Something happens when I travel.


It is not as it used to be. I spent 20 years working in the film and fashion world, travelling all over the place. Wild parties, extreme adventure. Late nights and little sleep. Always longing to be part of the gang. Needing to be the centre of things.

It is no longer like that. I know I am older, I know I no longer work in the same field, but I could continue in the same way, but I am also sober. But it is more than that.
I am in Manchester. I have come to do something on live TV for the BBC. It is just an hour tomorrow, but they asked me to be here the night before. So I have come up by train, am hosted in a 5 star hotel and notice. I notice how I become still. I sat in the huge shiny people carrier going to the station and did not talk or move, I sat on the train and did not talk or move. I asked the taxi driver to take me where I needed to go and then was silent. I have had dinner alone. I now sit still, on my bed. I am writing now after a long period of gazing at my still feet.

It is such bliss. The stillness is divine. I love it. I also love my family, my work, my house and dogs, but to be still. Not to move. Not to have to talk, respond or ask is delightful.
I know I feel similar when I go to India. I do what I have to do, workwise, and the rest of the time I am still. I don’t even think. I go away with all manner of good intention; I will write, I will organise some list or think about some project, but as soon as I am alone I skid into shunnia. Nothing. And here I am. As if I am meditating. No thoughts, no worries, no obsession. I only have until tomorrow at 8.40am presicely, then I have to talk, on national TV, then 4 hours of silence again on the train. Such bliss.