How many minutes have you taken for yourself today?

 *
It's official. Superwoman is dead!

Not from overwork or stress related illness, but apparently from apathy. According to a recent report, we just don’t care about being perfect anymore!

So why do I still feel guilty most of the time? Guilty if my husband doesn’t have a clean shirt to wear (couldn’t he have told me his stash of shirts were about to stage a coup in the laundry basket); guilty when I don’t cook from scratch; guilty when I have to arrange a play date to cover my work date; guilty that I don’t have a fresh batch of muffins in the oven (okay, that’s never going to happen).

The English language is designed to make us feel bad about taking time for ourselves. Steal a moment? Robbed of time? A quick cuppa (is there such a thing?).

Most women I know never take a moment for themselves. We seem to be on an endless quest of cleaning, tidying, cooking, tidying, ironing, tidying...and yet my house still looks a mess! Add work and work related activities to this maelstrom and it’s no wonder that we barely sit down from dawn till dusk.

So what would happen if we took the time to ‘just be’? Would the sun fall out the sky, would the waves refuse to come up the shore, would the whole world stop turning?

Of course not. So is there any harm in putting our own world on hold for a little while?

Actually, we do our best work when we take the time to ‘just be’. It’s in moments of peace that inspiration comes to us. If we quieten our mind then the unconscious has an opportunity to bring to the fore the answers we’ve been looking for and the tasks that we should give more importance too.

Sometimes, it’s a case of taking some time off, in the words of Colin Firth in Mamma Mia, “quite spontaneously” ...

(read my blog article ‘Sitting waiting for inspiration’)

So if you get a call from a friend inviting you round for a quick cuppa then GO. I know there’s no quick cuppa but what’s the worst that can happen if your husband doesn’t have a clean shirt for tomorrow or the family have to eat takeout for a change?

Spontaneity and time out are my gift to you today.

And if your other half gets on to you, teach him how to work the washing machine.

Tuesday's sunset

I was walking through the house on Tuesday afternoon when the sunset caught my eye through the lounge window.

I'd been feeling sorry for myself, having just returned from a week of glorious sunshine in Mallorca, but the sight of that beautiful sunset lifted my spirits and a sensation of peace flooded through me.

Sometimes nature is the best reminder of the good things we have in our lives.

Look How Far You've Come

February 2009

We arrive at Geneva Airport and find our transport for the slopes. The minibus pulls out of the airport, crosses the border into France and begins to wind its way up into the mountains.

The driver leans over and switches on the radio. He tunes into a local French station and the haunting strains of Dire Straits drift over me and wrap me in a warm blanket of familiarity.

“These mist covered mountains..."

I gaze out the window at the snow topped mountains, the peaks barely visible for the mist rolling in.

I sit back and daydream.

It’s November 1995. I’m gazing out the window of the Neilson’s Ski Holidays coach that’s taking the reps and ski guides over to the mountains for the winter season. We are all headed for different resorts but for now we are all together, some chatting, some sleeping, some sitting quietly thinking of the months to come.

It’s eight months since I asked for a job whilst on a skiing holiday with friends in Isola 2000. And pure luck that I found myself in a bubble lift face to face with the head man of Neilson’s. Sometimes you have to give life a little push and seize the opportunity – after all, no-one’s going to do it for you.

Someone hands a cassette to the Neilson’s driver. Brothers In Arms – Dire Straits. The haunting melody fills the coach and we all fall silent in awe at our first view of the distant mountains.

“These mist covered mountains...”

Suddenly it was worth the hassle of getting from Edinburgh to Luton (no Easyjet in those days), getting kitted out with uniforms and then piling onto a coach with all our worldly belongings to make a long and uncomfortable journey through the night across the channel and down through France into Switzerland.

It was the start of six magical months as a ski rep. In my case, in Verbier, playground to the rich and famous.

Verbier wasn’t without its challenges. In those days it was up to us to devise our own après ski programme (and make a decent profit for the company). Verbier was rich, standoffish,and not interested in rowdy ski parties. However, little by little I broke down the barriers and the locals let me in on their world (or part of it at least).

I didn’t ski every day. Funny how, when you have it on your doorstep, you can take it or leave it. And with Verbier being a top class resort, I was always aware of just how good a lot of the skiers were. It was made worse by the fact my uniform had “The No 1 Name In Skiing” in very distinctive colours emblazoned across the back, and I always felt I should be tackling an icy mogul field or be waist deep in fresh powder rather than doing a sedate “sort of parallel” descent down an intermediate run.

But bit by bit my skiing improved and in the ensuing years, long after hanging up my rep’s clipboard and microphone, I enjoyed many a ski holiday with friends.

And then one day I got married, had a son, and my skis lay cocooned in their ski bag gathering dust in the rafters of the garage. My boot bag sat in a dusty corner, buried under the junk amassed over what seemed like a lifetime of hoarding.

I was once so proud of my beautiful skis. 190’s.Long, sleek and slender, the length displaying to the world that I knew what I was doing. A badge of honour carried over my shoulder.

I had chosen them carefully during a ski test on an Austrian glacier one May, where I had the pick of the new skis for that season. I had clicked into the bindings and the skis felt light as air, curving, gliding, propelling me down the mountain with a rush of pure adrenaline and elation. They were the proverbial glass slipper, the perfect fit. And colour co-ordinated - my skis, my boots, my poles, my all-in-one ski suits.

For a few brief moments I put my skis aside in favour of snowboarding (in the early 90’s it was super cool to be out there with the hip and trendy boarding set) but I always came back to my skis. I didn’t get the same buzz from boarding. Just massive bruises and knees like footballs.

“Et maintenant.....” The radio announces an old song by Michel Sardou and interrupts my reverie. My eyes focus on the present day. We are arriving in Morzine in the Portes de Soleil region of France.

It’s been fourteen years since my last ski holiday. What will it be like?

We collect our short, fat skis from the hire shop (I was right not to bring my antiquated 190’s. They would have looked totally out of place, and worse still, they no longer matched my new 2 piece outfit ).

We took the bubble to the top of the mountain, emerging into the sunshine beside one of the sun terraces. I tightened my boots, slipped my gloved hands through the straps of the poles and stepped into my bindings. Click. Click. I pushed off and that familiar rush of adrenaline mixed with pure elation washed over me.

I didn’t tackle the icy mogul field. I stayed well clear of the powder. And at times my skis were more snowplough than parallel. But there’s nothing in the world that beats the feeling of satisfaction when you reach the bottom of a run and look back up to see where you’ve come from.

And what a great metaphor for life!

Because you should always take the time to look back and see how far you’ve come. Just as you must always have a clear vision of where you’re going.

After all, if you don’t know where you’re going, how will you know when you get there?

Hallelujah - Alexandra Made It To No1

Just as Obama last week, Alexandra Burke achieved her dream of winning the X Factor.

She achieved it through hard work, through focus and through knowing what she wanted and where she wanted to be.

The knock back she received three years ago only served to spur her on and make her more determined, and she used that time wisely, honing her skills, working towards the day she knew would come.

We can all learn a lesson from Alexandra. When you get a knockback, you have a choice. You can lie down or you can come back fighting.

Most of the men I admire today came back from nothing. Paul McKenna was down to his last few pennies, Anthony Robbins built a successful business and lost it all, leaving him with less than nothing. Simon Cowell was virtually bankrupt, Victor Mark Hansen was declared bankrupt by the courts. Richard Branson had many failures. Peter Jones hit rock bottom.

In other words, there’s hope for all of us. As the saying goes, “Once you hit rock bottom, there’s only one place to go and that’s up”.

So, if you’re going through hard times, start asking yourself what you really want. Take the time to listen, and you might find the answer surprising.

Then, once you know what you want, TAKE ACTION. Start focusing on the future, and think of how you can get there.

What’s the one thing you can do today that will bring you one step closer to your goal? It doesn’t have to be a big thing. Start with baby steps.

Stu Mittleman, the world record holder for Ultra Distance running, said

“I never ran 1000 miles.
I could never have done that.
I ran one mile 1000 times.”

So start with those baby steps.

But whatever you decide to do, START.

Weight Loss - What's Realistic For You?

Do you, like me, pour over the latest issue of Heat or Hello, wishing you looked like the model on the cover?

Well, guess what, so does the model! They don’t look like that in real life. They’ve been airbrushed to within an inch of their lives. You only have to look at the “Stars Without Makeup” features (or work as an air hostess and carry them on your flight) to know that they are actually human.  Admit it. Who hasn’t looked at Cameron Diaz or VB and secretly felt smug because your skin is so much better than theirs?

Let’s face it. If we “ordinary” people had an entourage of helpers looking after us – personal chef, personal trainer, nanny, stylist, makeup artist, hairdresser and many more to get us out of the house every morning – wouldn’t we look a million dollars?

Have any of you ever had a professional shot taken? I have. I once went to an agency in Glasgow along with a friend and our mums. Of course that was the day I woke up to find the first spot of the decade radiating out at me from the bathroom mirror.

Anyway, we rolled up in our day clothes, no makeup on, looking decidedly average. But within half an hour we were primped and preened, full face on (the cement still drying), hair teased and twisted into some semblance of order. We had no idea what we looked like. There was a distinct lack of mirrors. I took one look at my friend’s face with the makeup laden on by a trowel and my heart sank.

I was whisked away to my studio, where I was given various what can only be described as “things” to wear on my top half (my bottom half in jeans and boots out of range of the viewfinder).

In one shot I’m standing with a black plastic bin bag wrapped around me.

In another, I am wearing a flying jacket pulled seductively off one shoulder, but let me tell you it felt a million miles away from sexy.

We finished the shoot and I headed back to reception to meet the rest of the gang. Sitting in the bright lights of reception, traces of pan makeup still showing as streaks down our necks and lipstick that these days would pass for a permanent tattoo, we began to wonder what we’d done.

An hour passed. We were getting more and more fed up. Another hour passed. We were deliberating whether to get up and walk out, but curiosity got the better of us.

Finally, we were shown into the screening room, and there we were, on the screen, larger than life for all to see.

And we looked amazing!

My black bin bag looked like spun silk, my hair elegant and understated, my makeup perfect, my skin dewy and blemish free.

My mum, with a white feather boa draped around her shoulders, would have given Ava Gardner in her hey day a run for her money.

Of course we bought the photos. Of course they cost a fortune. Of course my husband had a fit at the amount of money I had spent.

Until he saw the photos. And then he took them into work to show off his perfect wife.

I tell this story because when you decide to lose weight, you have to compare yourself to you. No-one else.

Choose a target weight that is realistic for YOU – size 0 is so overrated anyway – and focus on a time when you were really happy in your skin and felt amazing.

The more you visualise yourself as how you want to be, the more your brain will accept the change as reality, and it becomes a self fulfilling prophecy.

Be the best YOU can be, spots, warts and all.

And on bad days?

Find a friend with Adobe Photoshop.

Our Deepest Fear

'Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate,
Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.
It's our light, not our darkness, that mosts frightens us.
We ask ourselves: who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented and fabulous?
Actually, who are you not to be?
You are a child of the universe.
Your playing small doesn't serve the world.
There is nothing enlightening about shrinking,
so that other people won't feel insecure around you.
We are born to make manifest the glory of the universe
that is within us. It's not just in some of us: it is in everyone.
And as we let our own light shine,
we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same.
And as we are liberated from our own fear,
our presence automatically liberates others.'


Marianne Williamson

Paul McKenna Weight Loss blog

Two and a half years ago, I lost 28lbs with Paul McKenna’s I Can Make You Thin programme. It was the easiest weight loss system I had ever been on and my life seemed to improve almost overnight. Previously, the most I had lost was 18lbs with weightwatchers, but I put it all back on and more.

In the last two and a half years I have maintained my weight to within + or - 7lbs.

Paul has four golden rules:-
1. Eat when you’re hungry
2. Eat consciously
3. Eat what you want and not what you think you should
4. Stop when you’re full.
That’s it! That’s all.

When I tell people this, they look at me in disbelief. How can you lose weight and eat what you want?

Well, I did. At first, I continued to eat what I would normally eat, but I paid more attention to what I was putting in my mouth, and I got the hang of stopping when I thought I was full. I slowed down my eating and I discovered that there were some foods that I just didn’t like any more. I knew things had changed for the better when I stood in the cafe of Frasers department store and ordered soup and a roll for lunch. Until I opened my mouth, I was going to order a scone and a piece of millionaire’s shortbread, so no-one was more surprised than me when I ordered soup. What’s more, it was delicious.

Suddenly, I had the urge to exercise. I live on the outskirts of Edinburgh and am blessed to have some beautiful walks nearby, so I plugged in my ipod and started walking round the reservoir. I bought myself a pedometer and I diligently recorded my steps in a journal every night.

I was still eating chocolate and chips from time to time, but I wasn’t having cravings, and for the first time ever I was able to eat a couple of squares of chocolate and put the rest of the bar back in the cupboard. After all, naturally thin people eat chocolate, and chips, and pizza – they just know when to stop. I didn’t have to think about food, and I didn’t have to avoid food. Life was much easier.

Eating out was more enjoyable. I could eat anything off the menu as long as I stopped when I felt full. But whereas I would have once picked a creamy pasta sauce, I now found myself naturally drawn to a healthier option. And on the days that I wanted the creamy sauce, I had the creamy sauce and I thoroughly enjoyed it.

For the first six months of my weight loss, the weight dropped off at a steady rate. But, as always, the self sabotage started creeping in. I had a few personal challenges and the chocolate and sweet tooth slipped in unnoticed a little at a time. I was busy getting my business up and running and the walks around the reservoir went from being a regular thing, to the occasional treat, to non-existent (there are only so many times you can blame the weather).

How many of you can relate to this?

Interestingly enough, my weight remained constant. I wasn’t losing weight but I wasn’t gaining it either. The changes I had made were obviously on a much deeper level than anything I had done before.

As a coach and therapist, I fully believe that I have to “walk the walk, and talk the talk”. I still have more weight to lose. I’m a size 16/18 and I want to be a size 12. I got complacent because I looked and felt so much better than I did before, and I accepted myself as a size 16/18. But not any longer. I’m ready to deal with what’s holding me back, and I am bringing Paul McKenna back into my everyday life. I know it works for me, and I know it will be easy and effortless. I have some negative emotion that I have to work on, and I will enlist the help of a fellow coach to do that.

Einstein said “You cannot solve a problem in the same consciousness that created it”. I may be a therapist but I still need to ask for help when I need it.

There is a wonderful story about Ghandi .

A woman came to Ghandi and asked him to tell her overweight son to stop eating sugar.

“Madam” he replied. “Come back in three weeks time.”

Surprised at this request, she nevertheless returned with her son three weeks later.

Ghandi looked at the boy and said “Stop eating sugar.”

When the boy had left the room, the mother turned to Ghandi and asked why he hadn’t said this three weeks ago.

Ghandi replied, “Madam, three weeks ago I myself was eating sugar.”

I will keep you posted on my progress. I’m away to dig out my pedometer.

The Road Less Travelled

I worked in the Royal Bank of Scotland (in the days when it was a respected profession). I had studied languages but drifted into banking. In my youth I had no clear vision of where I was going. I was definitely a drifter.

One day I looked closely at the bank customers with their stressed and tired faces, their stressed and tired children, their stressed and tired lives. And I decided there and then to get out before I turned into the same.

I applied to Thomson Holidays and received the Golden Ticket, sending me to work in Mallorca.

My work colleagues were aghast. How could I leave a safe, steady secure job for life with final salary pension (told you it was a while ago!) to go out to a foreign country on a whim and a six month contract.

“Because it’s a safe, steady secure job for life,” I replied, and went out to buy myself a suitcase.

Ha ha. I wish!

In those days, probably something more like this ...

I never looked back.

Life as a holiday rep was hard work and sometimes lonely, but never dull.

At the age of 22, I grew up quickly. Dealing with the general public from behind a glass screened counter had in no way prepared me for what lay ahead.

I was fortunate. After our training in Magaluf (which I swore never to return to as long as I lived – in the 80’s, Magaluf was Blackpool in the sun), I was sent up north to work in Alcudia and Ca’n Picafort, where the locals respected that I was learning the language. My business Spanish learned at college was a far cry from Mallorquin, but in time, I spoke fluent Spanish (castellano), albeit with a Mallorquin accent. I understood Mallorquin perfectly and could converse in everyday conversation.

As a rep, I experienced the best, and the worst, of humanity. And the worst was bad. The drunks, the rapes, the child abusers, the drug addicts, the verbal abuse, the medical emergencies. But most of all there were the deaths.

How many 22 year olds have sat on a beach holding the hand of a dying man while his wife was upstairs taking an afternoon siesta. Have been called to a hotel bedroom with the doctor to attend the double death of an elderly couple. Have argued with an ambulance driver who was refusing to take a body away, saying it had to stay on the hotel terrace until the judge pronounced the death (which incidentally would be in two days time because judges don’t work weekends).

People think the job of a rep is glamorous and a laugh a minute. That all we do is drink ourselves into oblivion and sleep with anyone who asks us.

I’m not saying there weren’t reps like that, but that’s another story.

The point to this story?

I took the road less travelled. Like Ruth Lorenzo from the X Factor I went to work in a foreign country. That’s when my life began.

And yes, now in later life, I may not be in a safe, secure job for life with a final pension on my ever increasing salary. But by god, I have LIVED and seen more than I would ever have thought possible.

And am a better person for it.

The Road Less Travelled

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveller, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the  other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood,

and I-- I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference...

Robert Frost

The Sun Will Come Out Tomorrow

I used to have an identity. I used to be someone. I was the one everyone wanted to talk to at parties. I was glamour personified. I was fun and perceived to be maybe just a little naughty. I was ... an air hostess.

In those days, the place names of Rio, Johannesburg, Nairobi, Caracas, Vancouver, Sydney, New York, Bangkok and Hong Kong tripped off my tongue. I jumped on and off planes like most people jump on the number 44 bus.


And then one day I hung up my uniform and became normal. I had a normal job, a normal life and I holidayed in Florida.

Ten years later and many several pounds heavier, I looked at myself in the mirror and saw someone else.

I saw a beige person. I was dressed in beige. What had happened to the brightly coloured clothes I had amassed from all over the world? My hair was beige where once it was fiery red, dirty blond or rich mahogany, depending on the whim of the moment. My life was beige. I had turned into a mum, a wife and a drudge.


Don’t get me wrong. I love being a mum. I love the chat at the school gates. I love the sense of community. And most of all, I love the love that comes from that little person. The smile that melts your heart. The chubby arms wound tightly around your neck.

But something was missing. I needed colour, I needed life. I needed to find the old me.

I took stock of my life. I was working in my husband’s business, living his dream, not mine. I was living in a place I hated, which made my heart heavy every time I drove into the village limits. I had lost my enthusiasm, my sense of adventure and worst of all, my self confidence.

They say that inside every old woman there is a young girl wondering what the hell happened. That was exactly how I was feeling , and I’d only just turned forty!

Little by little, I turned my life around. I retrained in Reiki and began helping others. We moved away from that ugly village where, if you weren’t born there, you were an “incomer”, an outcast, a social pariah. We moved to a vibrant village, full of like-minded people, community spirit and fun.

Then I met Paul McKenna at a seminar and my life changed for the better. I lost weight using his system. I decided to train as a hypnotherapist.


And I auditioned for the local theatre company. I was a closet karaoke queen. I had never sung in front of anyone in my life and suddenly I found myself standing in front of a panel of four with nowhere to hide. I opened my mouth, took a deep breath and sang louder than I had ever done in my life.

“The sun will come out tomorrow...”

And I knew that the sun would come out.

That if I was stuck with a day that was grey and lonely, I’d stick out my chin and grin and say “tomorrow’s only a day away”.

Sitting Waiting For Inspiration

In his book “You Can Have What You Want”, Michael Neill suggests taking time out to sit in a chair and only move when you feel absolutely inspired to do so.

So, I put aside my busy schedule. I choose my chair and I sit, waiting for inspiration to strike.

A vision of the laundry basket piled high with ironing hovers above me. Desperately necessary, yes. Inspirational, no.

I continue to sit.

Check my emails? Tackle online banking?

Suddenly I get a strong urge to get up and empty the dishwasher. I do it. I go straight back to my comfy chair.

It feels good.

I sit. I’m happy just to sit.

I look around the room. I take in all the bright colours, the shapes.

I look out the window at the trees blowing in the breeze. It’s a gorgeous day. I study the shape of the branches, the leaves. I’ve never noticed how tall the trees are. How each one has its own individual characteristic that makes it unique.

I sit.

I watch the brightly coloured grouse make one of its occasional appearances in my front garden. I follow it with my eyes till it disappears around the corner.

I sit.

A million thoughts come into my head and, as quickly as they come, they are gone.

I sit.

Inspiration hits me hard and propels me out of the seat. I switch on the TV, I hook up my karaoke machine and I spend the next two hours singing at the top of my voice. Other than the postie giving me a wave of amusement, I’m in my own world and it feels good.

Work can wait. The house can wait. The outside world can wait.

Sometimes life is just about sitting.

Mallorcan reflections

25.11.08

I’m sitting on a rock with warm sunshine on my face looking out at turquoise waters lapping gently into the cove. The beach is brilliant white.... and empty. It’s November, and it’s Mallorca. Cala Mondrago to be exact.

The memories wash over me of happy times in my 20’s when I worked on this magical island. Long, lazy days in the sun. Alfa’s discotheque at night. The boat trips. The horse riding. The friends.

I lost my way for a while (seventeen years to be exact) while I travelled the world and then settled down to have a family.

But of all the places I have seen in the world, and there have been many, in my heart of hearts, Mallorca has always been the one for me.

During my long absence, she called to me many times but there were always good reasons for postponing the trip.

And then one day, two years ago, I finally boarded the plane that was to bring Mallorca back into my life forever.

I touched down on the runway in Palma and felt an inexplicable happiness and sense of pure joy rush through every muscle, every fibre of my body. I had finally come home. I opened my mouth and a flood of spanish and mallorquin came out. My brain kicked into gear and I was thinking, living, breathing the language.

I met my friends again after seventeen years. They looked exactly the same (if a little older). They sounded the same. I looked into their eyes and I was catapulted back in time. The passing years were not important.

In the past two years I have been back to Mallorca six times.

My life is in Scotland. I am Scottish, I’m proud to be Scottish and I love Scotland. The sound of bagpipes brings a tear to my eye and a lump to my throat.

But a part of my heart has been lost forever to that little island in the Med where for me time stands still and we are all still 20 years old.
Dedicado a Toni, Toni y Monserrat.

We Are All Visitors...

29.9.08

"We are all visitors to this time, this place. We are just passing through. Our purpose here is to observe, to learn, to grow, to love... and then we return home." - Australian Aboriginal Proverb

I was in Edinburgh Zoo with my son two weeks ago on the Monday holiday, in the rain…again, when we came across a stunning picture of Ayres Rock in Australia with this proverb written over it. It struck me so strongly I felt compelled to take a note of it.

Last weekend my father was taken into hospital. He has leukaemia and his immune system is so low that he has recently gone from one infection to the next. On Saturday he told us that he wants to stop the treatment, that he wants to be free of his body, that God will take care of him, and I was once again reminded of this proverb.

These words give me strength.

And I started thinking about how fortunate we are as a family to have these last few days to say our goodbyes and say everything we need to say. So many people don’t get that opportunity. People die suddenly through illness, or accidents, or terrorist attacks, and the ones left behind are left with things unsaid, without that final hug.

We are all on loan to this world, and none of us know when our time is up.

If there are things you’ve been meaning to say to someone, please say them today. Don’t wait. Because we never know what tomorrow will bring.

I am at peace. I have thanked my father for all the things he did for me. Some we laughed over, some we cried at. I have said all the things I have wanted to say over the years, but never knew how, and I am glad to have this opportunity to do so.

Please go out today and do the same.


This article was written on 29 September 2008. My father passed away peacefully on 2 October with my brother by his side.

To Dad - Till we meet again!