I love the shower. It’ s part of my repetitive daily activity where the ritual of cleaning is almost second nature, so requires no conscious thought.
So my morning shower is where my subconscious whacks me on the head and yells LISTEN HERE! It’s the place where I have out-loud, role-play conversations with friends and adversaries. It’s where I kick ass, speak most eloquently, win arguments. react with most passion and generally gain clarity. It’s the place where my second voice, my inner voice, is the loudest and most true. My showers are the best places for my day dreams.
So soggy notepaper with indecipherable scrawl is often found around the bedroom. On occasions, I look at these scraps with amusement and wonder if the smell of the soap suds has acted as a natural high. Other times, it’s as if I’ve single-handedly written the synopsis of the next great opus. Many times, I’m in such a rush I promise myself that I’ll commit my thoughts or intentions to memory, yet by the time I’m in the car they are like fragments tossed in the wind of nothingness. Oh for a 20 year old memory again…
I can have such daydreams while out walking, but my nearest approximation to a full on shower experience are the days I spend in the mountains. There is something about the clarity of the air that strips my mind of all nonsense and noise and sets it free to just be.
It’s the best form of mindful meditation that I know. The steady monotony of one step, the swing of one arm, one walking stick or ice axe, then the next foot. And on and on we go. The voice of “polepole polepole” Swahili for “slowly slowly” is the mantra which reverberates around my head as burning muscle, fatigue and pain are all swept aside for the sheer pleasure and promise of the next great vista.
And waking up at the first light of dawn, crawling from a small tent and peering into the grey morning mist is a delicious sensation (often before the reality of blistered feet and wet boots creep back into consciousness).
With Roscoe too young, and not very willing for full on mountain trips, our annual ski trips have become so important to me. Being in the mountains with Craig and Roscoe, standing at the top of a perfect piste, planning our route is one of the best feelings. I don’t think or worry about anything else apart from we three enjoying the wind in our faces, the sun on our back and the opportunity to whoop and laugh and feel pure joy as we head downwards, snow crisp, light, powdery under ski.
So the goal is set; four weeks from now to be well enough, fit enough, pain-free enough to persuade Craig that we can do a last minute Easter ski holiday.
Until then, I’m going to spend a lot of time in the shower…

My third example is a local “school Mum”. I figured she was one of those stay at home types who were dismissive of us working Mothers, as we were never around for bake sales, school events or play ground chats. Today, all three women are part of my tribe and I am proud to call them great friends. So what changed?![Title: THELMA AND LOUISE ¥ Pers: DAVIS, GEENA / SARANDON, SUSAN ¥ Year: 1991 ¥ Dir: SCOTT, RIDLEY ¥ Ref: THE079BE ¥ Credit: [ MGM/PATHE / THE KOBAL COLLECTION ]](https://i0.wp.com/www.still-talking.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/02/appearances-thelma-and-Louise-300x169.jpeg?resize=300%2C169)


How many of us really embody daily change and difference in our busy lives? How exhausting would this be?! And in recognising that many of our actions and decisions are more habitual than conscious, does this awareness change our behaviour?
I must trust that time is not linear, it is cyclical. That I was, I am, I will be, great again.
is very active and each year the Haggis, the cheese, the shortbread, the Piper and sometimes even the Scottish Country Dancers are flown in! Aside from St Andrews Day itself, Burns night is an excuse for us Scots to throw a party, drink up a storm and practice our eightsome reels. A guaranteed night of revelry in the Sheraton hotel in Kampala. And our Ugandan friends and colleagues turn up, enjoy our food, drink malt whisky with gusto and take to the floor to add some spice and rhythm to the dancing. These are treasured memories; every nationality, wholeheartedly participates and celebrates the life of Robert Burns.
Born on January 25, 1759, much has already been written about the life of
I can say it has no particular points of note apart from this is where you go to catch a ferry to the beautiful isle of Arran. And Saltcoats has a pebble beach, unlike the tiny speck of sandy beach by the Pencil in
Largs remains one of my favourite places in Ayrshire.



Equally I love listening to friends who have stories which belong in soaps, comedies or drama series – their lives are full of adventures and tales and experiences. Others are happy to be silly with me, throwing themselves with gusto into whatever is going on – whether its Cards against Humanity or pinging themselves off the sides of mountains as we attempt to ski after nice long and quite liquid lunches and/or apres ski.