The EasyJet Blog, Part Four (Still No Harold).

This unexciting picture is Harold's baggage ticket
- the one they handed to me when he was taken away
What's most interesting about it is that it is damaged.
Was this a sign?!

Another day, another baggage status update. No news.

This was not good. Had Harold been accidentally left on the plane, he would have been found. Had he been mislaid at Paphos Airport, he would have been found. He had a baggage label put on him at the gate at Bristol airport. There should have been an email saying, 'We've found your baggage; it will be at Paphos tomorrow' (Saturday was the next flight in from Bristol).

So was Harold now dead in some drug-hazed dive in Tangier? Was he tied up in a corner while someone tried on all my clothing and found it wanting? Was he crying for his safe cupboard in Lion's office and all his friends and wishing with all his little heart that he hadn't wanted to have an adventure? I tried to visualise him touring the world with a cute little scarlet hottie but Harold was the kind of suitcase who would have let me know he was okay.

Heartbreaking...

The only really viable option now was that he had been stolen. Apart from his shock and fear, I wasn't feeling too good about that for myself not only because of the clothes I was fond of but because my laptop was in him. Now, you might be wondering why I had a laptop with me on holiday. It's because I have four email addresses all to do with different lines of work plus a personal one. As I'm a minister and I work with people with physical, mental, emotional and spiritual problems, their emails are wired so that they can only come into me on my laptop. While I keep off the Internet as much as I can on holiday (and always on Sundays) people often need access to me whether I'm away or not.

The laptop is, of course, passworded. However, people can break passwords and there was a lot of very personal information on that computer. And direct logins to my websites. And to my credit cards. The fact that GDPR was looming was not helping either... My ego was having a heyday with all that stuff for sure. There's nothing so bad a load of self-blame can't make worse, after all.

Another reason for having it was that I've been editing a book for a client whom I was due to see in Nicosia that afternoon. I'd intended to take the laptop so we could do some work in person together which is always the best way for an editor to work. She was going to pay me for that work too...

That laptop had never before in its life gone in a hold. Yes, I probably should have taken it out when the easyJet lady at the gate said Harold could not go on with me. But she said, 'Take only what you need on the plane,' so I did. And I was flustered as to exactly what I would want on the plane, I only had a small handbag and I saw Harold loaded onto that plane. What could possibly happen between the plane and the carousel?

I do need to say here that it wasn't actually easyJet who lost Harold; it was LGS, the baggage service at the airport. But easyJet had the duty of care.

So, setting worries aside, today's jobs were to hire a car and get a present for Ari. Oh, and sunglasses and some somewhat essential vitamins because that old shingles stuff was back together with another problem which I won't go on about here (there's loads about it in earlier years on this blog). Suffice it to say that a few years ago, I decided that I was not willing to live a half-life on codeine or morphine so I hunted until I found alternatives. I have a prescription for a cocktail of natural medicines from a consulant in Harley Street (I know, get me!) which works a treat while I do the inner work to clear the last dregs of the original problem. These vitamins etc. are effing expensive and include the fully-legal CBD cannabis oil.

So, that was important. As was the present for Ari. Of course, Ari didn't need a present and I'm only an adopted grandmother but any real grandmothers out there will understand why the lost embroidered slippers simply had to be replaced.

It was Ari's mother Natasha's birthday this week too and, to my huge relief, I'd put the earrings that I had got for her at a local craft sale into our hold luggage so they were safe.

The car, technically, had nothing to do with easyJet but was still annoying because we were going to hire it yesterday but were sidetracked by the whole 'vicars need knickers' scenario and essential shopping and it turned out that the car hire firm near the hotel had nothing available today. They did have the perfect car yesterday of course...

So that was a bus ride to the next car hire firm, but it turned out to be all for the best because the people at Nippy Turtle (what a great name!) were terrific and right next door to them was the most beautiful shop of hand-made goods and lovely clothes where I was able to buy a beautiful shell box for Ari.

Even better than that, the lady who runs it offered me anything I needed to help me out while Harold was still missing. I said, 'Thank you, but we don't want to buy too much if we can help it,' and she replied, 'Oh no! I will lend you clothes and anything you need. We are on this Earth to help each other.'

I must admit that I shed a tear then because I am always touched by the kindness of strangers. I can't find her shop name at the moment but if I do, I shall be sure to post it.

We hired the car and set off for Nicosia where we were to meet my friend and client, Darcie, and the family later on for supper. On the way, thanks to the Internet, we found a Holland and Barrett which sells a lot of vitamins and the all-essential CBD oil. Except this one didn't. Bum. I bought what vitamins  I could and hoped for the best as we set off for our rendezvous in Nicosia.

The EasyJet Blog Part Three (My Birthday).

I really, really didn't want to have to go shopping for a bra and knickers on my birthday.

Okay, I'm 62 and birthdays at that age aren't quite the same as when you're six. But I like them and I celebrate them, especially as there was a time a few years back when I wasn't sure whether I'd be getting any more.

We often go away for our birthdays because Lion's is just two days before mine and my mother's is one day before that - and if we're not careful everyone's simply bored with birthdays by the time mine comes along. I used to think that was acceptable but now I realise that my birthday is just as important (or not) as anyone else's.

Apart from the bra and knickers, we urgently needed a mobile phone lead because my phone was out of power and the only way to contact Tim about where and when to meet was by phone. The only way to hear from EasyJet was also by email or phone.

Now, you may be thinking, 'What about her husband's mobile phone?' Excuse me while I fall over laughing. Lion may be a brilliant publisher but he is also a troglodyte. He does actually possess a mobile phone (an old one of mine), but it is more than a decade old, contains no contact numbers apart from mine and it hasn't been topped-up in a year. It's sometimes okay if I'm lost and I call him - if he's remembered to turn it on - but that's about it.

Email was available via the phone or the laptop. Sigh. What about the iPad? Tim's not on Facebook or WhatsApp or Messenger. Can I remember his phone number? Can I hell! You don't nowadays, do you? It's all in your equipment.

So, Harold's fate, tragedy or adventure, was yet unknown. I have to admit that I did worry a little; he was so new and, rather like me, so gullible. But I had to let those feelings go if the day was to be enjoyed. I could only hope that he hadn't met a shady, trafficking suitcase who travelled airplane holds secretly looking for innocents to coerce into lives of degredation and horror. Harold would have been so excited if promised adventure and exotic locations. He would have thought, 'I'll have my own story to tell Colin and the others when I get back!' But would he get back...?

I thought, 'I'll go swimming.' Great idea. I love swimming.

Drat. No costume. There were bikinis at the tourist shop next door to the hotel but nowhere to try them on and anyway, I don't wear a bikini if I can possibly help it for all sorts of reasons that I don't need to go into here. I had another paddle and that was nice.

I couldn't check emails on the hotel's computer (€4 a go) because our servers are encrypted and the password's on my laptop! But I could discover that they allow you £25 a day to purchase essentials if your luggage is mislaid.

Bra, knickers, and mobile phone lead for £25 eh? Tricky. Still, at least if Harold was still lost the next day I'd have another £25 for sunglasses, a swimsuit and a present for Ariadne (yes, do please read that sentence with irony).

I asked for help from above ... because as a priest, that's what you do. And as I walked out of the room, I saw Edita, one of the cleaning ladies on her iPhone 5. I asked if she happened to have her lead with her and she did. That was pretty bloody fast! She fetched it, explained in excellent English that it was a cheap one and they only lasted a few weeks, but I was welcome to try it. Excitedly, I went back into the room, plugged my phone in ... and watched the 'charging' sign come up. Jumped up and down with joy and went out to find out where in a tourist area you could buy a bra and knickers.

Now you may be thinking, 'who needs a bra and knickers on holiday?' And yes, many times I've gone bra-less and commando - when I've got a long sun dress to wear! But not when the natural south-moving aspect of the older woman's bust is going to be annoyingly wobbly. And not when there's a party to go to and the only clothes you've now got to wear for it are ones that require you to be fairly well held-together.

We discovered, to our situation-led delight that there was a shopping mall a half-hour's bus ride away where underwear could be found. And, luckily, we went back to our room to check the phone before we left ... because Edita's lead had died and there was no charge. Bugger.

In the end, we actually found a Marks and Spencer's where I could get a bra and knickers I knew would fit. And the shopping mall had an iPhone lead (though not an iPad 2 lead). We ended up having spent more than half our first day's holiday - and twice as much as EasyJet was allowing us - replacing three essential things.

When the phone started charging, I received an anxious text from Tim asking whether we had arrived safely and a perplexed one from our housesitter in England asking me why EasyJet was leaving automated messages on the home telephone about lost luggage.

Had they found Harold? Had they hell! But they were anxious to tell me what an excellent record they have with baggage. When I checked emails on my phone, they told me again how very good they were. Well that's nice then.

We had a lovely supper (in bra and knickers - though not just bra and knickers and that was only me...) of kleftiko at a local restaurant, as pictured. And I had a good birthday because I was bloody well determined to have a good birthday. And maybe, just maybe, I'd get some news tomorrow. That was kind of important because I was going to be needing my vitamins or I'd be starting to be in pain.

Yes, I can meditate my way through the pain (it is a leftover from shingles) and I can alleviate and even stop it for a while. But forgive me if that's not exactly what I want to be spending my time doing on holiday...

The EasyJet Blog, Part Two, (The Ego).

The beach at Helios Hotel, Paphos.

Normally on the first night of a holiday by the sea, I wander down to let the waters nibble my toes, breathe deeply and greet the devas of the land.

This time I did just that too ... but it became a spiritual exercise to continually calm and release the chattering of my ego. The devas were a bit cross too at the start. Devas do like to be noticed and greeted and they made it quite clear that they don't give a flying you-know-what about lost suitcases. I could almost hear them sighing and saying, 'Get a grip, Whitehouse!'

Egos are brilliant for repeating things; they are the part of the brain that remembers stuff but they're not very good at anything new. You need the conscious self for that. The wonderful thing about holidays somewhere new is that we spend a lot of time conscious because the ego has nothing much to offer. Unless, of course, it can lock onto an old worry pattern. This aspect of the ego (Eckhart Tolle calls it 'the pain body') figuratively eats negative emotions and enjoys calling them up for a nice, yummy, supper.

But Cyprus was not a new country for us; some of our family live here and, the last time we visited, I was sick so that was the level of energy that my ego was just delighted to be offering.

The Hebrew word for ego is Yesod and it really was being a little sod that night. But at least I could observe it instead of being eaten up by it.

It was also doing its job in pointing out that Harold had been on the flight so something was seriously wrong. He wasn't just lost.

The only options, it said, were:

• He'd gone back to England. 
• He'd been damaged and hidden.
• He'd been stolen.

Option 1 was possible but doubtful as he'd been one of the last cases on the plane. Option 2 was also possible but seemed ridiculous. Option 3 was possible too but who would want one small case with a very old laptop and clothes? Harold himself was certainly a darling but cabin luggage isn't exactly the kind of thing hardened thieves fight over.

My ego went on (and on...and on...) remembering exactly what was missing inside Harold and giving me little digs about how utterly inconvenient it all was. Even when we went to bed in our lovely appartment at Helios Bay Hotel, just as I was dropping off, it brought up, 'and another thing...'

Given that Harold had contained essentials, this is what Yesod, with clever little jerks of distress, worked out was missing:

1. Two bras (I always travel in a Patra crop top).
2. Seven pairs of knickers - and with no balcony to our room the one pair I had would have to dry over the back of a chair which wasn't going to happen very fast! 
3. Swimsuit.
4. Sunglasses.
5. Ariadne's present.
6. Black silk trousers.
7. White linen top - these two were the clothes I was going to wear for the family party in two days' time.
8. Laptop computer with all my contacts on it.
9. Computer lead.
10. Mobile phone lead.
11. Lion's iPad lead.
12. The beautiful turquoise top, given to me by my Bishop when I was going to perform at the Edinburgh Festival. 
13. Sun dress. 
14. Cotton trousers. 
15. My blue embroidered waistcoat.
16. Two teeshirts.
17. Hairbrush.
18. Handkerchiefs.
19. My birthday cards for the next day (and a present).
20. Olive-coloured bolero.
21. The lovely golden silk scarf, given to me by my friend, Bernadette.
22. Some jewelry.
23. All my vitamins and medicines (including painkillers).
24. A hessian bag for the food shopping we planned to do because we were self-catering.

I won in the end, and the last thing my ego offered did make me laugh. It pointed out that if I were to have any genuine cause for complaint to the airline should Harold not return, I had absolutely no right to enjoy myself in the meantime. I should be miserable. Cunning! But that one's not going to work. :-)

The EasyJet Blog, Part One: Vicars Need Knickers.

I had this suitcase.
It was a sweet, happy little suitcase that had lived with us since last August, making its own nest in the cupboard in Lion's office together with the other suitcases. They got on well.
The other suitcases would tell it stories of their travels. Some of them had been to the USA, all of them had been to Europe. One of them had even been to Russia and China. That one shows off a bit but we forgive it because it's a bit of a Velveteen Rabbit.
But Harold (did I tell you the suitcase's name was Harold?) had a favourite amongst the other cases: unfortunately - hindsight is everything - his favourite was Colin.

Harold was in awe of Colin (pictured left) because Colin had an adventure on the way home from my visit to Albuquerque last April. Colin made it to New York city and then went AWOL. He took in a couple of Broadway shows, a Nascar race, ODd on Maple Syrup and hit on some pretty hot babes (that's not my bikini!). It took Colin five days to get home but he made it in one piece with many outrageous stories to tell.
Even so, Colin is an old campaigner; we've had him for more than five years and Harold was just a baby (excuse me while I wipe away a tear from writing the word 'was').
I don't even have a picture of Harold ... sniff.
But, back to the story. We were going to Cyprus on holiday and it was to be Harold's first ever trip on an aircraft, let alone abroad. He was so excited and perfectly happy that his job was to be cabin luggage because Harold knew just how important cabin luggage is to me. He didn't feel any the lesser because his great friend, Colin, was going in the hold.
I've travelled all over the world and I know about Colins and airlines and stuff getting lost. So Harold was thrilled to be packed with the absolute essentials for the first couple of days of our trip. He had my laptop, all our phone leads, some birthday cards and a present for me from a friend as it was my birthday the day after we arrived in Cyprus. He had the clothes I was planning to wear for the family birthday party we were having with our adopted son Tim, his wife Natasha, and four-and-a-half-year-old Ariadne in a couple of days' time and Ari's present (a beautiful pair of embroidered slippers from India). Even more importantly, he had all my vitamins and medicines - which are essential to keep me out of pain from the after-effects of a long illness a while ago and last, but not least, both of my bras and all my knickers.
We checked Colin in at bag drop and took Harold and Josie, the other cabin baggage, to the gate. At which point, the EasyJet staff informed us that the aircraft was full and that our cabin baggage had to go in the hold.
Harold gibbered with joy. He was to have a big adventure and travel with Colin! He was so excited to have a baggage label put on him and I was happy for him too. Lion and I actually watched him being carried onto the aircraft and we knew he'd find Colin in the hold and snuggle up if he found it a bit scary.
On the flight, Lion and I listened to recordings of I'm Sorry I'll Read That Again and had a great flight. We didn't worry about our batteries getting low because Harold had all the leads.
And then we landed. We were at the carousel at Paphos before it started to move and I couldn't wait to hear how Harold had got on. He was a jolly little suitcase and I knew he'd chat all the way to the hotel.
First Colin arrived. Then Josie. And then nothing.
Harold wasn't there.
Lion had gone through to the arrivals hall to sort out our transfer to the hotel so it was just me, suitcaseless in the baggage area, alone.
I reported Harold missing to a nice woman from LGS, the luggage people at Paphos. She didn't understand my concern - that I'd actually seen Harold go on the plane and she assumed that he had missed it. Her English was better than my Greek but the message didn't go through. In any case, there was nothing to do but leave Harold behind, assuming that he simply hadn't got off the plane and would return (again) with the next EasyJet flight to Paphos.
Apart from anything else, I really, really hoped that would be the very next day. Tim was due to text us with the venue in the morning and I had very little battery left and one of the downsides of the connected world is that you don't memorise mobile phone numbers. I needed my painkillers. And more than that ... trust me, vicars need knickers.

Wild Garlic Digestives

I'm learning to forage. It's something you have to be careful about but I'm a member of a Facebook group called Wild Food and Hedgewitchery which keeps us on the straight and narrow and allows us to post pictures to check what we've found is edible.

But wild garlic is fairly easy to spot; you just rub your fingers on the leaves and they smell of garlic. There was a great pathway of new growth  on Friday's beagle walk and I thought, this time, I'll do it!

Oh my! It's delicious all on its own but I was planning to make some gluten-free digestives and after crushing the leaves with a pestle and morter, added them into the mix.

Yes, I know they're not pretty (if you've read this blog before you'll know I'm not an artistic cook 😄) but oh my! Talk about yummy. With digestives, I can generally get the dough into the oven without too much interference but about a quarter of this stuff was gone before I could get it onto the tray.

I'm pretty sure that if you made the mix with a bit more care, you could roll them out and make them with a round cutter but they won't taste any better!

Recipe:

GF Digestives

12g porridge oats
20g mixed pumpkin, sunflower and flax seeds.
75g Dove’s Farm GF plain flour (or use the SR but don’t add baking powder)
½ tbsp baking powder
Large pinch salt
25g soft brown sugar
1 tbsp soft butter
1 tbsp goat (or other) milk

Preheat oven to 200c/Gas 6
Line baking tray with parchment

Blitz oats and seeds in food mixer
Add flour, sugar, salt, baking powder and butter and whizz until well mixed
Knead briefly on a floured board and roll out (if you like neat stuff!) and cut into shapes about 3mm thick
Otherwise, spoon onto baking sheet and flatten with fingers

Bake for about 12 minutes until lightly golden.

Flushed with success, I made a wild garlic cauliflower cheese last night. Yum!

The Three Day Fast

I'm on a three day fast. Which means no food at all. Nada. It's not fun but it is interesting.

And of course, I've just driven myself crazy posting a picture of a quiche I made because you're 'supposed' to have a picture on a blog posting. Sometimes I do make myself laugh...

So, you say, why are you doing the fast if you don't enjoy it? Who would?! But there are three reasons really - it's good for my body and it's good self-discipline - and because of John-down-the-road.

When I was ill a year or so ago, I ate very healthily but since then I've gone back down the 'yummy carbs' route probably because I'll never be one of those people who only eat to live. I love my food! And I love baking and making treats for others.

When I was sick I ate keto as much as I could - no sugar, virtually no carbs for 18 solid months (and no alcohol either). I certainly got slender - though ironically that wasn't any part of the goal - and people said that I'd never want to go back to sugar. Really? On what planet? I have to say I'd love to be one of those people who genuinely discovers that sugar no longer appeals but it certainly wasn't the truth for me.

When I bake nowadays I bake gluten-free (which is probably why so much of my food is messy - see articles below!) but I still include maple syrup or sugar when the recipe requires it. I focus on the gluten-free not because I'm coeliac but because I just think it's healthier. Who knows how much mess there is bound into most gluten? Apart from anything else, most pesticides are formulated to destroy the insect's stomach and if you have enough of that in your own tummy ... well, need I say more?

Incidentally, the quiche pictured is 50-50 gluten free and normal flour. That was quite simple: I just made two pastries and stuck them together. The non GF half was for my husband.

It would, of course, be healthier to drop the sugar too - but I don't want to. And I am a fervent believer that what makes you happy is a valid pathway to greater health. Eat as well as you can and eat happily and you are doing okay. I hardly ate happily any day for those 18 months; it was a grind and that's not how I want to live my life. It's not healthy!

There is research that supports what seems to be true for me - that the body tries to re-build the fat it used to have before you dieted/got sick. It seems that it believes that being skinny is not the accepted, healthy norm for it - and as the dieting doesn't actually remove the fat cells, just makes them skinny. They want to fill out again.

Hence the fast. I reckon that if I want to stay as healthy as possible and I intend to eat stuff that is 'bad for me' and which makes me joyful then I also need to allow my digestion and immune system the chance to take some time out and re-set itself. Here's an article about it. If there's no food to process, the stomach can rest ... and if there's nothing to spark any reactions, the immune system can get on with sorting out what really matters like any rogue cells, that sniffle that's gone on too long or anything else that might need repairing.

What's fascinating is that, here on day two, I'm not hungry. Truly, there has been no rumbling yet at all. But I miss the routine of eating breakfast, lunch, tea and supper with my husband, I miss the anticipation of meals, I miss the cooking. And I miss the food!  I can smell Lion's lunctime soup and his supper much more than I would notice the scent of my own food. And I'm finding it hard to concentrate which means my blood sugar is (understandably) low. But I'm incredibly proud of myself. In many ways I lack self-discipline but this is an exercise in just that and it's pleasing that I am ready, willing and (so far) able to do it.

Oh...the bit about John-down-the-road: John is an incredible man who heals people with chronic pain through EFT and kinesiology. He truly has had some wonderful results but, just like all healers, he has had his failures too, including, partially, himself. He had arthritis. Now he didn't have it like he 'should' have had it because of his work on himself and his diet and his beliefs; it has reduced and reduced since he started healing work and became simply faint but it was still there. So John (who has shedloads of money and never charges for his healing work - bless him) went off to Arizona to do a three week fast, to reset his immune system enough to clear his arthritis.

This fast was fully medically supervised - he wasn't even allowed to leave the facility which, to me would have been hell! - and all he took in for 21 days was water. He was bored out of his brain but he did it.

And the arthritis went.

Now, I don't have the guts to do 21 days but I can be inspired by John and I can manage three days and I can intend to do this at least every six months as an act of love towards this marveous, beautiful body of mine.

And on Friday, I can have another of those uttely yummy GF, organic brownies I made on Sunday. If Lion hasn't scoffed the lot.

Baby Chickens

We have baby chickens. They're almost stolen baby chickens because they came from eggs I got from  proper chickens down the road when one of our bantams went broody. They gave her something to sit on and, to be honest, I never thought for a moment they would hatch!