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I've met Carlos Acosta, the Cuban dance star currently working in England, so I know he's not an overly modest man. Lovely guy, great dancer, but not exactly modest. So when he popped up on the box at the weekend during the Jacksonfest saying that the former resident of Neverland was a much better dancer than him, I took him at his word.

Of course, like anyone with a passing interest in modern music, I didn't need to be told of Michael Jackson's genius. But I'd rather taken the video productions and the choreography for granted.

No, he didn't invent the pop video, as some people gushingly said during the tributes. That, like so much else, is down to The Beatles. Think of the Top of the Pops mini-film of Strawberry Fields. What's that if not a pop video? Or the music sequences from Help, come to that.

What Jackson did was take it to new and extraordinary heights. The music and the accompanying visuals will be an everlasting testament to the man, when all the other stuff has been forgotten. He was guilty of playing the celebrity game and playing up to and exploiting his own myths, but his talent was absolutely out there with the greats.

Barry Gibb is another character I would not normally pay much attention to, but he made an undeniable and heartfelt point - that if Michael had received some of the adulation being heaped on him after death in the months leading up it, it might never have happened.

The Jackson tragedy was, naturally, in my mind along with a recent sudden death in the family (a coronary incident associated with prescription painkillers and also handled by the Los Angeles coroner's office) when we went to the hugely enjoyable bunfight at our local Buddhist centre.

They're based one junction up the A14 from the M1/M6 interchange, but run classes in Hinckley, Coventry, Lutterworth and Stratford-on-Avon, Info here.

Great event, with brilliant food, marvellous stalls (Go Greenpeace!), terrific jewellery and clothes (are there no New Age types over a size 10?), a laidback attitude to kids climbing trees in the grounds and a fantastic introduction to the practice of meditation. Excellent.

But what pissed me off, on this weekend of all weekends, with the death of a great musical genius, was that the dreary succession of singer songwriters from the area who peopled the music tent, couldn't see it in their hearts to pay tribute to Michael and belt out a few of his wonderfully upbeat numbers instead of plugging their next gigs.

Just to recognise in this of all places, what had just happened.

We got their latest dreary self-indulgent singer-songwriter songs. No one cared. We left early and went home to play some Michael Jackson DVDs and dance about a bit.

I bet that's what Carlos Acosta did as well. Only not as well as Michael.

I've had a good look at the claim forms, helpfully posted on the BBC website, for reasons I'll come on to. While some of the expenses seem rather petty (23p for parking? I'd love to know where that car park is), some rather unorthodox (spending best part of £500 on meeting expenses with future colleagues BEFORE he started work at the BBC?) - and others must be the result of some seriously robust negotiations over his contract (paying his annual congestion charge, presumably just so he could drive to work), the majority of the published expenses are pretty damn boring to my mind. Which is exactly why they've been released.

I'm sure that for many people will look at some of the extremes, including recompense for abandoned family holidays, and be outraged on this use licence payers' money, but really why should a man have to shoulder the costs of cutting short very precious family time for a work issue? It doesn't matter what your annual salary is, you should be able to expect some uninterrupted down-time - something that should be priceless, but clearly isn't.

The main thing that struck me about the claim forms was that they weren't hand-written, unlike the MPs' ones. Which either suggests that BBC execs or their PAs have typed up the claims, or that the BBC's finance department is a darn sight more thorough in checking and coding-up expenses than Parliament's Fees Office.

And whilst I can honestly say that I've never fiddled my expenses, I can't say hand on heart that there might not be the odd mistake contained therein. The BBC expenses looked squeakily clean - again, exactly why they've been released. Perhaps this is a pre-emptive strike, insofar as getting the information out there before there's a public witch-hunt is a good technique to enable an organisation to crucify others when they are found to fall short. The phrase "Let he who is without sin cast the first stone" springs to mind.

I gather that a number of media providers are now peppering public bodies and local government with a spray of FOI requests on senior executives' and elected representatives' expenses. Me thinks silly season will be rather more serious for some this summer, and frankly I can't wait.

Anyway, I said earlier that I had a particular reason for looking at the claims, aside from the mawkish entertainment value. I was trying to find out whether information on gifts to performers, or details of their 'riders' might have been divulged by Auntie. Aside from the odd bouquet of flowers for Dot Cotton and the now-infamous £99 bottle of champers for Bruce Forsyth's birthday, there's no mention of such expenditure. In practice, these probably aren't things which the DG puts on his company credit card; they'll be lost somewhere else in the BBC system. I'm talking about bands which must have a certain brand of pink champagne in their dressing rooms, comedians who have to see cornflakes in the hospitality area, singers who just can't perform, darling, without sunflowers in the green room - in December. And that's just the stuff that's legal.

I'd love to know how much the BBC spends on riders for their 'talent'. In my experience, many of the bands don't even know about their more outrageous requests, with many a tour manager simply pushing their luck to see what they can get a promoter to pay for.

However, I've seen acts clear a hospitality room like a plague of locusts, much of it into black bin bags for the journey home. The same people who are paid five- or six-figure sums to perform are happy to eat crusty humus and curled-up sarnies, accompanied by Krug and vintage Bordeaux - well, I guess that's one way for the rich to ensure that they stay rich. Particularly when they nick the corkscrew too.

But parenting is creative work, she says. It's miraculous work. Just look at your son, what more creative a job could you be doing than raising him?

I find myself wanting to quibble.

Yes, creative parenting is a term very much in vogue and while I certainly have no doubt about the value and importance of bringing up children, I find myself asking if the task really is a creative one?

To be brutally honest, most of the time, it doesn't feel like it. It feels chaotic, hit-and-miss and about day-to-day survival.

Being comfortable with chaos, I grant you, is all part of the creative process but when you're writing a book or making a piece of art, there comes a point where you start to shape the madness. You limit the possibilities. You focus. You move into a phase where you know what you're doing. There comes the happy day when you look back and think: "Ah - so THAT'S what I was making."

I can't imagine I will ever know what I'm doing as far as parenting is concerned. Will it ever take shape or will it continue to be about dealing with each incident as it arises on a minute by minute basis?

There aren't many moments during a theatre production which could prompt me to barge my way through the audience (pushing cast members aside as well, incidentally) to see what is going on. But, yes, the prospect of watching fascinating actress Lucy Briers performing solo hardcore porn is one. Purely professional curiosity, you understand.

But I restrained myself. It was happening on a VHS tape being played on a TV at the other side of the, performing area, you see. An extraordinary, unsettling, hilarious, and weirdly moving moment in a show which is all of those things and more from the moment you enter the auditorium of the Royal Theatre at Northampton.

Laurie Sansom's version of Private Fears in Public Places is fan-f-word-tastic*. Not a word you'll see often in theatre criticism. But this is show like no other I've experienced. Note that word, too. For this is, in the old hippy, Jimi Hendrix sense, a wonderful, eye-opening experience for anyone lucky enough to see it. And it must pose fascinating challenges for the actors and technical crew as well.

Cut to the chase. The performance takes place on the Royal's large and very high stage with the audience seated round the six main areas of the action. In the modern jargon, it's sight, and site-specific. The actors sit at tables and on settees next to the audience, walk through and round the spectators. It's a new definition of 'up close and personal' and for some time before proceedings get under way, you are not entirely sure if someone is an actor or a punter.

There's a whole PhD thesis examining this unnerving and involving take on classic Brechtian alienation right there for the taking if you are so minded - it could be you on that barstool or answering a lonely hearts ad. I prefer to think of it as all part of the fun.

And, in true Ayckbourn fashion, there's bags of that. Mischievous, sidelong and slightly world-weary laughs and knowing smiles at modern manners (it was written in 2004) and how needy and flawed individuals (that's you and me) cope with relationships and their own emotional baggage.

This is only the third professional production of the piece since its Scarborough debut in Ayckbourn's home theatre. Laurie Sansom was working there at the time as associate director and clearly relishes the chance to put his own stamp on it with this exhilaratingly original version. It was a smash on Broadway on 2005 and a year later was made into an award-winning film by Alain Resnais.

The Royal show capitalises on the highly filmic nature of the piece - very unusual for Ayckbourn. Short scenes switch rapidly from different areas of the performing space (inside a fabulous set by Nicolai Hart-Hansen) with James Farncombe's clever lighting creating completely discrete atmospheres and subtly indicating the passage of time.

It's intriguing, too, to see a cast of wonderful stage actors scaling back characters into performances that are more suited to movies, but which still capture the larger-than-life essence of the personalities we literally rub shoulders with.

The restraint with which the piece sketches the back stories of these six characters interacting and misunderstanding yet understanding one another in very different ways leaves lots of space for us to wonder about the 'what-ifs' - in that sense, and in this setting, the piece is very much interactive and totally enthralling.

It's pointless me detailing the brilliant details the performers bring to their parts - you simply have to see it. They are uniformly marvellous, with Lucy Briers springing the biggest surprise you'll see on any stage for a while. She's simply tremendous as the reined-in loony of an estate agent - worrying, psychotic, amusing, alluring, with a devilish sense of humour, deadpan and shiny black.

Inadequates Laura Doddington (heart-breaking) and Christopher Harper (infuriating but sympathetic) sat right in front of me for a drunken date (Brief Encounter as written by the League of Gentleman) which had me rooting for them both to succeed as a couple, although we know it's simply impossible. Superb. Imagine an updated Joan Sims lusting after Hugh Grant and inflating his drooping ego at the same time.

Ruth Gibson, who we quickly learn to dislike, turns out to be deeply affecting in recalling her girlhood joy in love and life and shows us how mounting disappointments have turned her into the bossyboots we first meet. I ended up wanting to give her a hug.

A perceptive subtext throughout is how other people turn us into what we become. The marvellous Kim Wall, for instance, is a different person behind his hotel bar to the son he is at home. His offstage father (voiced by him?) is another Ayckbourn character essential to the action who is never seen, a trademark trick.

The dazzling and deceptively dotty Matthew Cottle is several men as an estate agent, in the office or with a client, yet another as an inadequate brother and throughout everyone has versions of themselves they present to others and hide from themselves. Perceptive stuff presented with Ayckbourn's wry and at times broad humour.

I did find out what's on the porno tape, by the way. Very, very clever. If you want to see, grab a seat on a settee on the right when you go in - seating is unreserved. Private Fears in Public Places runs until July 11 and is likely to be the hottest ticket in British theatre until then. Box office 01604 624811 or go to www.royalandderngate.co.uk. Another triumph in the Ayckbourn at 70 season. Or, to put it another way, fan-f-word-tastic.
* It sounds better if you use the original Anglo Saxon word.

All cast pictures by Robert Day

With unique performances from such influential artists as Italian legends, GOBLIN, their first show in the UK in 20 years, the reformation of the original line up of HEAD OF DAVID, who bring their driving bombast to proceedings for the first time in 23 years, the notorious Japanese band CORRUPTED who have yet to play on UK soil as well the reawakening of Greg Anderson & Stephen O'Malley of Sunn 0))) maiden voyage into darkeness: the cult black doom act THORR'S HAMMER, not to mention splatter rock band THE ACCUSED, unruly trio MONOTONIX, the expansive drone-noise of GROWING; Brighton's prog adventure, DIAGONAL; the wild avant futuristic jazz of ZU; the stoned pysch of EARTHLESS, the Virginian sludge rock of PONTIAK, the industrial experiments of 65 DAYS OF STATIC, the immense duo that is FLOWER/CORSANO DUO, occult noise act SKULLFLOWER, also joining the line up is SCORN aka Mick Harris (king of the blast beat) and the new project combining Russell McEwan of Black Sun & the electronic-vocal attack of Lea Cummings (Kylie Minoise) in the form of ATOMIZED, added to this are the power violence duo IRON LUNG and one of the finest folk vocalists NANCY WALLACE will be featured in the line-up, once again highlighting the highly eclectic booking policy of the festival.

information at http://www.supersonicfestival.com

Here's the playlist for part one
Enjoy
Little Chris
1. Tweak Bird - Shivers (2:12)
2. Caribou - Melody Day (4:11)
3. zZz - House Of Sin (4:59)
4. Venetian Snares - Gentleman (4:33)
5. Arbouretum - False Spring (5:50)
6. Taint - Hex Breaker (4:41)
7. Scorn - The End (P.C.M. - "Nightmare" Mix) (7:40)
8. Pontiak - Shell Skul (4:01)
9. Zu - Ostia (5:05)
10. Tartufi - Boat Of Armor (4:42)
11. Pre - Dudefuk (2:03)
12. Corrupted - An Island Insane, Part 1 (6:28)
13. Kim Hiorthoy - As if (3:03)
14. Army of flying robots - Try Reading A Good Book (3:13)
15. Diagonal - Child of the Thundercloud (8:48)
16. Rose kemp - The Unholy (9:22)
17. Iron Lung - White Flag (0:30)
18. 65 Days Of Static - Drove Through Ghosts To Get Here (4:18)
19. Head of David - 108 (5:24)
20. Goblin - l'alba dei morti viventi (6:04)

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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PwAtyyUlM6A&feature=related

Quite by accident, that's the Langley grey hair and checked shirt captured on a random YouTube video on Saturday at the London Uke Fest world record - 851 players plus various non-combatants crammed into Dorchester Square to set a new record for the most ukuleles played at one time - and raise cash for various charities.

Daughter and her two daughters can also be glimpsed (the very blonde head is ten-year-old Jessica). I think the girls set a new record of their own - eating the most complimentary cookies from the jars scattered throughout the rather classy hotel we stayed at just over the road.

We all had to have a number and have our picture taken and then we had to be counted in to the square for the strum-in - it took ages! But, of course, uke players are hugely sociable types and we had a chance to hear the legendary Ukulele Orchestra of Great Britain, who had their registration numbers to take part in the record as well.

Hester Goodman did her usual brilliant take on Teenage Dirtbag and George Hinchlife did a splendid Steve Vai lead guitar imitation on the smallest uke in the world, as well as the inimitable Yorkshire folk song/modern jazz hybrid version of Wuthering Heights. Ace, by gum.

Dreadful acoustics, one of the worst sound systems I've ever encountered, but nevertheless a great day out. One of our fellow recordbreakers was, like me, an old geezer guitar player from a neighbouring street who didn't know what was happening until he saw hordes of people turning up.

He and wife promptly nipped over to the gig, bought cheap instruments (£20 gets you a perefectly serviceable uke) and had a couple of hours to learn the three-chord song we performed - Sloop John B, of Beach Boys and Kingston Trio fame. While we were filing in past the Guinness World Record adjudicators, he and fellow geezers spent much time discussing obscure versions of Bob Dylan covers. I made my excuses and left.

Kids in Hawaiin fancy dress enjoyed paddling in ornamental ponds near the stage, the MC had his blue suede winklepickers half-inched and some of the support bands were not actually fit to audition for the auditions for Britain's Got Talent. And going to the portable loos was like a ride on a fairground cakewalk.

But overall a genial, laidback and hugely satisfying afternoon. Loads of videos etc on YouTube. One young woman had flown in from Chicago to take part.

We were able to stroll over to the Whitechapel Gallery after the record to check out the tapestry version of Picasso's Guernica and Sunday morning saw us strolling through vile and newly-salubrious parts of the East End to reach the V&A's Museum of Childhood at Bethnal Green - highly recommended.

And so, tired but happy, we were able to enjoy the joys of Sunday engineering work on British rail as we made our leisurely way back to the Midlands. It would have been quicker on the Sloop John B.

Mary Portas, the retail fashion guru, had taken over a charity shop in Kent and turned it into boutique style store by spending £15,000 on a re-fit and employing a full-time shop manager.

She succeeded in increasing the shop's weekly take from £900 per week to £2,000 per week but not without its costs - and I don't just mean financial. Five of the volunteers felt so alienated they walked out.

Does this matter?

They were ladies in their 70s and 80s, many of whom had given decades of service to the store. They felt it was theirs. They felt they belonged. They balked at her spending their hard-earned cash on making the store look funky. They objected to her hiking the prices up. They did not like having to answer to a manager when they had been used to running the store themselves.

How much should Mary, who I think is wonderful by the way, have poured energy into getting them on side? At what point should she have said: "This is my vision - if you don't like it, take a walk?"

I think I was touched because I genuinely do not know the answer to that question. That clash between the need to move forward and the need to get everyone on board, arises in any kind of corporate change. The pain of it is exacerbated by my own befuddlement about the most creative course of action might be.

If you have any thoughts on this, do let me know. Great posts on the subject have been written from the perspective of a charity shop manager and a charity shop shopper. I'm especially interested in thinking about whether the answer is different depending on whether the people you are trying to get on side are volunteers rather than paid employees.

In the meantime I leave this post with two pictures, one of Mary, to represent the vision, expertise and a general can-do attitude that excites me. And another of Pat Jeffs, a volunteer at the PDSA store in Harborne, Birmingham who had nothing to do with the television programme but who I'm putting in to represent that day to day dedication to a cause that I salute. I love them both.

The family is slowly getting into the right frame of mind for their (its?) world record attempt. Well, actually, it'll be us and at least 996 others. Pictured is Joe Brown, a great guy, splendid guitarist and champion of the uke who'll be performing on the day, which runs from noon to 6pm. Go here for full details and links to various YouTube goodies.

The basic info is that on June 20 at the London Ukulele Festival there will be an attempt to set a world record for the number of people playing the uke at one time. At the moment 1,000 is the target. The song chosen is the old Kingston Trio and Beach Boys hit Sloop John B in a dead basic three-chord version. There are a couple of others you can throw in if you want to.

Full details on the site and instruction on YouTube.

Joe Brown, incidentally, is credited with the following, a great mantra, I think:

When everything is at its worst
and troubles plague you daily
Just give yourself a little burst
upon your ukulele.

In other important uke news, on July 14 and 15 The Ukulele Orchestra of Great Britain will be at Lichfield Festival performing "Ukulelescope", a new show with original UOGB music and unusual archive films. It received its debut at the BFI on Saturday and Lichfield is lucky to get it.

Book now, because it is guaranteed to be a sell-out.
Box office: 01543 306270 or go here

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Firstly, many congratulations to Suzie Branch of BHMG Marketing on being crowned BYPY 2009. Clearly a popular choice, Suzie's citation highlighted both her skills as a business woman and her willingness to put something back in the community - exactly the combination of skills shown by our illustrious city forefathers such as the Cadburys, Lloyds, Chamberlains and Martineaus.

Birmingham Future, which runs BYPY, has emulated these laudable ambitions themselves by launching The Future Foundation, a charitable fund set up to support education, employment and training projects in Birmingham. Last night the 620 guests at the award dinner watched a short video about some of the work done by the Birmingham Foundation -the community charity which will administrate Future's fund - which showed some really tear-jerking projects and the differences they made. It would be a hard man or woman who wasn't moved.

Although there's been a lot written about the dire economic climate, it was clear that not everyone at the ICC was on their uppers: plenty of generous raffle ticket purchases should see many thousands of pounds more available to help train and support Birmingham's young people in the future.

It was also good to see more SMEs represented, both as finalists in the awards, and as attendees at the dinner. With luck, and lower fixed overheads, smaller and more flexible companies are well-placed to ride out the recession, with many already picking up contract work previously done in-house by now-redundant employees. However, the sheer differences in mentality between large and small companies became apparent when the raffle prizes were being drawn. The final offering was an integrated colour printer/scanner/photocopier which a number of us micro-employers were viewing with envious eyes. But then the jeers started: "Who raided the stationery cupboard for that prize?"

Whilst very much said in jest, the comments did make me wince. The thought of companies in Birmingham have spare brand-new printers sitting around waiting for the point at which they're needed is so very alien to small employers; hell, my stationery cupboard IS my office!

It will be very interesting to see if a similar prize at BYPY in 2010 will be greeted with the same derision. My hunch is that many of those mocking last night will not be with the same employer next year, perhaps having struck out on their own, and would be grateful for any help they might receive.

I don't wish difficult times on anyone, but a healthy dose of realism, with a side order of humble pie, doesn't go amiss.

How's about this for audience participation? This brilliant family snap of our Rebecca was taken during Saturday's Puppet Extravaganza at Newhampton Arts Centre, just round the corner from the home of the legendary Wolverhampton Wanderers.

The brilliant sunshine was actually outshone by a whole array of superb performers and excellent attractions - workshops, exhibitions and simply fabulous shows. It was a day that ended with a face-ache - it was only when we piled into the Mondeo to head home that we realised we had been grinning and smiling all day!

As Festival Director and ace puppet man Clive Chandler put it over a lifesaving can of Coke - it's great but knackering!

The professional puppet community is actually pretty close-knit, even though spread around the globe, and it was heartening and enlightening to witness performers dropping in on shows by their peers and clearly enjoying themselves as much as the audiences.

The female half of marvellous German group Theater Laku Paka provided wonderful live woodwind music for their Peter and the Wolf shadow puppet show on Friday night, but on Saturday morning she was sitting next to my grandchildren in the Newhampton car park clearly revelling in the antics of Belgian street performer Martin Lierman. It's Maurice (pronounced Morrice), all eyes and winks, and, as far as we could tell, gentle innuendo (it was in Flemish) who is pictured with Becc up there.

She and sister Jessica will probably be in the Wolverhampton Express and Star tomorrow (Monday) as well as they were snapped in typically 'tight and bright' evening newspaper style, as it's known in the trade, with Martin before his first show of the day.

He and all the other puppeteers were simply brilliant with the kids, and after most shows the audiences got a hands-on chance to see how it all worked - or, in the case of Rod, of Storybook Theatre, how it didn't work. He made a fabulous job of coping with a total blackout in the middle of his hilarious Summerset version of Three Pigs - yes, those three pigs.

Don't miss a chance to see some of these marvellous shows which have quite as much to offer the mums and dads as the kids. Shows featured on Saturday and many others will also be touring throughout the area in locations such as Sanders Park in Bromsgrove and the Museum of Cannock Chase, as well as programming with regional touring circuits, local authorities and all kinds of venues, not always theatres, throughout the West Midlands.

Alongside the public festival the Dynamics 09 team are delivering an extensive education and outreach programme in museums, early years' settings, and schools including those for pupils with special needs.

Artists performing in the festival will demonstrate their skills and encourage others to learn and create. Some of the festival's international visitors, Theater Laku Paka and Martin Leirman will be showcasing their particular brand of puppet theatre to young audiences in schools while many UK companies including Major Mustard, Objects Dart (who coped brilliantly with the wind in the courtyard on Saturday) and The Fetch will run puppet-making workshops using a range of materials and puppet styles, often leading to making short puppet plays to show others.

Go here for full details. You will really be missing out on some world-class entertainment if you don't see some of these shows wjhich run throughout the summer.

Also make sure you visit Bantock House in Wolverhampton - which is where the other Langley family snap was taken. The museum has a small sample portion of a much bigger exhibition about the history of Mr Punch. Excellent. And renewed aplogies to the attendant - we really weren't trying to steal your posters ... we thought they were free leaflets. As Son of Sid said, she now knows what a member of a Baltimore drug gang in The Wire feels like when they come under the scrutiny of a surveillance team.

Don't worry Bantock trustees, your leaflets are safe in her hands. It was really a very Mr Punch moment. For a fleeting moment I felt like brandishing the Mr Punch slapstick you can try out at the show.

I have just come to the end of a ridiculously frantic three weeks in which I gave two lectures, delivered five teaching sessions in a school and sang in a two-hour jazz gig on top of looking after my family and my day-job as a journalist.

Some people are not happy unless they are busy. That's fine for them. There are even those who find it deeply satisfying if it is done well.

It is worth asking if being busy is a virtue. For me, it is a weakness.

Take this as an example. In the middle of my three-week stressathon, I needed my two-year-old to take a nap so I could prepare for a session the next day in school.

I cuddled him in front of CBeebies - no joy. I put him in his buggy and took him to the supermarket - he stayed wide awake. I gave him a bath, put his pyjamas on and read soothing stories - he was doing cartwheels around the bedroom.

At 9pm, I handed Arch over to my husband and said I was going to have a multi-tasking bath. (The very notion makes me shudder, but what else can you do?)

Arch, who normally loves time with his dad, seemed to know at some visceral level I was unavailable and screamed: "I want mummy," until his taut little body practically choked. I couldn't work with that going on anyway so I gave in - eventually - and the tasks of my bath extended mopping a toddler's tears as well as washing myself and planning what I was going to do with a class of 30 ten-year-olds.

Never again.

As soon as I had reached the end of my frantic three weeks, I felt happy again. I realised it was May for a start. The grass was lime-green and the Whitsun roses were about to burst into opulent redness.

I walked down the road in the fleeting sunshine with Arch running ahead of me and gratitude swelled in my heart; gratitude that he was here, that he was running, that he was two. When I was stressed I had been wishing these precious years away: "Once he's at school it will all be easier..."

I wrote to a friend whose husband had died five weeks ago. I hadn't even known she was grieving at the time because I had put all my post into a drawer to be opened later. I stopped using alcohol as a short-cut to relaxation and breathed instead.

I had allowed myself to be busy because I needed the money. I don't know what I will do next time my cash flow needs attention but I hope I will have the strength to resist taking on so much in future.

When I am busy, I don't have time to feel gratitude, I run on adrenalin rather than the nourishment of sensuality. To be busy is to squander life. May I never waste my days again.