Tuesday, 7 July 2015


I am at The Tony Robbins course in The Canary Islands, but instead of shimming up a pole, I would rather climb cupid's summit, despite the fact I might not win a yellow badge saying "I jumped it".  This morning I had their food police at my door to check whether the forbidden eggs and bacon were for me or my friend. I said they were for my friend, and they suggested I should be policed by my son, incidentally my son is a miracle born from god and definitely perfect in every way and better suited to the emotional gymnastics that the soya bean brigade offer.
My temple is my body, and my body is very often worshipped.
I promise you I nourish it regularly with green wheat grass  with frequent trips to the Mayr clinic I manage to keep the menopause at a distance and luckily it is at least five years away.
Let's talk about love, more interesting than anything else. Love is for me how to "make the other person feel about me without investing too much of myself". I tried it the other way round and it did not work. I remember when I was a little girl my Aunt said to me all the time "Remember fall in love where money is, never marry for it" I don't worship money but at the same time I am unlikely to slum it.
Does love exist or is it a neurotic obsession with someone else? The obsession part is what keeps you in love, and neurosis is a fabulous drug which most people are addicted to and lose their supplier.  Because of it, they keep searching for the agony.  They get a little hit there and a little hit here, and a few weird trips they wish they had not gone on.  People interested should read a book called "Who moved my cheese"

Fifty shades of grey has one problem that it was not as sophisticated as some fledgling prostitutes.
The only real love affairs for women are the ones that you feel you will lose at any given moment. My ex boyfriend used to say that I needed to be kept in the earthquake zone in order to behave. This was fine until I met a man on a train who became more attractive because he was unavailable. He belonged to someone else. Thats not say I did not try him on a few times, and I did not feel guilty because we pretended his wife did not exist. I did not feel guilty as it was not my wife and it was his job to make his marriage work and not mine. I can't help it if I am so damned attractive.
I wish they were teaching me here about how to NLP a man to think it was his idea to chase me, however Tony Robbins Life Mastery class is obsessed with cleaning out my colon which is not conducive to nights of pleasure, instead its cucumber juices at one end and incase it doesn't come out the other end, yards of two way rubber tubing with  gloves, of course,  are applied. Gas mask optional. If I wanted a colonic I go to The Mayr Clinic or the Margie Finchell clinic.

I am dying for  the teachings of subnormality's, anchoring of excellence, swishing. I really don't need the first of 120 pages to tell me that I am a heap of rotting compost. By the time we go to a course like this in Europe we have done the rounds. I have said "om" for thirty years. I spent weeks standing on one leg on a hilltop with the likes of the excellent Godfrey Devereux. I am not educationally subnormal and need to cheer on an absent Tony Robbins. It feel more like the Tony Robbins appreciation society. I am though here for me, and not for him. I do not need to scream his name with  a Marie Osmond smile every five minutes.  I have read the book and got the T shirt. Sadly despite the money making operation, he is not here.  Instead I have to put up with the plump, white nailed women running the course, complaining about a thirty hour flight instead of massaging their spleens and rubbing their ears suggested in their book. I wanted to immediately enrol in the Platinum option as everything else looked ordinary. I was told if you join you might be lucky enough to meet Warren Buffett. Unfortunately for them and fortunately for me I remember him in Davos at The World Economic Forum, two years ago.  I enjoyed a very elaborate dinner with him.
I am confused as to which toxic chemicals are allowed as it seems you can wear acrylic nails with toluene but they suggest you avoid "right guard" and I don't go anywhere unless I have a touch of Mitchem. I wish they would teach me how to click my fingers and as if by magic "hey presto". I am going to learn how to hold the pole like a cigarette like the girl taught me from the Raymond Review Bar when I launched my book Cloak and Dagger Butterfly in their club.

1 comment:

Lucie Shelbourne said...

You are such an amusing tongue in cheek writter Amanda. Writer Andrew Solomon chose Homour to write on in the recent Intelligent Life mag 'Big Question' article and the hat fits you perfectly. So important in life is humour. Can't wait to read you next Rats Tail!! Lucie Shelbourne