Irascible, tired, peaceful, tired, happy in Lisbon.

Lisbon is a very attractive city, but for some reason dragging my suitcase up and downhill inevitably lost does not bring out the best in me, so arriving at 10 at night to my hotel only to not even be able to find a glass for a drink of water from the tap in the copious kitchen,  I was not at my best, but by the following morning I was ready to tackle the hill and metro to sign on for my first ever intensive satsang. 

I felt lucky to recognise and know a couple of the staff on duty and after the first session was happy enough but tired from the up and down up and down to get to the event.  I struggled to keep up with the topic feeling like a real newbie in a language class, who discovers all the other students can already speak the language, but Saturday I felt more tuned in and by Sunday I was positively floating. I had dropped out of the morning session to visit what I had stupidly thought was the art gallery of Antiga till I realised it was the Museum of National Antiques a sort of mini British Museum that had some stunning images of the Madonna and child from the Netherlands, but also many artefacts demonstrating how far and wide Portugal's empire and sphere of influence had been before the British took over many of its colonies.    I took this step as I knew there would be two further sessions with Mooji later on and I felt that things might click more if I took a step back a bit. Certainly that Sunday afternoon session I felt a major shift, whether it was because I was nearer the front or just more awake, I really felt a shift from the drugged feeling of earlier in the week to one of complete openness and peace.  After the session I just was happy to sit and be quiet, just like many other people who flopped on the grass all around me.  But as the last session was up and rocking Bhadjans it was lovely to have this quiet time before just enjoying oneself.  All the singers were brilliant. Nirmal especially almost levitated with energy.

But how does one sustain this kind of happiness, it feels almost too intense whenever I feel out and out happiness. I also felt leaden with tiredness and also greatly more self conscious as if having thoughts was now an issue by the time Monday came around. In fact, I absented myself from half of the afternoon session only coming back in in time for Mooji to declare it is enough.  However, I do understand that this is a process, and one I am not really familiar with so I was very happy and lucky to go out for a meal with another attendee and just share bits of our history and knowledge of Mooji and similar retreats. It was also just nice to be with another person and have a lovely meal.  I was hesitant about where to go at first and then remembered the area near Rossio which has some enticing looking places. I was initially thinking we were going for something really tucked away and Lisboan, but we happily allowed ourselves to go with the patter of a friendly waitress and allowed ourselves to be talked into dorada in a very touristy but also very Portuguese restaurant.  It was a great night out.

And then all too soon is was over.  I ducked out of the morning session,  and headed to the beach and the peace of the waves but was happy to attend the final session.  However, it was mostly a Mooji farewell, and then that was it we all just went over to the four corners of the globe.     I am still processing it and trying to decide if it resonates with me or not, but I am very glad to have attended and seen Lisbon on a sort of day to day basis.  Having a breakfast at the hotel set me up and the local supermarket sold hot soup and sausages and chicken so it was easy to provide simple food without having to go to a restaurant all the time, then for the last night I treated myself to a day in Sintra and a night at the lovely Palace of Spices hotel.    This place just made me laugh out loud with pleasure, greeted by the "owner" of the house,  and encouraged to partake of Ginja and help myself to cake it was just fabulous and as the rain poured down I sat in the Palace library and finished my book. Heaven.

Spain

Being away for almost two weeks felt like a really proper break. My first week I was in a nice warm Spain,  starting with an evening in Malaga, but mainly focusing on two days by the coast followed by two days in Seville.

When the coach heads out of Malaga, there is a depressing plethora of bars promising the best night in Spain,  Irish bars and British breakfasts.   But by the time they thin out things seem a bit more Spanish.  The bus deposited me, not as anticipated at a coach station, but by the side of the road, luckily very close to a sign for my hotel.  It had taken me weeks of going back and forth to the Avanza website to try and get details for this bus journey to ensure that having booked to stay on the coast that I could, the Avanza site never worked properly in the end, but the actual journey turned out to be easy and I even arrived an hour earlier than expected.  My pension was just a nice simple Spanish building, run by a nice Irish woman.    I had a nice basic room and bathroom and the whole place was my sort of place. Out of season San Pedro was also my sort of place. I met my friend, Liliana, a few minutes after my arrival and we talked and walked to the coast and then sat in a nice restaurant to really catch up.  Our meal was really simple starters of olives and prawns along with a glass of wine and a delicious pepper salad.   Meal over we returned to our respective homes and the plan for the next day was to meet later on in the posh resort down the coast, but I do not know if it was my timing or her speed but we missed each other which is a shame as it is a nice walk.  However, we met up again in the evening for a cuppa.  It is very nice on a warm February evening to just be able to go out of an evening and enjoy a cup of tea and then potter back to one's hotel.
                   

Tuesday morning I was back by the side of the road and again had an easy journey this time to Seville, so early that we seem to arrive before we had left Rhonda - the en route stop off  As my phone had not changed time I had spent the first three days adding an hour to get the right time each time I had looked at it.  When I waited for the San Pedro bus to Seville I added an hour to get to the bus stop at the right time, yet, when I got to Seville all the clocks were showing 2.30 which was the same time on my phone.  I still do not understand it.   Suddenly my phone was showing the right time, it was very disorientating and very hot.  And as I arrived at a different coach station to the one expected even more confusing. However, getting on the tram line heading in the right direction and using the helpfully placed street maps I finally got to my hotel which was very near to the art gallery, which very helpfully was free to EU citizens.      They had a lovely display of Murillo pictures, and I popped into the museum both nights I was there. As it was still warm I pottered out and found a street cafe and ate a very nice plate of beautiful Spanish jamon on bread, which was surprisingly expensive, but still nice.   The following morning my attempts to get a simple breakfast were slightly flawed by not spotting the "breakfast" menu till after I had been tempted into Spanish omelette. However, as the latter,with mayonnaise was delicious, it was a nice mistake. One of the joys of travelling is that even in theory simple things like ordering breakfast can go array.   It was freezing that morning so I was happy to watch the whirl of people coming and going, having a shot of coffee and then out again into the cold.  But by the time I had had a second leisurely Americano it was beginning to warm up.  I had spotted what seemed like a very important place to visit and decided to head over to the park in which I thought from the description it was located. This meant trundling past the queues for the cathedral and another building, which I thought was the place I was heading towards but which was therefore not where I expected it to be.  Huge queues even for the booked places left me scratching my head as to how one was supposed to get in so I decided to carry onto the park and still check out that area.  The sun had brought loads of people out and the park was charming.    The stamp of feet and the plaintive sound of Flamenco attracted me and I was happy to be able to watch buskers promoted their evening show with a freebie for visitors to the Plaza de Espana, set in the Maria Luiza Park.  I was happy to wonder through to one of the museums, which was being re-jigged. It has elements of Moorish style in the architecture, which is why I had clearly confused it with the place I had really been trying to get to, which had been next to the Cathedral. I decided to re-check all the tourist info on this place, The Alcazar Palace on my return to the hotel, but in the meantime it was so warm I was happy to stop for a cup of tea and a delicious tapas of freshly cooked chick peas and spinach in the little park outdoor cafe.  Heaven.  I then happily wandered back to my hotel, via a nice Bodega and more tapas,  where it became clear that I somehow could not book the palace so would either have to forget it or go out very early to be the first in the queues.

   As I awoke early on the Thursday morning,that is what I did. I got there about 8.50.  It was very cold, and I was the only person there except the staff putting out the barriers, but it meant that I was sure to get in. I did have to wait for about a 100 pre-booked people to get in first and I could not visit the royal apartments as they were fully booked for the day but for two and a half hours I was able to happily immerse myself in Moorish and Royal Sevillle.   Definitely a treat.   It is a delightful mix of Moorish architecture and Spanish. The tiles were especially attractive and of added interest was the filming going on in the gardens despite the large number of tourists.

 My plan was to spend the next 8 hours going ot LIsbon recovering  from my early morning. However, by the time I had stopped chatting to the nice American Mexican woman who I sat next to we had crossed over into Portugal without even noticing it and even got to LIsboa early.   I felt a bit dazed by how much I had done in a relatively short time.   In contrast my plan for Lisbon was Mooji, Mooji and more Mooji.

Bloody police!

There are things in life that make one lose faith in the powers that be in a country. The potential fraud case that I reported to the Police, being one of them.  I was told by family members of the person I believe defrauded me that I am not alone in this experience, all I am asking is the police to chat to those family members to see if they can illuminate their comments to me and if that helps them establish that the potential defaudster really has had a pattern of this behaviour and if so whether that helps them establish what happened in my case. But despite asking the police to do this over and over they refuse.  I know if my son was accused of having done something I might be interviewed at some point, so why in this case is it deemed to be against data protection for the police to talk to his family.   I give up, the police say that they do not use the internet evidence and that it goes against Data Protection to talk to his family.   How the bloody hell do they ever find evidence if they are not allowed to talk to the people who might be able to shed a light on the situation?     Meanwhile I still have not had my money back.    But the actions of the police is as distressing as the actions of the potential criminal at this moment, because my rare contact ( a year or so since they have bothered to reply to my emails) brings no solice.     Blooody furious.

It is almost the end of the year. or four funerals and a wedding.

It is almost the end of the year and that funny time in between Christmas and New Year, but I am back at work already yet still in slop around and eat too much mode.   It has been in many ways a fantastic fantastic year,  especially with regard to trips.  It started early as I went to Luxembourg for a weekend in the cold and then went to Malaga for a weekend in the warm to see if if I could find somewhere to live nearby.   I enjoyed both trips but did not find a home.  Then I went to Portugal, then I went to Portugal again, still looking but failing to find a home and more recently I have been to Portugal again.  I also got to France twice,  though  my French does not seem to benefit and loved visiting Genoa on route to Nice, and Cannes.     There have also been more trips than normal up north again trying to work out if I might want to live there, and to Brecon partly for the same reason. Yet here I still am in the south and having to work to keep living here, but it does mean easy access to the delights of London including my friends who live there.  There have been trips to the theatre (On the Town for example) to see musicians e.g Cambridge Folk Festival and Barbara Dixon in Brecon and rare but interesting visits to the cinema e.g. Portuguese film at the film festival, the Olive Tree up in Berwick and Barnum which is my type of indulgence this Christmas in London.    There was even a trip up to Warrington and Manchester for a lovely wedding.  But this year has also had great moments of sadness but also of memories.    Four special women have died this year.  Sheila Powell,  Nathan's grandmother, Greta Brunning and Jacky Francis.     So the year is dedicated to them.  Sheila and Greta both matriarchs who welcomed the whole family into their hearts for example weekends away, holidays etc.  Nathan's gran who I could not talk to but who nevertheless welcomed me.  Revisiting Kenya to say farewell to her was a fantastic opportunity to reconnect with the rest of the family and to feel so proud to be with them.  And of course Jacky who was Nathan's second child minder and a great friend if mine for the last 28 or so years.   WE used to live on the same estate in London,  I have had holidays with her,  in Spain and in the UK, we went to see Celine Dion together and at the millennium we stood on Highgate Hill together to toast and pray she would make it into the next century.  Yet she did, and we managed to enjoy a lot more time together despite the death sentence than hung over for the last four years.     She was buried just before Christmas just after her 58th birthday.    I will miss them all and dedicate this year to them, and their surviving families.

Just what a holiday needs - work and rain.

I got a bit carried away this year, I thought I am free from regular teaching I can go away,  but I forgot that that needs an income, hence my pleasure that I am able to sit in my Lisboa hostel and teach. 

I am also pleased it is raining - because after the fear that Ryanair would cancel my flight came the fear that the bus company would cancel my bus as there are fires all over the north of Portugal.    Of course that is a much more serious issue for those tackling the fires and those trying to save their properties, but of course I do not want to be engulfed by danger, whilst trying to visit an old friend.

The joy of this trip is that I have a bit more time. For the last two years I have done lots of trips, which has been fantastic, but they have also been very short trips. This time around,  forgetting as stated above that I needed an income,  I booked to go away for two weeks.  So I am currently in Lisbon and then heading north to Figuiro Dos Vinhos and then to the south to Monte Sahaj and my son, before a quick trip to the Algarve and then back up to Lisbon to fly out.  If I had been more oganised I would have flown out via Faro, but at the time of booking - months before I realised that work seems to have disappeared or that my search to find a tenant would be fruitless - returning to Lisbon seemed the best option.

I am just pleased really to get a chance to come and be here and potter and enjoy.  Visiting a capital city is always a privilege, now on my third visit, I was vain enough last night to congratula


te myself on knowing my way round only to immediately get lost and find the only two people in Lisbon who did not know the directions or speak English.  However, I got back in time to avoid a torrential downpour and to gain two hours work. 

Today it is raining again but this morning it was lovely.  I finally got to the Fado musuem, which has left me knowing virtually no one than I knew when I entered, but having got to the doors twice, only to not have time to go in, I can at least say I have been in and now I know that it was probably not worth going.    I kept thinking I must have missed something and maybe I did, but as far as I can see it more or less said it is the music of the people and gave some examples of people who sing Fado, but nothing of their history.  The most interesting bit was the description of making the Portuguese guitar.

Outside though there was jolly atmosphere and a band, which I was itching to dance to, but everyone else was just taking pictures so I chickened out.  I saw a similar but different band yesterday and last time I was here and each time I can picture couples dancing and having fun, but at no time does it actually happen.  Lisboa promises much and is indeed a nice place to potter around in,but at times it does frustrate.  For example I went up to find the coach station today as it is in a part of Lisbon I do not know, only to find that I wondered in all directions from the train station, did not find a single sign post, yet when I eventually followed a coach and found the back entrance, discovered I had been 5 minutes from the place 40 minutes earlier but there were absolutely no indications as to where it was.  I can only say thank goodness I did not just go up there tomorrow carting a heavy bag around with me and getting more and more anxious.  Hopefully tomorrow all will go well. 

I have not taken many photos but there are some signs that the promised re-birth of Lisboa is happening.  A lot of shops and many restaurants still seem to be closed down, but there are also signs of building and rejuvenation too.

The trendy place to eat.  

If this is correct is a British University blocking useful research?

Even asking questions is now ‘transphobic’
janice turner

Wanting to know why more people are choosing to change gender is seen as an act of aggression by trans activists

A surgeon friend told James Caspian that in one year he’d performed two reverse gender reassignment operations on patients who’d swapped gender then changed their minds. “This is new,” he said. “Someone should research it.” Caspian, a psychotherapist at a private gender clinic, discovered no one ever had. So he enrolled on an MA course at Bath Spa University with the intention of writing his thesis on “detransition”.

No one could accuse Caspian, a slight, thoughtful gay man, of being hostile to trans people. He is a trustee of the Beaumont Society, a national transgender charity, and in 16 years as a counsellor had hundreds of patients who, after working through childhood and emotional problems, concluded that “changing their gender presentation makes them more free to be themselves”.

There was another reason Caspian wanted to research detransition. A few years ago his patient profile changed from mainly adult men to younger women, many with complex mental health problems including social anxiety, self-harm, depression and undiagnosed autism. Some had been sexually abused as children. Many were lesbians, often fearful of coming out. But they saw changing gender as a panacea.

He’d read accounts by US women who, after having mastectomies and taking testosterone, had reverted to living as female. He feared that as the number of women patients increased so would regrets. “But I want to stress I didn’t know the answer: I just wanted to find out.”

He outlined his detransition thesis but was told by Bath Spa it must go before the ethics committee, which last November issued an extraordinary judgment. “Engaging in a potentially ‘politically incorrect’ piece of research carries a risk to the university,” it said. “Attacks on social media may not be confined to the researcher but may involve the university.” The report expressed concern that Caspian would suffer psychological damage. “It’s ridiculous,” he said. “I’m in my late fifties, I’m an expert in my field and I’m not even on social media. I’m not frightened at all.” Nonetheless his thesis was rejected.

So why is detransition a “politically incorrect” subject, likely to attract online attacks? Because, says Caspian, it concerns the issue of “gatekeeping” by medical professionals. In previous eras, trans people endured cruel, undignified battles before doctors permitted them treatment. Campaigners have succeeded in making this process simpler and more humane. But lately trans activists have argued that any requirement for psychological counselling is insulting. The mere fact they “self-identify” as the opposite gender is proof enough.

Detransition therefore is heresy. It suggests some “gatekeeping” is required: that it is misguided to allow ever younger people to take sterility-inducing hormones and have life-altering surgery without professional constraints. Detransition undermines the whole push towards instant, early diagnosis demanded by groups such as Mermaids and administered by Helen Webberley, the Welsh GP interviewed this week in The Times, who is under investigation for giving cross-sex hormones to 12-year-olds.

“We have to ask questions,” says Caspian. But trans activists label all academic inquiry as transphobic. An event organised by the London think tank Opus entitled “Attacks on Thinking in the Age of LGBTQWIIAP+” was, ironically, cancelled this week after an online petition and threats of disruption. Since I’ve been writing about this subject, I’ve been contacted by doctors, psychotherapists and concerned transgender people themselves, desperate to speak out on the trans phenomenon but terrified to do so for fear of abuse or even losing their jobs.

Caspian, who has left the field of gender counselling, is prepared to be the whistleblower. “We are seeing,” he says, “what Jung called a ‘collective complex’.” He compares this mass hysteria about being trapped in the wrong body to the “glass delusion”, an odd medieval phenomenon where people believed they were made of glass and might shatter. Other clinicians mention the 1990s faux scandals of satanic ritual abuse and false memory syndrome. But unlike them, gender anxiety is supercharged by the internet.

That is not to say any experts I’ve met dispute the existence of gender dysphoria or the need for better treatment and social tolerance of trans people. But they feel what they call the “trans trend” needs analysing as a cultural phenomenon as much as a medical one. “St Paul’s School suddenly has a lot of non-binary girls,” said one child gender expert, “but when I was growing up, that’s where all the anorexics went.”

There is no blood test or pathogen to diagnose you as trans; it is solely a matter of interpreting human experience. With children, the dominant interpretation that is currently shouting down all others is that, say, a boy who enjoys “female” toys or clothes must really be a girl.

And now trans activists are pushing for the American treatment strategy called “affirmation”, where doctors cannot challenge a patient who declares they are trans. Trans activists are lobbying hard to change an NHS policy document called the “memorandum of understanding”: they want to extend a ban on gay “conversion therapy” to include gender identity. In other words, a counsellor could no longer suggest that a patient’s belief they are in the “wrong body” is, for example, anxiety about being a lesbian or a reaction to sexual abuse. They would be silenced or risk malpractice suits.

James Caspian expects to receive abuse and threats. But he’s had enough of ignoring a phenomenon that is growing exponentially, may damage many lives, yet is barred from public debate and academic inquiry. “Asking questions,” he says, “is not a hate crime".

I hope to try and get in touch with Bath Spa university to see if they have really blocked this resear
ch.

Good and bad news - re company.

The good news is that in principle my accounts as above have been accepted by Companies House which is good as if they are not in by the end of the month, I will be fined.  The bad news is that whilst they have been approved by one member of staff at Companies House, another has rejected them!

The good news is that it has finally been agreed that the company can close.  The bad news is that the date of closure is not until after the accounts are due in, so I can still be fined up to £100 a day for failing to get my accounts in properly!.

The good news is that having spoken to a friend who has some knowledge of accounting procedures, they have agreed notes can be a vital part of accounting.  In addition as a public document the information will be available to anyone checking up about the company, its directors and signficant people (MrB) which is why the notes are especially relevant.  I am hoping that there will only be good news and no more bad news.