my face as I lay there, my eyelids told me there was bright and glorious sunshine beyond them. There was a feeling of sunlight shining on my face. There were colours behind my eyelids. I had no idea what was going on. But it was fair to say that I was immediately into this woo woo bollocks. The bowls sang and gongs were banged. And it all just fitted together. It was more than just music. It was like a feeling of magic running through my entire body.

As I lay there, with raindrops falling on my exposed face, something quite extraordinary happened. And it really was quite extraordinary. Unfortunately, it is impossible to write it without coming across as completely bat shit crazy. I’m fully aware of this (I’ve been called worse) and I embrace it. Because it happened and It’s impossible to recount the authentic story without telling you what actually happened next. And in order to make sense of what happened next, I need to take you back some time and talk about something that I haven’t ever shared with folks before. There is a good reason for this, which will become apparent as I explain. I have thought about writing about it for some time, and I have always concluded that I wasn’t ready for sharing it just yet. Because this story is personal. And as much as I like telling a story. I’m not usually very keen on sharing things about my personal life.

Six months or so prior to being invited to the sound bath, I had been a victim of a scam. They had used methods and technology to achieve it that I didn’t even know existed. I’m no Einstein, but I’d like to think I’m not a half-wit. I’d worked in IT for years and consider myself pretty street wise. And yet I’d been done somehow. And it’s hard to put into words the effect it had on me.

Initially there was a feeling of shame and embarrassment, but the overwhelming emotion was rage and anger. I was beyond fucking angry. I was livid. I internalised so much anger and rage. Not letting it out. Not talking about it. Just suppressing it.

If I had been mugged in person, at least I would have seen the colour of their eyes. But the perpetrator was anonymous. The rage stayed with me day and night. Whenever I thought about it, I was overwhelmed with dark feelings. And I couldn’t stop thinking about it. My chest would tighten as adrenaline, noradrenaline and cortisol would flood my body. Even after it was all resolved, the feelings didn’t stop. I couldn’t sleep. The anger increased to the point that I was trying to find a way to exact my revenge. I was searching online to find court days for scammers, wondering whether I could find one outside the court room, do the world a favour and give them a swift punch to the nose. Would it make me feel better? Perhaps. But I soon realised that this wasn’t a very good idea in any way, shape or form.

The rage remained all consuming in those weeks that followed, but I was too ashamed to tell people. As the weeks turned to months, thankfully the bouts of rage started to lessen - not in intensity, but in frequency. Rather than being almost constant, they reduced to daily experiences, then every other day. I guess that, after six months had passed, it had become sporadic. It was always that same feeling though: my chest tightening and a rage flooding my head and body with an intensity that was hard to describe. I didn’t realise it at the time, but it had affected more than I had been willing to admit to myself.

That Sunday morning, though, it would be fair to say that any thoughts of the scam or those who were responsible for it were far from my mind. Or so I thought. But as I lay there in the wet grass, a voice spoke to me from somewhere within my head. It piped up quite out of the blue and I was initially somewhat taken aback. But with the vibrations of the gongs and bowls reverberating around me, I went with it, knee-deep in this shit now. I embraced this ‘entity’ as an old friend, and they gently informed me that they had a message for me. Yes, I told you I’d sound bat shit crazy.

It’s been a few years now since this sound bath, which makes my memory of some of the experience a little hazy. But I would say that the ‘voice’ was using images and feelings, as well as words, to convey the message. That’s the best way I can describe it. And for the rest of the time that I spent listening to these other-worldly sounds coming from Jill the Siren, an entity that felt somehow disconnected from my own consciousness, spoke to me with a message. It went something along the lines of:

“Oh, somebody has a bit of an issue, don’t they?” A soft and calming voice came to me.

“Who the fuck is that and how the fuck did you get in here?” I didn’t say this out loud. I imagine that would have put Jill off her rhythm. And I guess it would have also disturbed the serenity for the other guests somewhat.

“Oh hello, I’m an other-worldly entity.” This was shown in a feeling, not words. Like if Athena had a love child with a unicorn. It was all rainbows and light, but ever so powerful. Now that I’ve read that back, it’s perhaps not the best analogy I’ve ever come up with. What I’m trying to say - very badly - is that it was like that, but without any (alleged) ‘Trump-Bubba’ bestiality going on.

“Oh, okay. This is a little unexpected,” I thought to myself, as rainbows and loveliness filled my mind.

“As I was saying, you have a bit of an issue that is causing you some concern. I think I can help, if you will allow me to do so?” Strong, colourful and ever so polite.

“This one?” I showed the entity my issue in my thoughts.

“Nope. Not that one.” A very quick rebuttal indeed for someone I’d only just met.

“You sure?” I retorted. It was quite the issue in my head at the time. Or so I believed.

“Nope. This one.” They showed me the issue that they would be addressing today.

“Oh. I wasn’t expecting those scammers to be here. I don’t think about that too often now. Do I?”

“You do. Too much. Now settle in and let me tell you something. Those scammers offer no value to society. They bring nothing but misery and suffering. Imagine what they would say on their deathbeds, if they were to be asked: ‘What happiness did you create? What joy did you bring?’ They would have no answer. They only brought suffering and misery, and they would have to live with that regret for eternity.

“You are bringing joy to people. What you have started will bring peace to thousands in the future. The scammers will know nothing of what it feels like to achieve something. They will never know what a community can feel like. Pity them. Pity them in their lives devoid of purpose. While you allow them into your head they are still winning. You are punishing yourself for the actions of those who harmed you. That is the behaviour of a fool. Stop it. Stop it now.”

This message was shown to me in countless images and feelings, each one reinforcing the previous one. On and on the message went: “Pity them. And live your life free of anger and rage towards them.”

As Jill brought the session to an end, I remember just laying there, unable to move, not really quite sure what to make of it all. What had just happened? Was it in my head? Was it outside my head? I concluded that those were the only two options. And either option was utterly mind blowing.

It turned out that Jill’s sound bath had been one of the most healing hours of my life.

And that was it. To this day I’ve never felt another moment of anger or rage towards them again. I left that place a slightly different person to when I arrived. It’s hard to say how I changed. But I forgave them. I still think they are fucking bellends. And If I ever met them in real life, well, I would calmly smile. I would feel pity for their pathetic existence, devoid of any real achievements. And then I would knock them out with a swift left hook. Because no matter how zen you become, some people really would benefit from a swift punch in the face.

But I would do it ever so calmly and sleep ever so soundly that night.

So that’s the tale I have never shared. I went from being a complete non-believer, a sceptic with no room in my life for such bollocks, to becoming a believer of sorts within an hour. In no way at all had I come along to this sound bath with any healing intentions. My only guess as to what a healing intention would have been back then, is what you told the doctor’s receptionist when booking an appointment. But this experience opened my mind to the possibility that some Woo Woo might just work, that perhaps we are just a walking mass of energy that can be changed with the right frequency. Whatever the reason, be it mystical entities from another world or simply a placebo, the sound bath had changed me. Something I couldn’t explain had happened. With no intentions set, I had come away mentally healthier than I had arrived. And for that, I shall always be grateful to Jill and her mystical bonging.

So if I were to rate sound baths on the Woo Woo-ometer, I think it has to be a full swing: Zero to Twenty

*Once again I would like to express my heartfelt thanks to the graphics team. I think we can all agree that their efforts don’t go unnoticed.

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But there is a caveat with this score. This doesn’t happen with every sound bath, at least not for me anyway. I have yet to have another woo woo experience since that first one with Jill.

I have done several sound baths since that very first one. Each one has been lovely, and each time I have left feeling incredibly relaxed. Sometimes I feel a bit off my face afterwards, if I’m being honest. But I’ve never had a message from a unicorn-goddess hybrid, or seen rainbows since. In all honesty I have personally enjoyed the ones that have happened away from PBF far more, but that is mainly because when they are at the farm, I’m full of thoughts about how people are enjoying their experience. It’s hard to relax when you feel responsible.

I know many people who have had some incredible sound bath experiences here though, and no doubt we will be doing more next year when the weather improves. But maybe I need to go and see Jill again?

The reason for telling this tale is that it seemed somehow selfish not to share it. Most of us have suffered some kind of trauma in our lives; some more than others. I wish that scam incident had been the worst thing that had ever happened to me, but perhaps that was just the thing that needed attention the most at that time? Perhaps it was just an easy fix?

And to those who haven’t ever suffered, well, you are incredibly lucky. Or maybe you haven’t been trying hard enough at adulting. To those who have suffered, those who feel anxious, or angry, or desperately sad, or have thoughts of wanting to harm others, perhaps there is a way of healing that doesn’t involve taking pills. A way that doesn’t just push it down and ignore it until it all blows away - because I think it may come to bite you on the arse sometime in the future if you do.

Maybe, just maybe, there is another way to heal. Turning off your phone and connecting with real life human beings in a sauna may be one way. Nobody leaves a sauna grumpier than when they arrived. Or laying down on damp grass while gongs are banged might just do the trick for you. Or dare I say it - without sounding like I’m trying to hawk out our business - going for a cold swim? Perhaps one of the many other forms of Woo Woo is the one for you. Don’t suffer on your own in silence - there is no joy to be had down the end of that path.
Give something a go, even if it seems a bit Woo Woo and can’t be measured by known science. Because I have a feeling that this journey we call life hasn’t quite given up all of its secrets just yet.

I will be trying more sound baths these coming months to see if I can re-capture that initial magic. My fear is that I may be forever chasing that first magical hit. Time will tell. And I shall be undertaking lots of other Woo Woo too too. Maybe one of the experiences will strike a chord with you. Maybe not. Feel free to throw suggestions my way about any Woo Woo that you think I should try next.

Wherever you are on your Woo Woo journey, I hope this finds you well.

M. x

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Introduction

Just three years ago, I stood on the banks of the Monet lake as one of the swimmers told me that she was feeling the lake’s healing energies in her chakras.

I’m guessing the blank look on my face confirmed that I had no idea what she was talking about. Not a clue. I had no idea how to respond. So I politely thanked her for her feedback and told her that I hoped she managed to get some cream for her chakras (whatever they were; they sounded nasty).

Fast forward three years and here at Pool Bridge Farm, I’ve chanted, drummed, bathed in sound, and breathed in a way that is apparently different from your normal common-or-garden breathing. I’ve drunk cacao that had been chanted at. We’ve hosted ecstatic dancing, folk tales and countless other things that I would have dismissed as batshit crazy within seconds only a few years ago.

And perhaps some of it is batshit crazy. Perhaps not. Either way, pondering these questions led me to an idea. I decided it might be a lot of fun to research and write about all things Woo Woo. After all, it seems there really is quite a lot of it to choose from.

So that’s the plan. I’ll choose an area of Woo Woo and give it a go. Then, I’ll use the scientifically proven, peer-reviewed methodology of the Woo Woo-ometer to rate the findings of each Woo Woo experience, with zero at the negative end of the scale and twenty at the positive end of the scale. Zero on the Woo Woo-ometer means that I believe it is complete bollocks - utter nonsense and you should know better at your age. Twenty on the Woo Woo-ometer - I’m all in. I will die on a hill defending this stuff and I will be doing it as long as this earthly vessel blesses me to do so.

In addition, the Woo Woo swingometer - another tried and tested means of measurement - will show the difference between my opinion of a Woo Woo experience prior to my investigation and subsequently.

So pour yourself a cup of herbal tea. Light a scented candle, grab your favourite crystals, settle yourself in and I’ll tell you about what I’ve discovered so far. And over the coming months, perhaps with a little participation from some of you, maybe I can write The Sceptic’s Guide to Woo Woo.

Part 1: Are you there, Sydney?

I have umm-ed and ahh-ed about where to start for quite some time. What Woo Woo would grab folks’ attention the most, to kick this nonsense off? Do I ease you in, by talking about the benefits of contrast therapy? That would be a very simple one to do, given how I pay the bills. But perhaps not Woo Woo enough. So I thought about it long and hard, and concluded I should start at the very other end of the spectrum. As Woo Woo as it possibly gets. Full batshit crazy. And the reason for starting there came about only last week…

To set the scene though, let me take you back to a time when I first encountered this bollocks. It was about twenty or so years ago. I was working away from home and staying in some shitty hotel, in a crap Lincolnshire town I didn’t want to be in. Having come back to the hotel after a post-work run, I discovered an excited gathering of folks in the hotel lobby. And there was a large poster up on the wall: ‘Psychic Medium evening’, with SOLD OUT in big letters across it. “Oh, what is this utter bollocks?” I wondered to myself. I could see hoards of gullible fools gathering, ready to be taken advantage of by some con artists. Their hosts were loitering nearby, looking very self important; the only thing they were missing was a purple robe and pointy hat. It looked like a teachers’ outing from Hogwarts.

But I had nothing else going on that night. So I asked if I would be able to have a reading if I gave them cash. And they agreed. So I went up to my room, grabbed a shower and got myself ready.

As I said, this was a long time ago, so it is hard to give you the specifics of the conversations. But I remember a few bits reasonably well, despite the fact I can’t remember what I did yesterday, or where my car keys are.

I entered a heavily scented room, lit with flickering candles. Glinting crystals were strewn upon the tables. There were four psychics - each sat in one corner of the room. I was invited to take a seat at the desk of the first one. He was an odd chap to say the least; he spoke like he was playing at 0.5 speed and had a vibe of somebody you wouldn’t trust to babysit.

He didn’t waste much time.

“I see a picture in your house… of someone older.”

As starts go, it wasn’t that impressive.

“Nope. None,” I replied.

“You don’t have any pictures in your house?” he asked incredulously, breaking out of his ‘mystical’ character momentarily.

“Nope. I used to have a poster of Claudia Schiffer in a bikini when I was a teenager, if that’s what you mean? But I’m pretty sure she’s still alive and kicking.”

He twaddled utter nonsense for five more minutes, suggesting things I could have said to any random person I met at a bus stop. I gave nothing away. I just remained quiet and expressionless. It was complete and utter nonsense from start to finish. Eventually, he gave up and said nothing was coming through. He suggested that one of the others tried to give me a reading.

The next one talked in whispers. I’m pretty sure she must have been the inspiration for Professor Trelawney.

“I see sport in your life - I see a baaaall…”

I half acknowledged this profound insight with a slight raising of the eyebrow. I think I was beginning to feel sorry for them.

“A footbaaaaall…”

Why was she speaking like this?

In fairness to her, if you were to guess a ball sport, football would have the best hit rate. But I played rugby back then, and had no interest in football at all.

“Nope. Wrong shape. I don’t even like football.” I don’t think I even tried hiding my disdain by this point.

Some further drivel followed, until she also finally gave up, claiming nothing was coming through. It would have been more honest for her to accept that I had simply kept quiet and not given her or any of the other charlatans anything to work with. I decided to call it a night and return to my hotel room. I was more convinced than ever that anything mystical was at best complete nonsense, and at worst, a set of morally bankrupt scam artists preying on vulnerable people. Thank you very much.

But just in case I needed any further reasons to be sceptical, I’d also come across an experiment that Derren Brown did many years ago. He gave each person in a group of volunteers a written psychic reading, and filmed them all as they read it. People cried. They commented about how profound it was, how it had ‘blown their mind’ that he had known them so well. The reading really did move the vast majority of the volunteers to tears.

The twist: he had given each volunteer exactly the same written reading, identical in every way. Yet each volunteer believed it had summed them up perfectly. I wondered if that is what they all do.

So, as you can tell, I bring a particularly high level of scepticism to this particular form of Woo Woo - which makes it seem like a good place to start. But my decision was also prompted by something that happened very recently. I had an unexpected conversation with a very good friend of mine last week. Someone I’ve known for years and I trust implicitly.

We were discussing the ‘Telepathy Tapes’ podcast and I was telling him all about the series (which, incidentally, I highly recommend). I explained that the latest episode was about a medium. A psychic, that is, not someone who is neither big nor small.

My friend hadn’t listened to any of it, but he sheepishly revealed to me that his wife had been to see a psychic who had been highly recommended. And not only had the psychic revealed that his wife was pregnant before she herself even knew (she was only a few weeks in, and it was not in any way planned), but she also told her a whole host of other things she couldn’t have possibly known. So after this revelation, my friend himself had visited the same psychic, and again she had said things and named names that she couldn’t have possibly known. He also revealed that it was so profound that he had become very spiritual after the visit.

So I decided this would be the perfect first experiment. Woo Woo that I think is utter bollocks, but practised by someone who has been highly recommended by a friend I trust implicitly.

I booked a ‘healing’ and a ‘reading’. I had no idea what either would entail. Perhaps she would rub cream into my chakras and spout nonsense. I was just desperately hoping that it wasn’t the same woman I saw all those years ago who really hoped I liked football.

In order to convince me that this was anything other than utter drivel, I was clear in advance that it would take details and names. Something that there would be no way she could know, or guess, or find out about me online, before meeting me. And I didn’t plan on giving anything away. She knew my first name and that I know the chap she had seen. She knows his first name too. She also had my mobile number, but when I googled that to check if it revealed anything about me, it appeared to be linked to a skincare company. So I didn’t think she could find much online about me from the details I’d given her. But I realise there is still a chance.

Two days later, I turned up at her little place on the outskirts of Leeds. It transpired that I had booked an hour of Reiki healing, followed by a tarot card reading. Two Woo Woos for the price of one Woo Woo. What a result.

Her place wasn’t quite what I expected. Although if I’m honest, I’m not one hundred percent sure what I was expecting. It looked like a relatively normal shop front really, nestled amongst a couple of hairdressers and a clothes shop, down what could only be described as a very normal suburban street.

Inside the entrance were a few chairs, a shop counter, an inspirational quote on the wall that was some way from being level, a poster showing the chakras, a giant Buddha and a display cabinet full of crystals. Okay, there may have been one or two cliches going on.

When the lady medium (and coincidentally a medium lady - it must be a sign) came out from the back I immediately warmed to her. She didn’t speak in hushed tones or in slow motion. She just seemed like a very lovely genuine ‘normal’ lady. Whatever normal might be. I wouldn’t like to age her. A few years older than me, and as I found out later, old enough to be a grandmother.

She sat me down and asked me a few questions. Nothing I wouldn’t expect to be asked. Was I allergic to anything? I assumed this was about the chakra healing cream. Did I have cancer? Any breathing issues? A few other questions. It did occur to me that these questions should have been a little pointless given her claimed talents. But perhaps it was false modesty. I went along with it anyway.

She explained we would do the Reiki first and then move onto the reading; I would be thinking about the reading too much afterwards for it to be the other way around.

She locked the shop’s front door and asked me to remove my watch and shoes, then gestured that we should head into the back room. This is when it dawned on me that nobody actually knew where I was and that I’d just been locked in a room with a stranger. I hoped she wouldn’t break my ankles and force me to stay there forever. I told myself that it was all for science. Okay, it could make it tricky to get my research peer-reviewed and published in a scientific journal, but I tried not to concern myself with those finer details.

I went into the treatment room. It consisted of a big massage table, warmed by an electric blanket, a big fluffy blanket to cover me up and keep me warm, some candles on a side cabinet and an electric heater. That was pretty much it. With a heavy scent in the air, the warmth of the electric blanket, and some tunes playing that I would best describe as mystical celtic music, I settled in to be healed.

Now what she was planning to heal, or how she was planning to heal it, had not been discussed. As I was unfamiliar with Woo Woo protocol, I felt unsure about asking her what would be happening. And I guess she was just happy showing me without explanation. I could roll with it. I was ever so comfortable and toasty warm and nobody was asking me the temperature of the water. So I was in a happy place.

As I lay there all snuggly in this heavily scented room, my eyes closed. Enya’s stoned and less musically gifted second cousin was playing quietly on the speaker. So it really was quite the surprise when the first thing she did was place a giant bowl on my stomach and give it a good old hit.

I don’t think there was a single bone in my body that didn’t feel it. I even felt it in the parts that don’t have a bone, if you catch my drift. Then, after a few more hits, the bowl was placed onto my chest and another series of hits were given. Again,I was vibrating in parts I didn’t even know existed. And if I’m being completely honest, it was far from unpleasant.

She moved the bowl down to my feet. As the bowl and my big toe connected, she hit it. The bowl. Not my big toe. What the actual fuck happened to my body is anyone’s guess. But the sensation I received was like something I’d never felt before in all of my days on this spinning rock. Who would ever guess that banging a bowl on a big toe could be a thing? Not me, that’s for sure.

There was a brief pause in the bowl banging and out came some other noise-making implement. It was a much more high-pitched noise this time. I imagined a tiny hi-hat type of cymbal, although I had my eyes closed so I’m not too sure. In my mind, the cymbal was just the right size for a squirrel to hold comfortably. This noise again went all the way through my body. Less pleasant this time, but I’ve heard worse. Any ‘music’ by Peter Andre for example.

This was followed by a pause in proceedings. And then came a big drum. Oh dear Lord, it really was something quite special. I’ve no idea what the frequency was. Deep and low. Vibrating every bit of my body. I’m not sure whether the frequency was intended to be aligned with my body, but something hit my G Spot or my chakras or whatever. Good Lord. It was definitely better than rubbing cream in.

I liked it. I liked it a lot.

When the banging of things ended, she pressed play on her phone and Temu Enya came back on. She moved on to using her hands to continue with the healing. This essentially involved her moving her hands above me and then touching me every so often through my clothes. At one point she held my baldy head for quite some time. I’m not sure what exactly was happening, or what she was doing, but over the hour or so of the healing, I felt everything from the deepest relaxation to an out-of-body experience, and everything in between. At one point my body felt like it was falling through the air. There were colours and peace and tranquility.

I was trying to keep my thoughts focused on my breath, keeping my mind clear. But at some point, my mind drifted off to the picnic bench by the Q lake. I have no idea why I went there. I was talking to someone whose face I couldn’t remember afterwards. But when I realised I had drifted off with these thoughts, I immediately flew through the air and back into my body. It was really bloody awesome.

The medium spent a lot of time touching my head and shoulders, sometimes not moving her hands at all. Yet I still seemed to be experiencing all sorts of feelings. I felt heat coming from specific parts of my body, as if she had a blow torch pointing at me. Which I’m assuming she didn’t.

I had experienced Reiki just once before. And it had been a lovely experience and had left me feeling incredibly relaxed - more relaxed than I had been in many years. Perhaps it was the comfortable surroundings, the music, the scented candles, the mindfulness. It could have been all those things, with or without the Reiki, that had left me feeling so chilled. But while that was good, the feelings I was now experiencing were all totally new to me. And I have to say I am an enormous fan of them. I was left with an overwhelming feeling of peace. A quieter mind, my thoughts more ordered. It was just awesome. I loved it.

After she finished doing whatever she had been doing with her magic hands, she revealed to me that she felt that there was a lot going on in my head. I didn’t confirm or deny this. I didn’t want to give anything away for the upcoming reading. She said I had pushed it down into my chest and she needed to remove the imbalance by clearing channels in my legs. I had no idea what any of this meant, nor where these channels were located. I don’t ever remember seeing chakra channels shown on any diagram of the human body. But I wasn’t going to question her after the witchcraft she had just performed. If she had claimed she could turn me into a frog with a swish of her wand, at that point I could well have believed her.

A few minutes later, she told me that my chakras were now aligned and in balance. Given her triumphant look, I assumed this must be a good thing. I also felt very chilled out, to say the least.

She then casually informed me that an old lady had come to sit by me and watch us. She didn’t say who she was, other than she was on my mother’s side and had some stomach issues. The casual way she told me was quite jarring, as if that was the most normal thing to say. But it didn’t make any sense to me, if I’m being honest, for many reasons. And in any case, I’m not sure how I’d have felt knowing I was being watched as my big toe was given the singing bowl treatment.

She brought me a glass of water and rearranged the room. The massage table instantly became the card table. Comfortable, warm and multi functional. She got out her cards.

I was asked to shuffle one of the decks of cards and pick twelve, which I promptly did. I wasn’t sure how to go about picking twelve, so I pretended that I was putting thought into it. Perhaps I was. I just went with what felt right. I guess that’s all you can do really. I had to pick six more from another deck too.

Somebody else from the ‘other side’ came through to her. Apparently, this time it was a younger man who had passed, on my fathers side. I thought for a while but no-one initially came to mind. No name or details were offered. So we moved on.

What happened over the next hour or so has left me with a mix of thoughts. Thoughts I’m still mulling over.

I think I’m a pretty good judge of character when I’m talking to someone face to face. I can spot a wrong ‘un in seconds. I guess it’s body language, tone of voice - those subconscious things we don’t know are happening.

The four charlatans in that room twenty years ago: I could tell they were wrong ‘uns before I set foot in the room. But this lady was different. She seemed completely genuine in her belief that she could align chakras and talk to dead people. She definitely made me feel funny in ways I’ve never felt funny while she was ‘healing’ me and aligning my chakras. Can she actually talk to dead people and do readings about people’s futures? Well. The jury is still out. Because in my head I had an expectation. I wanted proof. I wanted a smoking gun. I wanted something, anything to make me think, “That’s it.” I wanted some confirmation from her of a fact about me that she could not otherwise have known, such that if I told anyone about it, then doubt would be removed.

But I didn’t get any ‘proof’. She said nothing that would be impossible to guess, or that wasn’t open enough to allow me to take my own meaning from it. However, by the time we had finished, I had a pile of cards in front of me that meant something to her, and she had spent over an hour using these cards to sum up both my current situation and what was in my head pretty accurately. It was definitely more than just generic waffle.

But how had she done it? Did I somehow give her signals? Did her thirty-eight years of experience of doing this make her incredibly good at reading people and saying just the right things? Was she even able to read people who are trying to remain deadpan? Because without proof of a name, or something she could not possibly have guessed, I have to remain sceptical. That’s just the way I’m wired up.

I’m not going to tell you the details or any of the content of the reading, because quite frankly it’s none of your business. And it was far more personal than I ever imagined it would be. She said quite a few things that had made me think “Bloody hell, that’s accurate,” or “How the hell did she guess that?”. There were things she said that were very much on my mind, things no research could have found out. But you could also say that none of it was exceptionally specific. Or indeed particularly specific. If I think about it, I guess a lot of it could have been interpreted as meaningful by more people than just me. For most of the hour, I could take meaning from what she was saying, and I didn’t knowingly give her anything. Was she just a good poker player? Do I have a tic?

There was no single piece of information that I could point to and say “This is the proof.” No names. No specifics at all. Nothing. There are one hundred and one things that she could have said that would have removed doubt, but none of them came. Did I expect too much? Given I have no idea what to expect, and having only my previous hotel experience and ‘The Seatbelt Psychic’ from the interweb as reference, it’s hard to say.

I’ve tried to frame this as a thought experiment. Could any random person ‘without the gift’ have given me as accurate a reading? Or at least a reading that I could interpret as accurate? Very few, I would guess. But most people don’t have thirty-eight years’ experience doing it.

I’m afraid there are just still too many questions unanswered for me to be converted into a believer. Yes, she seemed like a genuine person. Yes, she told me things that would have been incredibly hard to guess. But there were no specific details at all. Not a single one. And that is what I needed.

Psychic Conclusion

Am I less sceptical than before? I suppose so. Slightly less. But I still remain very sceptical.

Could the stack of cards on the massage table, and what she said, be interpreted as a reasonably accurate description of my life and thoughts right now? Absolutely, yes. Did she tell me that I had good energy? Yes she did. I officially have ‘good aura’ (this will be entirely lost on those without a teenager in their lives). But did she give me anything that could be described as proof? Absolutely not.

Would I go back for another Psychic reading? Nope. Not unless there was someone who believed they could give me some kind of ‘proof’ to move the Woo Woo-ometer.

Reiki Conclusion

Am I less sceptical than before? Very much so and I was already a fan.

Would I go back for more? Yes. Absolutely. It was awesome. I even asked her how often people should go for Reiki when I left. She said, “When it feels right. You’ll know when.” I liked that. She wasn’t trying to sell me anything.

Do I think she removed unaligned energy out of my head, through my chest, down my leg chakra channels and out of my body? Without more research, the jury is still very much out on that one.

So for the scientifically rigorous reasons outlined above, the Woo Woo-ometer and Woo Woo-swingometer ratings are as follows:

*Special thanks to the team of consultants who worked tirelessly for five weeks to produce the above graphic. Their skills and dedication did not go unnoticed.

I have no idea what kind of Woo Woo I will be investigating next. If you do (do) any type of Woo Woo and would like to contribute to this scientific experiment, please feel free to get in touch. And if you would be happy to come and spend an hour or so being filmed by a small camera crew in a sauna, discussing your flavour of Woo Woo with me after a Woo Woo session, that would be even better. I think it might be a load of fun to make podcasts discussing different forms of Woo Woo from a sauna.

Thanks for reading this nonsense. I hope all of your auras are as aligned as mine is now.

M

Bob (not his real name) moved his hand towards the Ginsters cornish pasty he had thoughtfully bought from the petrol station just up the road.

Bob was keen to please Sarah (not her real name) - he’d made sure he would spoil his love this glorious afternoon. A tube of Pringles, a can of Dandelion and Burdock, a curly-wurly and some reduced sushi could also be seen within the bag. Sarah was in for a treat.

Bob unwrapped the Ginsters and slowly moved it towards Sarah's mouth. As she bit into it, the crumbs cascaded down her chin and fell onto her ample bosom. Oh how they laughed.

As their hands touched, there was a spark of electricity neither of them could ignore. Like accidentally touching an electric fence. But less painful.

Bob felt it in his now bulging Speedos. Sarah gave him the eye. The eye that says “get me out of this Dryrobe.”

Before you could say “what’s the temperature?” they were at it like ferrets. Animal instincts had taken over and nothing would distract them from their lust.

Well, almost nothing.

Captain Jackie had been sat aloft her favourite tree chattering away to herself, waiting for her next victim to walk by. When through her peripheral vision she has seen the most unfamiliar of lakeside sights. A man-human seemed to be on top of a woman-human and they were involved with some kind of special wrestling.

Captain Jackie was very aware of the rules at PBF and that no tomfoolery or shenanigans were allowed lakeside - she must put a stop to this at once.

She flew down and landed silently behind Bob and Sarah - who were now quite oblivious to their surroundings.

Keen to investigate this peculiar behaviour further - Captain Jacky went in for a good look and she was met with a sight that she will never un-see.

Dangling from the man-human was what seemed to be a couple of pebbles in a pink melted nylon sock.
‘Fuck it’ thought Captain Jacky - I haven’t got any of these in my collection and she took a firm hold of the left ‘pebble’ in her beak.

It was at this exact point that Bob found out just how sharp and powerful Captain Jacky’s beak was.
Momentarily stunned - his brain soon caught with the realisation that there was pain in his left bollock like he’d never felt before.

He let out a primal scream that echoed around the tranquil lakes. The ducks took to the sky. The kingfisher crashed into a weeping willow and three carp died.

Sarah hadn’t read the situation quite right. “Nooooo, not yet. I’m nearly there” was her disappointed call.

Bob jumped in the air. A tenacious Captain Jacky still affixed to his left testicle, as he ran for his life, an ear piercing howl coming from the depths of his soul, as he felt every joyous moment of his life to date leave his body, as if receiving a kiss from a Dementor.

Sarah, was now not only disappointed, but confused to why her lover had jumped ship mid voyage, well just before docking - and was now howling like a banshee with what look liked a small crow super-glued between his legs.

After a 30 yard sprint, that, had he continued at such a pace, would have placed him 4th in the Olympic sprint final. Captain Jacky finally relinquished her grasp. Much to Bob’s relief. But it had all been a little too much for him. He collapsed to the floor and wept like a child. Wondering if he would ever be able to pluck up the courage to ever make sweet alfresco love to his beloved Sarah again.

Sarah has never eaten another Ginster Pasty.

They separated shortly after and are both seeing therapists individually.

It’s Friday. It’s POETS day. So that can mean only one thing. It’s the newsletter that nobody asked for. Especially not those of a sensitive disposition. So I will caveat this with: These opinions are mine. Not PBF - Just the ramblings of a middle aged baldy-man.

The last newsletter I wrote went down like a french kiss at a family reunion. So I took a little break. Some people are ever so easily offended. But I recently had a rummage around in my bucket and realised I couldn’t find a single f*ck in there to give. Gone. Every single one of them. An empty bucket of f*cks. So here we are again. Grab a brew. Or a wine. Or any other liquid refreshment you chose to wet your palate with and settle yourself down. The kids are back at school. The crowds have dispersed…and there is a lot to discuss.

Well that was a busy summer wasn’t it? Our first full summer of all the lakes being open for swimming. And it seems that this wild swimming malarkey is quite popular. Who knew?

Apparently the kids think we’re cool now. But you lot were the trend-setters. It seems that everywhere you go, there is someone looking at a video of ‘That swimming place near York’.
It makes me smile as I remember the 30 odd OG swimmers that came that cold and miserable December morning less than 4 years ago and slid on their arses into the ‘Coarse Lake’. Who could have predicted how many lives that morning would go on to change?

Sauna Corner
We have five stunning lake-side saunas now. With a stunning path that runs from the sauna reception, passing the changing rooms and to each Sauna. We will have a mud free winter at Sauna corner! Lake view has had a face-lift too. It suits its new lovely Green colour.
Each Sauna seems to have its own personality. From the intimacy of the Shepherd’s Hut to the breathtaking view of Blue Yonder - to the star gazing roof of Sky View.
The path will be lined with lavender to give the butterflies and bees something to eat next year and fill the sauna corner with a glorious scent.

Camping toilet block
We’re getting there. We have power. So that’s a good start. And when Yorkshire Water connect us up (that’s why there is a messy hole at the entrance) this month, we’ll be able to have all the showers up and running. We’ll have 3 outdoor ones for you swimmers to rinse off under. Then it’s just about making that area all nice and pretty.

Another summer of fun
Pool Bridge Has Got Talent was a joy yet again. Is there anything funnier than a performing dog? Yes. A dog called Tofu that refused to perform. My cheeks ached and my sides hurt.

This summer we did a dawn chorus, drumming circles, sound-baths, a solstice swim, singing circles, family singing, moon swims and so much more. It has been a blast.

Community
The community of folks that has formed at PBF is where so much of the magic comes from and the ‘Crockey Hill Blue Tits’ and the 9am Friday swimmers are very much a part of it.
If you fancy swimming though winter but you’re a bit nervous, or you’re on your own - you don’t need to be. Rock up at 9am on a Friday morning. Or search ‘Crockey Hill Blue Tits’ on Facebook and you will find a very welcoming bunch of like minded people who will offer encouragement and a friendly smile. And they’ll also teach you swear words you didn't know existed as they get into the water.

Ecstatic Dancing
No idea what this is. But I’m gonna throw some shapes. Becci (one of our team) is an ecstatic dancer, yoga instructor and all round good egg and will be leading you all on the 12th September. I believe there are about 10 spaces left if you’d like to join us for a lakeside dance under the stars. Tickets at the usual place.

Facebook community chats are no more
Zuckerberg was sat with Gates at the ‘tasteful’ Bezos wedding - no doubt debating if they should end world poverty with their obscene wealth or build giant matching underground bunkers to protect themselves from nuclear fallout - when he came up with an idea: What could I do to annoy the most people possible? So he stopped the community chats. Now we’ll have to endure endless water temperature emails again. Gates suggested he bring back the cartoon dog holding the paperclip in its mouth. So please don’t blame us. We liked those chats.

Choir
It’s hard to put into words just how good the Choir is and how much fun Jess makes it. Tuesday evenings in the change barn is about singing for ‘connection not perfection’. We’re a non religious choir, but we did a trip to the local church this week to test the acoustics. And we really did sound good. We’ve even been recorded by an BAFTA winning sound recordist, singing in the lake. We have open mic nights every so often for those who want a safe space to give it a go, and the guitars often come out by the fire afterwards. Singing together really is a joy that everyone (no matter of your ability) should try.

New IT system
We are getting a new booking system next week! The old one has over promised changes and under delivered for too long. How it will work…For any bookings you need to make where you’ll be coming to us before the 1st October, just use the current system. No change at all. If you would like to visit us after the 1st October, then you will be able to use the new system when it goes live (next week). So you’ll just have to wait a few days before you can book for winter. If you have any gift vouchers - we have transferred the data and you will be able to use them no problem on the new system. But get this…no more PayPal! No more Paypal taking 3p from you for no reason. Wooo hooo. Instead you’ll be able to use Google Pay or Apple pay…or your card. There will be a tonne of other features too. Like being able to amend your booking without having to email us! (There will be rules)

Monet Lake steps
They need a bit of a tweak. The drop from the bottom step is too big and getting out can be tricky even for the most flexible of us. Ian and Mark have finished fixing the one at the end nearest the road and will be fixing the other two steps next week. So it should be all sorted soon.

Volunteers
Oh we love them. They have made such a difference this summer. Wandering around in their light blue tops, answering questions and keeping their beady eyes out for any shenanigans.

It really is quite something when so many wonderful folks are willing to give up their precious time and asked for nothing in return. You lot really are the best of the best. Thank you.

Cafe
It will be open 6 days a week over winter and the Horsebox will be open on Tuesdays. If you want to guarantee a table on Friday, Saturday or Sunday as it gets colder - it would probably be worth booking a table. You’ll find their contact details on our website.

Our awesome team
Just how awesome are our team? I hope they know just how much they are appreciated. Not just by us. But by you guys too. As some of them leave us and head off into the big wide world or to begin student life at University, I hope they will smile when they remember this summer - and I hope they learned a few things too. There has been so much laughter and they really are a joy to be around.

TikTokerating and Instagrannying
We have been visited by many social media ‘influencers’ this summer and I’ve picked up a few tips from them (as well as learning over a dozen different ways of pronouncing ‘Monet’). So If you see me at the lake side with a thong pulled right up my arse crack - doing a side-wards victory sign while pouting into a camera, you know what I’m up to.
Or perhaps you may see me looking wistfully to the horizon - as I film myself reading excerpts from the new book.
Or perhaps a mash up of the two. That would be niche.

If you do partake in social media - then you will find me reading nonsense from the second book in the very near future. (Still writing it) And no, this one won’t be suitable for children either. Maybe even less suitable than ‘Bird’ if I’m honest.

@wearejackdaw on TikTok or Insta if you’re into that kind of thing.

What’s next?
I think it's just a long exhale to start with. Perhaps we’ll all just sit and stare at a wall for a while. Then we have a few projects to tackle. The area near the new toilets by the Q lake would be lovely if it was all pretty and landscaped.
The old changing barn (by Monet) could do with a bit of TLC (any thoughts or ideas about what to do with it are very welcome!)
And when (if) Yorkshire Water ever get their act together we can have some more showers.
Oh and a nice warm sauna reception for the team.

Political ranty bit
I shouldn’t. But I just can’t help myself. Because every sane person in the world seems to be waiting with baited breath for those cock swinging narcissists in power to all fall out and destroy the planet. I’m not sure where they think the spare one is. Their fragile little egos just can’t take name calling. Or the other one having a bigger missile. I bet every one of them could put their tally-wackle in a thimble and wobble it from side to side. Those who crave power really should not be allowed it, should they?
But thankfully our great leader has been prioritising his time (while he sat in front of his Union Jack) and has managed to secure a loan of the Bayeux Tapestry to the British Museum, so all is well. Because there is nothing else going on in the world he should be concerning himself with is there? Well, other than arresting peaceful protesters with the audacity to oppose genocide. What a ‘disappointing f*cking bell-end’ he turned out to be.

Anyway, I think you swimmers should start your own political party. Because the Eton educated blokes have constantly f*cked it up so far and I think seeing Trump get punched in his orange face by an angry perimenopausal woman in a Dryrobe would be one of the highlights of everyone's life.

I hope you all remember your time at PBF during the long hot summer of ‘25 in years to come with joy in your hearts. For those that were lucky enough to bring children, I hope they made memories they will treasure forever. Have an amazing weekend, wherever you find yourself.

M.