Edinburgh Fringe 2019 - White Collar Comedy.

It was a wet October morning and I was wondering what the next step might be in my comedy career. I was doing okay, but meeting a few dead ends along the way and it felt as though some new impulse was needed.

So, I did what I usually do each morning, gave it to God (who pretty well had to pin me to the ground and wrestle it out of my head as per normal) and sat in meditation. The answer was swift and clear: "If you want to go fast, go alone; if you want to go far, go together."

It's an African proverb so neither God nor I were being particularly original that morning but then God did make Africa along with everything else (including dinosaurs) so I guess He/She can still claim it.

"Go together" meant performing comedy with other vicars. Fortunately I knew two who were intentionally funny, from a show we'd done for Christians in London called Holy Guacamole. Not one of my best gigs: a load of folk staring in horrified outrage at my heresy (and less than perfect timing) but at least I'd got to meet Revs. Ravi Holy (yes, that's his real name) and Kate Bruce.

They take up the story in this article in The Wee Review.  Originally, there were to have been four of us — Rev. Mark Townsend is a talented magician as well as an author — but that will have to wait until another year. Perhaps if Mark were with us, Pontius Pilate would have given us four crosses?

Getting a load of vicars together outide their parishes is like herding cats (we are well trained in plausible avoidance techniques by our Parish Councils) and we live in Devon, Kent and Oxfordshire so we couldn't just meet up after work for a drink. But suitably tempted by the offer of supper cooked by my Jewish friend Adam — all vicars should have at least one Jewish friend who invites you for supper, obviously — we met up in the holy city of Aylesbury and started to plan.

Our first show together was at Leicester Comedy Festival in February. We were doing just one night on the first day of the festival — and none of our promotional material had been brought along for us to do any flyering. It was all done just not delivered. So, we had a pizza and a quick word the the One Upstairs and to our delight, thirteen people showed up. Now, 90% of those were friends of Kate's but no one was complaining about that and we never told the Holy One we wanted strangers. You do have to be very specific in prayer...

Our second gig was at Bath Comedy Festival, eight hours after Lion and I landed at Heathrow from three weeks in the USA. I don't sleep well on planes and was a tad nervous about the effects of tiredness. But the delight of seeing more than 50 people turn up (together with a few of Kate's friends), was enough to help the adreneline and we all did better than on the first night.

So, two gigs together before we headed for the Edinburgh Fringe. Seriously under-prepared? Yes and no. We're each doing our own set which we already know well and allowing ourselves to refer back to each other spontaneously from the day's events and it just works.

Edinburgh isn't cheap and, as we are at the Free Fringe, we rely on donations to keep us going. For most comedians, accommodation is the biggest cost but, bless him, Ravi got in touch with an old friend from his wild-child days who lives on the perfect bus route to our venue, Sofi's Southside, in Buccleuch Street. She's obviously quite crazy because she happily invited all three of us to stay for the whole 11 days we are here.

So here the adventure begins for real. And no better start for three middle class, middle aged comedians to sit with our hosts the night before we begin our run. Ravi and Pauline are discussing their wild days of drugs and punk music (Ravi was lead singer in Satan's Bitches and yes, he'll tell you about that in the show). As they remembered some of their more unravelled times, with "E" and other illegal substances ,Pauline came up with a classic about the seriously mad, bad and dangerous to know "Joe":  "I well remember the day Joe introduced me to Earl Grey tea." You can take a girl out of the Middle Class, but you can't take the Middle Class out of the girl...

64. Blessing the Dust, a poem by Jan Richardson.

All those days
you felt like dust,
like dirt,
as if all you had to do
was turn your face
toward the wind
and be scattered
to the four corners
or swept away
by the smallest breath
as insubstantial—
Did you not know
what the Holy One
can do with dust?
This is the day
we freely say
we are scorched.
This is the hour
we are marked
by what has made it
through the burning.
This is the moment
we ask for the blessing
that lives within
the ancient ashes,
that makes its home
inside the soil of
this sacred earth.
So let us be marked
not for sorrow.
And let us be marked
not for shame.
Let us be marked
not for false humility
or for thinking
we are less
than we are
but for claiming
what God can do
within the dust,
within the dirt,
within the stuff
of which the world
is made,
and the stars that blaze
in our bones,
and the galaxies that spiral
inside the smudge
we bear.

Jan Richardson

With thanks to Rev. Harriet Every.

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63. The Woman Who Walks Barefoot On The Moor.

That's a nice wanky bollox title isn't it? Implies that I'm a tree-hugging spiritual being in floaty purple clothes with too many buttons.

At the moment I'm a woman with a thorn in her foot who's just scared silly the man delivering poll cards by lying naked on the vegetable patch. Our garden runs around the house and the veggie patch is pretty sheltered if you're not actually coming into the driveway and I was decently covered with dressing gown but he probably thought I was a dead body for a moment.

It's called 'Earthing.' I think it's simultaneously the latest thing and the oldest thing on the planet. According to Earthing.com: "Earthing is a fast-growing movement based upon the major discovery that connecting to the Earth's natural energy is foundational for vibrant health."


Major discovery eh? 


Well there is a lot of truth in the fact that we humans are more and more disconnected from the Earth. I used to walk barefoot around the house and garden all summer but stopped probably about a decade ago. And even on the Moor, it's trainers or walking boots. We're also insulated from the vitamin D from the sun in our anoraks and trousers. Apparently at the UK's latitude, we can barely get optimum vitamin D from walking for a couple of hours in shorts and tee-shirt at Midsummer.


Anyway, my friend John (who owns about 30 acres of land) has bought himself an 'earthing sheet' to lie on in bed for his aches and pains. You can buy an earthing pad to put under your office desk to put your feet on. After all, who has time to sit outside or walk barefoot in the garden any more? We're too busy on the internet.


I don't know yet if it's worked for him but I was given two strong hints (I might say instructions) from friends that I 'should' get into some earthing. This was a couple of weeks ago when the temperature was still very chilly and the earth was wet and deeply cold. Oh, and grass wouldn't do. It had to be earth.

I tried it for ten minutes and nearly froze my back off. Yikes!

But it made sense. So I starte to walk barefoot on the moor. Yes I know that's grass (and poo) but you have to start somewhere. Oh so much city-dweller 'it'll hurt' stuff came out ... and it was frickin' cold too ... but actually it felt amazing and it certainly focuses you down on where you put your feet. There are tiny, tiny fledgling gorse bushes on the Moor and they hurt.


But there is also a feeling that comes in that is palpable. Not to mention the a re-recognition of the extreme comfort of socks and shoes when they go back on.


Now it's a bit warmer, on sunny days, I will go and lie on the vegetable patch for half an hour covered either with dressing gown or single duvet. I'd just started doing it when the healing crisis arrived so who knows if it was contributing to that or not. But today I managed it again, having walked barefoot on the Moor yesterday (and picked up an unremovable tiny thorn which will have to dissolve its way out).


I'll vouch for it for one thing already. I'd been getting achey backs nowadays because my neck vertebrae have been strained. But earthing dissolves that for the rest of the day, just like that. And the problem is lessening every day.


Now I've researched it a bit more, it appears that grass is just fine, and so is water and so is sand—there are lots of interesting websites out there so I won't point you to just one. Just google 'Earthing.'


In a nutshell: when our bodies lose contact with the earth we start to carry a positive electric voltage relative to the Earth's own voltage. Research indicates that this is not good for health and wellbeing. 

Earthing the body returns the voltage to zero. The whole thing is about free-radicals which are there to help us heal as long as there aren't too many of them. When we touch the earth, the free radicals that we don't need appear to go 'yippee!' and dive down into the earth, leaving us clear.


Thank God summer is coming (and we're off to sunny Cyprus at the end of the month) so I shall be able to test out the theory very thoroughly over the next few months. And yes, I shall continue to walk barefoot on the Moor because it's a wonderful thing to do. I shall just examine my feet with tweezers afterwards.


I am leaving interesting footprints in places as I'm very happy to walk barefoot in the muddy parts too. When just the ball of my foot and toes show up it looks like a very weird mark. I'm looking forward to passing some curious hikers on my way back down to Aslan's How who are wondering if they have seen the elusive prints of the mythical Beast of Dartmoor.


Mind you, she'll be flying down the hill behind me, tongue out and leaping for beagline joy.

P.S. The thorn vanished after this afternoon's walk on the Moor.

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62. I Chose the Road of Faith

Today I walked on the Moor again. This has been my delight and my spiritual discipline most days since we moved here to Devon. Nowadays I walk barefoot and consequently with much more care. Prickles still catch me and there is much hopping while I clear the foot but I have dodged all the moor-poo successfully so far. The sun shone and I sat down against a tree and said my prayers of blessing for this land and for me while the beagles did their own beagly stuff.

I promised to rest entirely for a week even before the latest healing crisis—which has certainly made me keep my word. On Sunday it was so hard to swallow that I finally (finally) did the three-day juice fast that most of the world recommends. When they don't recommend a seven-day or even longer one.

Hideous, just hideous. Sorry healthy folk but it made me weak as a kitten; there is nothing you can do with juiced spinach which is going to make it taste good and dear Lion's frustration at stuffing bags of kale into the juicer and getting half an inch of liquid was heart-breaking to a Taurean.

Today I am up again and into the second day of eating again and for the first time I have strength again, but I will still spend at least every morning in bed again until Sunday, as a discipline. I don't rest enough. My homeopath tried to tell me weeks ago and I still didn't listen. This morning, I was pottering in the kitchen before I went back to bed and listening to instructions from above and I said, 'yes I'll do that and that but I'll have to stop when I'm tired and rest.'

Suddenly I was doubled up with laughter that wouldn't stop for minutes. That was God laughing at the idea that I would be the one who decided when I was tired instead of having to be beaten into bed.

I'm not afraid. I know this internal journey has more than turned the corner; these last days I've been deep into my soul in the company of Caroline Myss, working with the Tree of Life and chakras and clearing the levels of endurance and intuition and giving my will up to God. I've also worked with the most beautiful healer, Deb Rowley, whom I met on Facebook and who has been of unfailing support and a total delight. As she lies in her bed at night in New Zealand with her husband sleeping beside her, I lie in bed in the morning covered in beagles and we talk and talk in messages.

The ho'oponopono chant that I have been using off and on for years has become my confessional; any time I feel a negative or judgemental thought coming in, I move into ho'oponopono (I'm sorry, please forgive me, thank you, I love you) and it is dissolved.

But probably the biggest gift Caroline Myss has given me this time round is the acknowledgment that this is a road of faith. I always promised myself that if I ever got a life-enhancing dis-ease I would not go down the route of chemotherapy. So many, many times I have broken my word to myself over the years—I would meditate more; I would eat better; I would do this, I would not do that.

And I broke my word. Again and again. For decades. I thought it didn't really matter but it does. So my will (neck) has been compromised.

But when it came to it, when the chips were well and truly down, I kept my word. I chose the long and sometimes arduous road of faith.

I did have some treatment with an interleukin which was not a lot of help but that was not a breaking of faith because I have always believed in interleukins since Henry's sickness. At a time when I was seriously scared, it may well have given me a couple of months of faith to continue on my journey. But I have been adamant that I will take the route of inner healing and I have kept my word.

So the days of breaking my word to myself are over. Hopefully so are the days of breaking my word to others. And if my will is committed to that, then it is now a will that is worthy of handing over to God.

And in that knowledge, and the deep inner knowing that I now have that God loves and supports me and that my mission as a spiritual comedian is my new ordination, I place it, and myself in God's hands and I commit to following my guidance as much as I possibly can. I don't promise to do it all the time and all my life because I might not make it, so I simply say that I will commit to doing my best.

(My guidance incidentally hasn't shut up since then and seems to be very insistent that it wants to hear me sing and laughs its non-existent head off whenever I do).

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61. Chemicalisation, Vulnerability and Shame.

I was going to write today about 'earthing' and walking barefoot on the moor and all sorts of lovely things.

But I feel like shit and I've been in bed all weekend with a flare-up in my neck that hurts like hell and has made me look like the Elephant Man. It's a little better today so I know that it's probably okay (mostly), and a Goddam healing crisis from the homeopathy. I'm also coming to realise that riding may not be the best thing for me to be doing at the moment. It's obviously jarring my neck badly and it has enough to deal with as it is.

This morning, a friend, David Wetton, posted a link to Brené Brown on Facebook which was just perfect timing. Brené talks about shame and vulnerability and that's so appropriate for me today.

Why? 

Because I'm not physically better yet and there are so many people cheering me on and believing in me. I think I'm not doing enough. I'm not doing it right. I'm afraid I'll end up in hospital being dosed with chemo by doctors who tell me that I've left it too late and I should have been more sensible.

Because I think I am going to have to tell Carrie the horse's owner that I'm not well enough to help her out right now.

Because Britain's Got Talent is airing from next weekend. And that means it's very likely that several million people will watch me failing and being told I'm not funny by unimpressed judges.

No, I don't know yet that I will be on the TV—apparently they'll call to tell me if it's so. But, if I am, I don't want to watch it because I remember so well that awful moment when I'd finished and looked at the impassive faces of three judges who didn't clap. I don't want to tell friends and family because I don't want them to see me fail. They know I didn't get through but telling them with a light-hearted "well, it's probably for the best and they didn't get me" is one thing. Having them watch it is another.

And also because the guy who promised to fund me for Edinburgh seems to have vanished off the planet. He's not answering messages or emails so my precious 'therapy fund' is empty again because I paid out for the entry fees and air fare and the posters in the happy knowledge that I was being sponsored. And there's a load more expense to come now that I'm now committed to Edinburgh. So I need to ask you guys if you can help out again please? If you can and if you want to sponsor me to perform at the Edinburg Fringe, please donate. I'd be so grateful. Thank you.

Several people have said to me how brave it was to ask the first time. Well it wasn't easy. I did feel shame and vulnerability but as I'm on a very, very healthy diet, I can't hide them behind a bar of chocolate or a glass of red wine any more. They have to be faced and dealt with. And that's one of the fascinating things about this journey—all my cover-up techniques are gone. 

Brené Brown says that when we numb shame, we also numb joy, gratitude and happiness. We can't have total delight if we are not willing to face our darkness. And I say that she is right. Because even though it's been a shit weekend and I hurt, there have still been moments of such joy and such peace and such profound prayer. I asked Lion to ring my Bishop and ask him to pray for me and he has phoned twice and been so kind. Until I was ill I always kept him at a bit of arm's length but now he is one of my best friends as well as a teacher and we love each other.

Brené quotes Theodore Roosevelt (and that really helped with the BGT thing too):

"It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat."

Yes, I am in the arena. And I can be proud of that.


And Simon Cowell, of all people, said "yes." He didn't say it because he thought my performance was good, I believe he said it because I was in that arena, failing magnificently. It may also have been because when I looked at him, I loved him. Not in a sexual way, in an 'agape' way. I can't explain that, but it must have shown.

And, you know, even though some days are shit I can in all honestly put my hand on my heart and tell you that I've never been so alive; I've never felt so filled with joy; I've never known I was loved so much; I've never loved so deeply; I've never had a heart so open as I have had this last year. I would not have missed this experience for the world—even though I so want to be healed physically too. I don't know what the outcome will be but (as someone said) faith is not about being sure, it's about not being sure but betting with your last dollar.

Thank you for being with me on this journey.

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60.Chemicalisation.

It's all been going pretty well really. The vitamin C has definitely had a good effect and, for all I know, may continue to do so. I've been zinging with energy, creating lovely healthy food that actually tastes nice—and my Shiatsu practitioner gave me a dehumidifyer for raw food on 'extended loan.' Haven't got very far with that yet apart from kale chips which are surprisingly good.

The horse is still scary—she's called Carrie and I've ridden her twice on my own now. The first time was not easy as she tested me out every step of the way, got away from me once and fly-bucked like crazy. Glad to know I'm still a good rider because I coped with it all.

But don't you love it when you get back to the stables and someone says 'did she buck?' No one had previously mentioned that little habit of hers at all...

Before ride number two I thought I'd try a bit of horse-whispering in the outside school at the stables where Carrie is kept. She's used to being lunged (going round in circles on the end of a long rein) and although I didn't do that, she trotted and cantered around me out of habit as I pushed her on for a full half hour.

It's not proper horse-whispering until you get what's called join-up. The horse lowers its head and starts licking its lips and that's a sign that it is becoming submissive to you. You have shown it that you are the herd leader. We didn't get that far but, the great thing was that the half hour took the edge off her freshness and when we went out together, she was as good as gold.

Both times there were no nasty side-effects from riding and I was thrilled. Back at Christmas time I couldn't even use a rebounder because the bouncing hurt so much. Yes, my legs were a bit stiff but that's hardly surprising since it's been about five years since I rode a horse.

So all was well. And then, on Wednesday I decided to do something I 'probably' should have done a long time ago: take down the whole strand of prosperity consciousness teaching that I used to do and have trained others to do. It was still up there on the website and, frankly, I was feeling a bit of a fraud. And, while I'm bearing my soul, I had had the sudden realisation that I had always felt a bit of a fraud with this teaching.

That's not because it's bad stuff—it's classic Law of Attraction even before we all knew what that was. And it's Biblically-based and I stand by all that. And even though my life has been one of adventures (and I wouldn't have missed them for the world) and it's always been a bit of a wing and a prayer financially, it's been an amazing life—and continues to be so. But it was all rather old—and there are thousands of people out there doing newer stuff.

It really should have been disposed of a long time ago. So I dumped it. It felt like I'd shed about three stone!

The next morning I woke up with severe pain under my left arm and it simply got worse and worse all day. By bedtime it had to be codeine even to lie down (and I really don't like taking any painkillers at all, preferring to let my body tell me to slow down or stop). I slept in the spare room because I didn't want to disturb Lion and I put my one-hour recording of the ho'oponopono chant on twice just to get me to relax.

For a while, earlier in that day, I was scared. Was this some new, horrible development that I wouldn't be able to deal with? If this level of pain continued I wouldn't be able to go to Cyprus, France or the Edinburgh Fringe. Then Seth's Blog arrived in my in-box. It was called The Rotten Fish Problem and it read like this:

On the first day, all the fish at the fish stall are fresh.

Some sell, some don't.

The second day, the sold fish are replaced by newer, fresher fish. The unsold fish remains, even though it isn't so attractive.

By the third day, of course, the unsold fish is noticably unfresh, and it doesn't take much effort to avoid them.

At this point, part of the fishmonger's stock is demonstrably unappealing, bringing down the quality of the entire counter.

Pretty soon, of course, the dropoff in business means that the owner can't afford to buy the freshest fish, even to replace his sold inventory, and the end is near.

The alternative? On day two, discard the unsold fish.

Obvious, but difficult. So difficult that we rarely do it. We'd rather lower the average and see if we can get away with it instead.

It was very clear. I'd filled my stall with unsold fish for far too long. And getting rid of it in one fell swoop had created what's known as chemicalisation. That's when you get a kick-back reaction from a major healing. Sometimes it's known as a healing crisis. I had a previous one when I first went to see Suzi the Shaman. A huge, hard lump appeared on my chest practically overnight. Utterly terrifying. I called Suzi at once and she was marvellous. 'Don't worry,' she said. 'It's a healing crisis. It's a good sign.' It was completely gone in a week once I'd had a session with my healer, Cathy, and it has never returned.

Healing crises are never fun, but they do show that something good is happening. This time, to back up the healing theory, my hot flushes stopped at the same time that the pain arrived. Well, not stopped entirely but went down to about 5% of what they had been. That's amazing.

What's more, it made me talk to my homeopath and ask her for a Peter Chapel remedy that we had discussed many times previously. I said it was time to go for it; she agreed so it kicked me into some more action.

Once I realised what was happening, I was fine—happy even. I read some more Catherine Ponder work from The Dynamic Laws of Healing and, with perfect synchronicity, read of a woman with the same symptoms as me who had been healed after affirming that she was forgiven.

A lot of the time, a dis-ease is about the need to forgive, but this rang a lot of bells. I started affirming that I was forgiven, by everyone and everything that could possibly need to forgive me. I mixed that in with the ho'oponopono (I love you, I'm sorry, please forgive me, thank you), realising that the 'thank you' is for forgiveness received.

The next morning I woke up still in some pain but considerably less. And feeling so happy and confident and sure that all is very, very well.

To read more of the story, please click on 'newer post' or 'older post' in black below.

If you are new to this blog and would like to start at the beginning, please go to the side bar and click on 'January' to find post no. 1. Thank you.