The Power of Trusting the FLOW and Wearing Big Brave Pants

Nobody warned us it would be so stressful to follow our dream.  Turns out it takes balls.  And now that  My Gorgeous Man’s gall bladder has been unceremoniously relieved of its duties… it’s time to for us to pull up our big brave pants and… Just Do It.  Nike would be proud of us.

I’ve been asked a few times how we ended up picking the Orgiva area?

Well… the answer is… we followed the… F L O O O W.

Relaxing into the relief of rural France after the corporate madness of Hong Kong.

When we were Universally kicked out of Hong Kong, we spent about 6 weeks down in the French Mid-Pyrenees and then the Cote d’Azur with a view to finding our new home and life. We’d had French barn renovations (MGM’s thing) and snow capped mountains (my thing) on our Honkers vision board.  Blessed to stay with friends from my ‘Hot Hostie’ flying days who were now living in France,  we all drank far too much wine and had way too much fun.

But I just hadn’t felt a connection with the land.
For me, that’s the deal breaker.  And that’s why, two years ago we ended up back in our home town of Edinburgh.  It seemed the logical thing to do.  Go home until we find our new home.

Looking back, it was over 4 years ago that I was first introduced to Orgiva.  My co-creatress and wonderfully spooky soul sister and I had been looking for a European venue to host our Illumination Retreat for Women.  And a friend of a friend put me in touch with another friend who had done just that, in Orgiva. 

OMG, when I saw the pictures, my heart soared and melted all at once.  It was absolutely stunning.  I didn’t realise it then, but I’d fallen in love with the land.

But life went on… the retreat didn’t happen and The Spanish Alpujarra faded into the back of my mind.

Fast forward to 3 years ago and my wonderfully spooky friend came out with a blinder. 

“I don’t know why I’m telling you this… but you need to look at Orgiva.”

But we were still in Honkers and I still didn’t pay Orgiva much attention.

It was only this year, when MGM and I were so fed up with life in Scotland, that I actually ‘heard’ her.  She had been persistently patient.

Now, when you’re ready to hear, you hear.  And that’s when the magic of the flow picks up pace.

So there we were, earlier on this year, so frikking miserable that we were seriously on the verge of packing up, buying a camper van, fecking off and figuring it out along the way.  As you remember, this didn’t go down too well with our nearest and dearest and we temporarily got back in our box.  Until June.  When we did the sensible thing and flew down there for a week to check this place called Orgiva out.

The Universal flow even gifted us a rare run of TV programmes on Andaulica and Granada.  And, boy did it looked stunning!

MGM followed the Google flow and had found us a gorgeous Eco Airbnb on the outskirts of Lanjaron (5 miles from Orgiva) that suited us perfectly for our week of Alpujarra explorations.  It was run by an English woman who was a holistic therapist… with space to hold retreats and workshops.  We booked in and the flow REALLY began to flow.

In my heart, I was already running retreats there.

The Orgiva Mountains

Nothing could prepare us for actually being there… or for the feel of the land… and those stunning mountain views.  OMG. I was in heaven.  I was sold.  My dream of snow capped mountains might not have to stay a dream after all.  The scenery was dramatic, but gentle.  It felt like the land was welcoming me and holding me… there was an underlying strong, high vibration that was powerful and deeply healing… transformational, yet soft… soporific but reviving.  And I literally felt myself relax and come alive all at once.

If you’ve read my previous blogs, you’ll know that we started looking at properties.  We had some absolute nightmares and absolute delights… and it became obvious that looking for a new home while living in a different country really wasn’t going to work. 

We needed a starting point… ASAP. 

The iced latte to end all iced lattes.

It was while we were having an ‘overloaded sugar boosted, ice-cream latte to die for’  in Orgiva town centre that we spied an agents with some interesting properties that were in our price range.  And they did rentals. 

The agent, didn’t speak a word of English.  And neither of us spoke Spanish. I’m still pretty fluent in Brazilian Portuguese from my married years in Rio de Janeiro so there was enough of a tiny slither of common ground to cover the basics. With a lot of made up words, intuitive guessing and blank looks along the way.

We had an interesting afternoon with him. He happily took us totally off road and directed us up a dried out river bed to get to a property, couldn’t unlock the massive heavy duty padlock…couldn’t get a phone signal to get hold of the owner… and we eventually ended up back in his office, scrolling through rentals. 

Idyllic, private, secluded with the energy that says home.
The home that spoke home to us.

I have absolutely no idea how it happened, but we saw the place that we’re soon going to be calling home and just knew it was for us.  He took us to see it there and then. The owner was an animated and eccentric woman but she had such an open heart… and she had 2 equally crazy, high energy terrier type dogs that adoringly followed her around nipping at each other… and her ankles.  Through all her gesticulations, she agreed that we could move in for the winter… along with our anti social, ‘size of a mini pony,’ rescue greyhound. 

MGM and I couldn’t believe our luck.  It had a pool.  A secure garden.  A BBQ.  A view.  Was within walking distance of the town. 

And it was ours… if we paid up now.

Now there’s nothing like being asked for cash up front to give you a reality check.  Both of us swallowed hard.  And we said we’d come back the next afternoon with the deposit.  That gave us over night to think about what we were doing.   To worry about what we were doing.  To question what we were doing.  And to basically not sleep at all.

Were we mad?!  Handing cash over to an agent  who I certainly didn’t fully understand… but he didn’t seem to care two hoots that we didn’t yet have Spanish paperwork… or Spanish bank account… or the essential NIE for all life to function in Spain.  Perhaps I hadn’t understood anything of anything!  Perhaps he was having a laugh and rubbing his hands together with glee. 

Or perhaps he was the Universe’s answer to all our newbie, naive expat needs!

My Gorgeous Man and I agonised over the ‘should we or shouldn’t we’… and all the ‘what ifs’ that could possibly be ‘what iffed.’ 

At 3am… EVERYTHING  is MAGNIFIED in the worst possible way.  Loaded with the worst possible outcomes the air was heavy with fear.  But what I wasn’t willing to ignore, was the fact that my heart and my gut still said…

“For Fecks Sake Just Do It!!”

We are slave to our fears if we allow it to be so. Be brave and allow the Universal flow of life to guide you towards what's perfect for you.
Follow the flow not the fear…

The thing was… if we didn’t pull up our big, brave pants… then we would head back to Scotland and nothing would have changed.  No home and no starting point in Spain.  And that felt a whole lot worse than taking a risk. 

“It’s only money!” we said.  Cue the nervous laughter.

But isn’t it crazy how we can talk ourselves out of something that’s actually great for us… because we’re conditioned to expect the worst… and be terrified of making that ‘wrong choice?’

So first thing that morning, blurry from lack of sleep, we rocked up at the agents and said YES!  A great big grin spread across his face… and he asked for the cash deposit.  MGM went across the road to the cashpoint and sucked our account dry.  We handed our stash over and he handed us back a hand written receipt on yellow paper.   And all was finished off with great big firm handshakes and wide smiles saying “Muy bien!”

Job Done. 

That was it.

And then our minds caught up… and we realised what we’d done.  Handed over cash with no contract or any of the ‘normal’ rental reassurances. 


But…. WOW…

It actually felt GREAT!

It had all just ‘happened’… the flow had taken over and we’d gone with it.

So we went for another sugar boosted caffeine infused glass of badness to celebrate.  It was too early for cerveza.

It wasn’t long after that, that we found out through the local network that our smiling agent had a reputation as a bit of a shark.

Oops.  Oh well.  Not much we can do about it now!  No point in worrying!  Definitely cerveza time. 

And so we flew back to Scotland, with what we hoped was a new home under our belt.  Our life was about to change big time. 

And on a surge of inspiration I set dates for my Spanish Channelling Love Retreats at the Eco-Finca we’d stayed at.  And they sold out so quickly that I set up an extra weekend… and that sold out too.

So as you read this, I am now in Orgiva… MGM is still in Scotland fully recovering from his surgery and closing up our home there… and I will be welcoming my first retreat guests on Friday 3rd November 2017.  And while my guests will be enjoying the Eco Finca,  I’ll be setting down roots in that gorgeous little house that we’d bravely put the inspired deposit down on back in June.

Because yes… the ‘shark’ of an agent came through for us.
He is now officially an Angel Agent.

Sometimes things just aren’t too good to be true… they’re the gems that the Universe brings you when you’re brave enough to follow your heart.

Next time… I’ll be sharing my arrival back into Spain accompanied by my legally, super drugged up, sedated friend… and what actually happens when you make those life changing shifts and land on the land.





PS.  Non fluffy TOP TIPS for following your heart…

  • Don’t believe everything you’re told…
  • Don’t do everything you’re told…
  • Don’t believe everything you read…
  • Don’t take everyone else’s experience as gospel… everyone loves a bit of exaggerated drama and a story tell.
  • There’s always going to be 3 sides to a negative experience and you’ll never know the truth.
  • The internet is generally full of negative experiences and fear based stories!
  • Listen to your gut reactions.
  • Stand your ground and do what feels peaceful, easy, flowing and right for YOU.
  • BE BRAVE!  And buy big pants.

Coming soon to Namaste This!
My new step by step video leading you through a simple process to help you hear your heart.  Watch this space 🙂

Bye Bye Gallbladder and Hello Spain

The reality of the operating theatre

It’s almost 2 weeks since My Gorgeous Man had his little fecker of a gallbladder removed and you could say we’re getting back into the swing of normal life.  Except it’s anything but normal.  MGM is getting stronger but is still fragile… we’ve just received 3 requests for sales viewings of The Flat… and I’m now getting ready to head off to Spain to host my first two Channelling Love retreats.

But, let’s bring MGM’s surgical escapades to a close first.  Because while he was still laid out on the ward, I had the weirdest of 36-ish hours.  Looking back on it, I’m able to shake my head and laugh but I honestly couldn’t have made it up.

A good few hours after leaving MGM being prepped for surgery, I phoned the hospital to find out if he was back on the ward.  It was only meant to be a routine surgery for them, maybe lasting 90 minutes.  But my stomach hit the floor when they said he was still in recovery.  Due back… but still in recovery.  The nurse was cagey and I felt she was saying a whole lot more through her silence. 

We later found out that it was one of the most difficult keyhole removals they’d ever done because his gallbladder was so inflamed and basically f*cked.  Amazingly, the surgeons had managed not to fully open him up… but his recovery would be as if they had.

I ran Sir Maxelot round the block on his teatime walk, gave him some extra goodies, told him that I would be back and everything was going to be ok and headed straight back up to the hospital.  And I sat in MGM’s empty cubicle waiting for him to reappear.  It was horrible.  And when he was wheeled back in on his bed, that was horrible in a whole new way too.  All my empathic alarm bells went ballistic at once and I had to fight back the waves of trauma and nausea… and will my tears not to fall.  Deep breaths, Sally, deep breaths.  MGM really wasn’t there at all… so all I could do was hold his hand, and breathe.  And try not to see his surgical drain, and bag of bloody fluid that was now right next to me. 

The reality of what it's like to be in a hospital bed.
My Gorgeous Man – shared with his full permission.

He was in and out of consciousness and awareness, and after a couple of hours… he came round enough to say “Why don’t you just go home?  You hate hospitals… and I’m not up to much here.’  My hunky, handsome hero… always thinking me.  And in all honesty, I was relieved.  He was in good hands.  Plus, there was an upset furry baby at home and a good chance of some more ripped up duvet awaiting me.

So home I went. 
There was no ripped duvet, and Sir Maxelot even came and sat with me on the sofa.  Sitting next to you, without actually touching you, is his way of giving you a great big bear hug.  More about Sir Maxelot another day… but I was so over tired, wrung out and strung out, that I can’t even remember much about what was left of that evening.

What I do remember was not being able to properly sleep… and having the weirdest most uncomfortable,  ‘this is real’ dreams.   You know the ones, where you have a full on deep dream  and think you’ve been out for the count for 10 hours, but it’s only been 10 minutes.  It was about 3am, when the hackles on my neck went up and a slow prickling terror seeped through into my body and my now fully conscious senses, and I was frozen with fear.

I knew exactly what was happening and I knew exactly what I had to do. 

If you aren’t wuwu, psychic or believe in spirit… then you’ll find what happened next, a bit weird or unbelievable. But when I started this blog, I made a commitment to you, to tell it all, exactly as it is…. and I’m sticking to that.  As a channel, what happened is part of my ‘normal’… but it may well be a world away from your normal, and that is perfectly OK.

That night, I had a rare psychic attack. 

There was a dark presence… and it was in the hall looking right at me through the bedroom door.  I don’t see spirit, but I have full on accuracy for sensing and knowing.  My home is sacred space and normally, it is an energetically clear, super duper strong and high vibrational space.  It’s many years since I’d experienced a lower vibration coming in and it just highlighted how out of sorts I was.  I pulled every ounce of energy, light, strength, will power and Divine light into my body, put a 999 call out to my invisible team and the biggest, toughest, brightest security guards with feathered wings and took myself through my own process to clear my body and space. 

It is horrible when this happens, but you have to step out of your FEAR and take CONTROL.  Fear is actually your biggest challenge.  It may shake you to the core, but it also shows you how powerful you are energetically, emotionally and spiritually. 

These experiences generally come when you are opening up psychically… none of us like them, but it’s all part and parcel of deepening and strengthening our gifts and awareness.  It’s an aspect of spiritual awakening that a lot of people (and teachers) don’t like to publicly talk about.  Being psychic and empathic is not all about crystal balls, fluffy pink unicorns, air kissing and hippydippy love.
It’s real deal life as an awakened soul upon earth.

But just as I was slipping back into a semi-sleep, I was sure I heard a yelp.  

Meet Sir Maxelot, he's a 9 year old ex-racing greyhound that we rescued... and his beautiful soul rescued us right back. He likes his space but he has a gentle heart of gold. From such tough beginnings, he now resides in luxury and has his own sofa. He's our boy.
Sir Maxelot, our beloved rescue greyhound


I leapt out of bed and as soon as I opened the living room door he shot out of there like a bullet and ran through to our bedroom and jumped up onto the bed.  We needed each other and as a very sensitive dog, he had most probably felt what was going on.  He often comes to lie with me during my channelled healings as he loves soaking up the high vibes.  He curled up at the bottom of the bed and we relaxed into each other’s security.  Miraculously, his patched up and re-stuffed duvet was still in tact.

Fast forward 24 hours.

I believe in saying it as it is and not hiding behind the 'perfect facade'. I often turn to the Illumination Oracle cards for support and insight, and this card was a strong reassurance that despite everything feeling as if it was going wrong... there is a higher order we are unaware of.
Looking Rough, but Raw and Real on Facebook

MGM had been moved onto a different ward… I still hadn’t slept properly.  It had now been 4 nights in a row of practically no sleep and I was totally zombified, functioning on adrenaline and auto-pilot.  Bizarrely, I had found myself posting a ‘raw & real’ inspirational post on Facebook… pulling the Divine Signs oracle card for myself (which means everything is fandabbydoo and Divinely guided) and sharing the message with the online world.

I was so out of it that morning, that I even answered my phone to a number that I didn’t recognise…
“Hello!  I bet you didn’t expect to get this call?!”
You’re right, I didn’t.  Who are you?
“It’s ******… remember me?”
Holy Feck, it was a guy who I had had my first couple of dates with back in my mid-teens.
“I found you on FB and saw that you’re moving to Spain… and…. and… and…“

I was confused.

This was just beyond surreal.  He was happily chatting away and I was wracking my brains trying to figure out how he had found my number.  The old me, would have politely chatted back, not wanting to appear rude.  But, I just couldn’t get my head round this and I didn’t want to play.  In the end I had to interrupt and say,
“Sorry, but My Gorgeous Man – you know.. the love of my life, my partner, my all (and I’m not quite sure why are you phoning me?) has just had emergency surgery and I’m not up for chitchats.”

Just what was the Universe up to?  Was I missing something?  But I was just too tired and beyond trying to figure stuff out.

So, onwards and upwards… another trip round the block for Sir Maxelot… more gravy bone bribes as I headed out the door and back to MGM on his new ward.  The day before, I’d stood helplessly in the massive entrance and reception area of the hospital on the end of the ‘help phone’  trying to understand the directions I was being given on how to find my love through the maze of corridors. 

Right now, it felt like MGM was on the other side of the world.

Healing is your journey of self discovery. When we start to see our bodies as a reflection of our spiritual and emotional well being, then we take one step closer to knowing ourselves as a being of energy, light and love.
Healing is your journey of self discovery.

I was exhausted.   And when I got to MGM, I could see he was exhausted too.  The ward was busy.  The nurses were busy.  I moved the chair round to sit by his side and got ready to just read my book as he dozed.  They’d removed the drain from his side earlier and it hadn’t been pleasant… and I felt the familiar sickening energy waves from the trauma, hit my solar plexus.  Waves of awfulness kept coming but I breathed through it… after all, he was the one that had gone through it, not me. 

MGM, was not in a good place and I knew something was up.  It didn’t take him long to tell me that it would be better if I just went home.  There’d been gossip, difficulties and politics in me coming to sit with him.  Turns out that visitors weren’t really allowed on the Day Surgery ward, unlike the ward he’d been on before.  Of course the other patients didn’t know that he was ‘resident’ and had been moved there to free up his bed. I wish someone had just told me.

I was mortified. 
Deeply upset that I’d upset the staff that I’d been so grateful for.  I fought back my over-tired tears.  MGM was struggling, I was struggling.  No need to make it all harder.  So I closed my book, put the chair back on the other side of his bed, gave him a kiss and left.  Tears were welling up and I was fighting them back.  I went to the ward desk and said I was so sorry… I hadn’t known visitors weren’t allowed on this ward… and that I hadn’t meant to get in the way.  I could hardly get the words out for fighting back the tears and the nurse just smiled kindly back at me, over the top of her glasses. 

I made it out of the ward before the damn broke and crying won. 

Truth is, I cried down the stairs, along the corridor, out the entrance, in through the other entrance, down the massive central halls, milling with people, nurses, doctors, patients heading out for a fags, porters, visitors and just way to many people.  And I just couldn’t stem the flow.  Nobody batted an eyelid and I was past caring anyway.  It had just all been too much and I was finally letting go of everything.  I cried my way round the strategically placed M&S food shop, chucking everything that I thought I wanted into the basket.  Cried at the till.  Cried as I paid.  And cried as she wished me a lovely afternoon.  I cried my way out of the building.  Cried as I paid for the car park.  Cried as I walked back to the car. 

And when I finally got back into the car and clunked the door shut, I sobbed.  And couldn’t stop sobbing.  I mean, I really sobbed.  Sobbed for everything and everyone.  I felt so incredibly alone.  I just wanted someone to hug me. 

My ‘oh poor me’ self pity and inner victim were going into hyper-overdrive. 

With every tear that's shed, so you create space for JOY.
Tears create space for JOY.

I found myself phoning a dear friend, even though I knew she was in the depths of work and probably wouldn’t even be near her phone… but miraculously she picked up straight away… and so I sobbed down the phone to her too.  Literally unable to talk.  These are true friends. She must have thought MGM had pegged it.  She picked me up, brushed me down, distantly hugged me and sent me back out into the world.  My eyes were swollen, my nose was running and I had no idea how much time had passed. 

I glanced over my shoulder to see a queue of cars at the barriers and I knew it was time to leave.  One more sniff… into reverse and round the one way system I went.  When I got to the barrier I stuck my ticket into the machine and the red light started flashing.  I couldn’t frikking believe it.  And I started crying again.  My ticket and payment had timed out. 

By now there are other cars behind me waiting to be released.  I pressed the intercom and heard my own pathetic crying voice say…

“Waaaah… my ticket’s timed out…  I didn’t realise so much time had passed.”  Sniff, Sniff, cough splutter.
Mortified that I might also be on camera, my vanity kicked in and I rubbed my wet cheeks dry and made a pathetic attempt at a hair flick.
“On you go love,” and the barrier opened.
I cried again… a voice with a heart. 

Or a hospital parking attendant who couldn’t be arsed to collect another couple of pounds.

And so I started the drive home, with swollen eyes, a blotchy face, dishevelled hair and a body that just needed to sleep the sleep of Repunzle.

Then turning up the road just past Holyrood Palace, I couldn’t believe my eyes.  There was the one person I hadn’t wanted to see since moving back to Edinburgh… walking up the pavement in front of me, going in my direction and on my side of the road.  And as the traffic was going so slowly, he ended up literally walking right beside me.

Of all the days.
I mean… c’mon Universe!
Give me a break… puleeeez! 

Well, somebody upstairs did hear me, because amazingly, I wasn’t spotted.  Thank you, thank you, thank you.

I made it home and collapsed onto the sofa.   About an hour later, MGM phoned and said he was being discharged and could I please come and pick him up.


But oh sh*t… the flat’s a mess!
Oh Sh*t… MGM really didn’t look well enough to be sent home.
Oh double SH*T… how am I going to look after him? 

I did a mega quick deep clean to make his home coming as nice as possible and then crawled back into the car.  By the time he was legally discharged, it was early evening and dark… and I had driven down several wrong roads with a multitude of confusing roadworks and parking cones until I found the pick up point.  The automatic doors opened and I saw this hunched over figure, gingerly shuffling through them.

My Gorgeous Man.  He was free and he was upright.  Damn I love that man!

The journey home was painful.  Very painful.  In every sense of painful. Every bump, every movement, just everything hurt him… and I cursed Edinburgh council’s obsession for digging up its roads.  I was worried that MGM’s release and my ability to innately find every bump and hole in the road was going to become his downfall.  But we made it, and after a heartfelt reunion with Max, who homed straight in to sniff his abdomen, MGM went straight to bed. 

And Max joined him. 

Our beloved greyhound Sir Maxelot, takes up his place as guardian and healer to his charge. Not a dog to show much emotion, this picture says more than words can convey. Love.
Sir Maxelot… healer and guardian of his charge.

The drama was over… and it was now time to heal.  And that night, I finally slept.  In the spare room.  My unconscious habit of impersonating a nocturnal starfish, wasn’t going to be helpful towards MGM’s healing.

So there you have it. 

And amazingly, MGM’s recovery is going to be far enough along for me to head to Spain to run the two November Channelling Love Retreats that I’d launched and sold out back in June.  Because we’d thought we’d be living there by then!

This is the stunning view from the retreat venue just outside Lanjaron in the Spanish Alpujarra. Peaceful, beautiful and inspirational!
The stunning view from the retreat venue’s terrace!

I have to admit that I’m very, very excited about these retreats… small exclusive groups (at grounded, real deal prices) coming to the Alpujarra to relax into the healing vibes of my channelling and be soothed, revived and inspired by stunning mountain views, organic food and the space to just be.   

These retreats will be at the heart of our new Spanish life. 

I love, love, love holding space and running retreats! 
Check them out here… and if you want to make sure you don’t miss out on the upcoming dates early in 2018… then CLICK HERE!

So, come back next week to find out how everything is unfolding.  I’ve still to tell you all about the synchronicity that guided us to the Alpujarra in the first place… and I promise there won’t be a gallbladder in sight 🙂 


Top Tip for energetically cleansing your home:

White sage is the sacred plant traditionally used by the Native American Indians for energetic space clearing, ceremonies, protection and blessings.  You can easily buy it online and in holistic shops.  It comes as a bundle, and you just light it up so that it smoulders.  Take it round each room and fan the smoke (traditionally with an eagle’s feather) into corners, around windows & doors and into all the nooks and crannies of your home.  In your mind, hold the intent that the smoke is cleansing away any old & heavy energy,  negative emotional and energetic residue and heavier vibrations. 

And remember to waft the smoke around you too, to clear your yourself and your aura.

Make this a regular practice and you’ll soon notice the difference in how much lighter your home feels!

Smudging with white sage will help clear the energy of a room from any heavier emotional and energetic residue and help you keep a positive, vibrant and peaceful feeling in your home, workspace and personal being.
The ancient tradition of smudging with white sage.

This is what Happens when the Universe Knows Best

Ambulance on the go.

This past week has been a full on reality check, wake up call, terrifying, enlightening and humbling experience.  The Universe threw the planning rule book out of the window and took the decisions we were trying to make, right out of our hands.

In short… the Universe ramped it up and saved us from ourselves.

Picture of our quaint rental home ... white washed and shaded by mature trees on the outskirts of Orgiva.
Our Spanish rental that awaits!

This was the week that we were supposed to be arriving in the Spanish Alpujarra, and moving into our new rental home on the outskirts of Orgiva.  That was what we had planned, organised and paid deposits for.  Except here we are, still in Edinburgh, getting our heads round the fact that our flat hadn’t sold and our plan appeared to be in tatters.

With no enquiries, no visits and no ‘nothing’, My Gorgeous Man and I were finally letting go of our insistence to sell The Flat and had begun investigating various options of short and long term letting.  That of course, meant we were also letting go of being able to buy a home in Spain.  And that hurt.

It’s not easy to let go of the dream you’ve set in concrete… and as the greatest, strategic planner in the world, MGM was having an internal struggle with this plan, not panning out. 

But what happened next, paled those stresses into insignificance and shed some light on the Universe’s way of working things out for us.

This week we’ve been reminded of our mortality.  We’ve been shown that anything can change at any given moment… and that a healthy life should not be taken for granted… and life should be lived to the full.

On Sunday 1st October at about 1.30am, My Gorgeous Man woke me up.  I wasn’t best pleased as I’d chugged back a considerable amount of wine during Strictly Come Dancing that evening, and I was already in full hangover mode… and in all honesty, still a bit pished. 

But he was in agony with abdominal pain.  And it was familiar abdominal pain. The gallstones were on the move again.  And it was getting worse.  Not being a man to complain, he paced the room and debated about calling an ambulance… he couldn’t catch his breath through the pain…we opened windows… tried different positions leaning against furniture… more pacing… but the pain became worse and worse and worse.  And I got more frightened.  Sir Maxelot (our beloved greyhound) also became increasingly anxious at the unusual night time activity and his Dad’s weird behaviour.  But the pain became so intense that 999 was eventually dialled.  It took longer than we hoped for the ambulance to arrive… and we strangely noticed how loud and creaky all the flooring was.  Every single step throughout our home, elicited a creak.  How had we not noticed that before? 

It was a tired, lone paramedic that arrived. 

I’m embarrassed to say that I can’t remember her name… but she was calm, down to earth and in our eyes… an angel.  She wired MGM up, stuck sticky round stickers on him, took stats, machines beeped, papers printed out, lungs checked, temperature taken and yup… without a doubt, he needed morphine. The scale of 1-10 had now reached an 8/ 9.

But she’d forgotten her key card which was essential to gain access to the precious, locked up morphine.  She said she was definitely going to get in trouble… but more than that, I could see that she felt terrible that she was unable to help MGM.  I really felt for her.   

So she called for another ambulance.  Except, being a Saturday night all sorts of drunken hell was breaking out on the streets of Edinburgh and there was no availability.  While it was reassuring to have her with us, it was also extremely distressing to be so helpless while MGM was struggling with the pain.  Pacing, pacing, pacing… leaning… groaning… getting greyer and greyer… colder and clammier. 

We waited over 90 minutes… and it felt like 90 years. 
Turned out MGM’s morphine bearing ambulance had been diverted to a cardiac arrest… so our paramedic angel upgraded her request to the highest priority so no more ambulances would be diverted away.  She was adamant.  At one point, she almost drove us there herself but it was that awkward 50/50 call of the length of drive versus the ambulance arriving.

Finally we saw the blue lights and we made our way down in the lift to the awaiting carriage.  It was being driven by a 12 year old who looked as if he hadn’t slept for 10 of his 12 years.  His name was Steve and through his exhaustion, he handed over the vial of morphine to our paramedic and reassuringly said “You’ll be alright now mate” and patted MGM on the shoulder.  MGM was oblivious.  Violently shaking with cold and shock in the back of the ambulance he lay on the stretcher and gently started to drift away as the morphine began to seep through his veins.  Relief at last.

We were off… and while we were en-route our paramedic revealed her naughty streak.  Turns out that young Steve has a ‘thing’ about people knocking on the dividing glass while he’s driving.  It freaks him out.  So both of us were resisting doing exactly that while trying not to giggle at the thought of doing it.  Sleep deprivation does weird things to you.  I remember it all too well from my days flying the long haul skies during the nights we felt would never, ever end.

As we approached the hospital I started to build myself up and take long deep breaths for courageous calm.  As an empath, hospitals are not my favourite place.  I feel way too much and if I don’t keep on top of it, I get nauseous, fuzzy and dizzy from the emotional and energetic trauma and pain around me. 

I began filling myself up with…

Visualising the power of white light.


to strengthen my aura and blast it out into our surroundings to dissipate the energetic and emotional Yuk.  I was not going to succumb to the Yuk. No Siree, I was going to hold empowered space… not be overwhelmed.  Luckily MGM was tripping out on the morphine and totally unaware of my own little challenge. 

Our paramedic angels left us in the care of the A&E staff, sighing sighs of relief at not having had to face the ‘scary handover nurse.’  They were nearing the end of their shift so they deserved this little respite.

It was a couple of hours after admission, having been parked in the corridor and then upgraded to a cubicle… several rounds of blood pressure cuffs, blood tests, abdominal poking and prodding done… that I started to take an interest in people watching.  I couldn’t help but be transfixed by the young girl opposite, looking very much worse for wear but who was taking ‘funny face’ selfies of herself and her boyfriend who was puking his guts up into a hospital cardboard pot.   Most cubicles had their curtains open and they were filled with a mix of old souls suffering… and incoherent drunks.  I shined my light as bright as I could so I didn’t have to feel any of it.  Best not to look too much, after all.

Finally, a doctor confirmed that it was gallstones. 

And then the on call surgical doctor appeared.
He swished back the curtain and stood in front of us like a God.  Young, tall, fit, good looking and blonde… with confidence and charisma oozing out of him.  He knew his stuff alright and his manner made us feel secure, seen and safe.  We both felt like naughty children in his presence.   I so wished I hadn’t just pulled on my mucky dog walking clothes and left last night’s mascara vaguely smudged around my eyes.  My eyes actually felt like piss holes in the snow and it was obvious I’d been on the lash.  All 3 glasses of Pinot Grigio.  It might as well have been 3 bottles by the way I was feeling.  My vanity took a big bashing in that moment.

“I’ll sort it all out for you”  the Hot Doc said.  His well educated voice boomed out, “You’ll get a scan at the emergency clinic today and an appointment with the consultant and you’ll probably be put on the list for surgery.  There’s about a 2-3 month waiting list.”

“Ok,” we meekly nodded, all swept up in his all-powerful Doctor presence.  “And seeing as your pain is easing, you can go home now if you wish, rather than wait in this environment till your appointment.”  He shook our hands and off he swept.

And off home we went too.  By taxi… with my illegal limits of el cheapo vino blanco still slopping its way through my system.  God I felt awful.   It was still pitch dark and we sat together in a silent ‘WTF just happened’ stupor in the back of the black cab with the heater on full blast.  It was frikking freezing.

Max... our much loved rescue greyhound who likes our bed much more than his own.
Sir Maxelot… much happier on our bed and at peace when we are both home.

It was about 5am when we opened our front door… only to find a distraught Sir Maxelot had torn his duvet bed to shreds.  That’s his thing when he’s upset.  I tidied it up and brought him into the bedroom with us for some much needed shuteye.  I eventually got a smidgen of sleep before his morning pee-stop was due.  God, I really wanted a door opening out onto a garden.  Not 2 lots of security doors and a lift down 4 floors and a walk to the nearest patch of grass. 

Green grass, blue pool and lovely mature trees surrounding our private garden bliss.
The gorgeous garden and pool that awaits us in Spain!

Spain… oh, Spain where are you?!  Our awaiting rental has a garden…. and a pool… and lots of trees for Sir Maxelot to investigate.

The rest of Sunday was a bit of a sleep deprived and hungover blur.  I had to go and  check out our Airbnb guests and clean the flat (this is the flat that’s not selling)… and remain there for the open sales viewing in the afternoon… which nobody turned up to.  Sigh.

MGM had got the call and gone to his scan (which showed a giant 8mm stone) and came back saying they’d offered him surgery there and then.  It was all a bit of a shock and his sleep deprived mind couldn’t think straight.  He had been set on doing another couple of gall bladder flushes that naturally help release gallstones, and despite what had just happened, it could be months before another episode.  So, as he hadn’t gleefully jumped onto the operating table right then, the consultant gave him a phone number in case of further emergency.   And that was that.

Or so we thought.  The excruciating pain came back with a vengeance.  God dammit… in the middle of night again.  With less than two hours sleep under my belt… and none for MGM because he’d been trying to ignore the rumblings of pain,  we were on the phone to NHS 24.  Too embarrassed to call an ambulance… we found ourselves caught up in NHS 24 protocols, prompts and procedures… so it was all the same questions, trying to get us to either say we didn’t need an ambulance or yes, we did because we weren’t breathing or were mid heart attack or stroke.  I get it though… I really do. 

In the end, we were given an emergency appointment with an out of hours GP at 1.30am… back at the hospital we’d spent the previous night in.  Again gallstones was confirmed, but, “surgery is preferable between flare ups.”  He kindly jabbed some pain relief into MGM’s shoulder and ass… but it didn’t even touch the pain.  The decision was made to admit MGM for surgical observation and he was unceremoniously wheel-chaired round to the ward wrapped up in blankets and looking like shit. 

The thing with gallstone pain is that it comes and goes.  Apparently it’s worse than childbirth… and when it eases, you forget how frikking horrendous it was.

That’s exactly what happened. And a couple of hours later, we went home.  AGAIN.

After a quick stint in bed, just long enough to see the dawn arrive… MGM is doubled over with the pain again.  It’s now off the richter scale and I’m seriously scared… and MGM is panicking.   The surgical emergency number only opened at 9am but we started ringing it non-stop anyway… just in case.  I have to leave My Gorgeous Man and take Sir Maxelot out for a pitstop, knowing he was about to be left alone again. There was no point in calling an ambulance because we figured it would be quicker to just drive up there.  So we called NHS 24 who took us round in more protocol circles and MGM lost it and shouted “Will someone just make a decision for me!” 

Because we hadn’t declared MGM as an emergency and it was now past 8am, we were told to phone our GP because we’re now ‘in hours’.  The GP phoned straight back, bypassed the bullshit and said “Just get your ass up to the hospital as quick as you can.” Well, she didn’t say actually say ass… but her urgency inferred it.

With all the runs to the hospital  having been in the night, it had given us a false sense of security about it not taking very long to get across the city.  But it was now rush hour on Monday morning.  With a 20mph speed limit that other drivers were suddenly religiously obeying.  Bumpy roads.  Road works. Buses.  Cars.  Buses. Pedestrians.  And every frikking moron you could possibly imagine getting in our way and slowing us down.

“We’ll be there soon,”  I kept saying,  “NO WE WON’T” was barked back at me.

“You’re ok,” I kept saying because I couldn’t think of anything else to say… “I’M NOT OK” was grimaced through gritted teeth back at me.

MGM was past it… and I withdrew further into ultra calm silence.  It was the best way for both of us to cope… and for me not to turn to road rage in order to get us to A&E quicker.

I wanted to speed into the A&E drop off area… screech to a halt… throw open doors and scream “SOMEBODY HELP US!!!”  But I didn’t.  Scottish A&E is about as far removed from the glamorous ER and Grey’s Anatomy as it could possibly be.  I just pulled up on the double yellows, said a silent F*ck it… and helped MGM into reception.  Papers were thrust into his hands and round the corner we went to the surgical observation ward.

When I returned from parking the car legally… I witnessed my hero of a warrior man become a whimpering animal through his pain.  Leaning on the bed… crouching… pacing… shaking…making the most heart wrenching keening sounds… and yet still holding his dignity and respect for the staff.  The staff were amazing… but they were avoiding pumping him with morphine until the surgical consult could see him.  I especially remember the male student nurse… he deserved the teacher’s gold star for sure.

There was nothing I could do.  No words.  Reassuring back rubs didn’t cut it.  So I just sat and held space.  And prayed.

Then wouldn’t you know it… the privacy curtain goes SWIIIIIIISSHHH…. and there stands the Hot Doc in full green surgical kit.  Arms crossed, one blonde eyebrow raised… and enjoying every metre of his moral high ground.

“Well… look what we have here!  I saw your name and had to come and see you!”

“You turned down the surgery didn’t you… regretting that now eh?!”  All said with a twinkling, dagger in his eye.  He was making his point… and enjoying it.  But through it all, we could tell he cared.  He was a gem and he loved his work.

He stayed for a while, chatting about the surgery, saying how MGM was not a typical gall bladder patient but that due to his good health and not being overweight, it should be a breeze for him.
“It never happens you know… getting offered surgery on the same day!” 

“If you were my father, I’d be telling you to have the surgery as soon as you can.”


I totally bypassed the whole surgery conversation.  FFS!  Hot Doc thought my heroic MGM was old enough to be his father!  Jeez!  That made me old enough to be his mother!  Holy Crap… that makes me a cougar for having gone all girly over him.  I just prayed that MGM hadn’t clocked ‘the father’ comment.  That would be just too cruel.

“I’ll sort all this out for you and the surgeon will be with you soon.”

Hot Doc left us, cheerfully saying over his shoulder “And I don’t want to see you back here again!”  SWIIIIIISSHHHHHIIIING the curtain closed, he disappeared off into the depths of his A&E realm.

MGM and I just looked at each other.  I didn’t want to verbalise what I’d heard.  I mean…  did Hot Doc really just say that?  Then through MGM’s semi-conscious haze he suddenly re-appeared and very clearly said, “Did that B*astard just say what I think he said??”

Oh dear.  He had clocked the father comment afterall.  The reality began to sink in.  Yes…we are in our 50’s… we are old enough to be his parents.

Even if we don’t feel our age, we must now look it. 

Fun image saying, You're not early as fat or bald as thought you'd be at this age.
A sense of humour is always essential!

The irony was not lost on us and the whole situation took on the scene of a darkly humorous play.  And so we laughed… shook our heads… and laughed some more.  I mean, what else can you do? At least it distracted MGM from the pain.

And at least I had normal clothes on and fresh mascara… so it really wasn’t the end of the world.  It honestly didn’t matter.  Much.

Picture of MGM's intravenous drip and beeping machine.
Beeping machines and intravenous drips… it’s a whole new world.

The next few hours became a bit of a blur. Intravenous morphine was finally administered and witnessed by 3 nurses.  One of them was a great big, bearded bloke with a sparkle in his eye that belied the authority he held over the others.  The morphine was injected slowly to monitor MGM’s reaction… and it was described as an ‘Irish dose’ by the surgeon who became our saviour.

MGM was pretty much unaware of what was happening after that.  He got transported up to the ward, put into the glamorous backless gown and had plastic bags put over his feet in order to get the surgical stockings on.  Damn they were a tight fit.  More bloods.  More cuffs.  More access points.  More whirring activity around us.  The anaesthetist came up for a chat.  She was charming and reassuring and… looked very young.  Yup, I was probably old enough to be her mother too.  But this was it.  MGM was being taken for emergency surgery.  That little f*cker was coming out.  They said it would be keyhole.  They said it was one of the most common surgeries they perform.  They said not to worry.  More on that next time.

And so the time had come for me to leave him.  Nothing more that I could do.  It absolutely broke my heart to leave him.  All sorts of ‘worst case’ scenarios raced through my mind.  Would I see him again?  What if the surgery went wrong… what if, what if, what if.  I really had to pull myself back from that edge and get a grip.  No good comes from that.  We didn’t say ‘goodbye’ we just focused on the fact that Sir Maxelot had been on his own for far too long already.  No doubt the alarm on his furry little watch would be going mental and his spindly ex-racer legs would be well and truly crossed by now.

I got home in a daze.  And it was no surprise to see Max’s duvet torn up again all over the living room floor.  That dog and MGM have a bond that transcends species.  So I set about making Max feel better, took him out for a quick walk… and finally collapsed on the sofa.

All I could think of was… “Thank God this didn’t happen in Spain.”

Thank you Universe, for delaying the sale of the flat and keeping us here.

You really do know best.


PS.  The next, much, much shorter, instalment will bring MGM’s gallbladder escapades to its conclusion… and see the start of my preparations to fly down to Spain to run my November retreats!

If you’ve read this far, then you deserve this meditation as a gift… it’s me taking you through a visualisation to feel the power of your own aura and white light.
It’s to help you feel awesomely fabulous!!

Click this link to immerse in a healing visualization and meditation that will empower your aura and strengthen your light!
Try it and see!

Spanish Property Hunting for Scottish Bravehearts

Remote Spanish Cortijo up in the Alpujarra mountains

First of all … nope… we haven’t sold THE flat.  It’s a subject that instantly raises blood pressure and puffs up the growing bags under our eyes.  But we are still breathing and surrendering to this unforeseen flow… and we ARE still going.  C’mon Universe!

It was back in June this year that we went on our first exploration into the Orgiva and Lanjaron area of the Alpujarras.  We landed in Malaga airport late at night.. .secured our dinky little hire car, which flummoxed me with its push button ignition and everything being back to front… did a U turn where we shouldn’t have… went round a couple of roundabouts a couple of times, christened Google maps as the “Beatch” and eventually found our overnight budget hotel, just a few minutes away. 

We awoke fairly refreshed and eager to get on the road.  It’s only a 90 minute drive from Malaga and the roads are blissfully smooth compared to Edinburgh.  We flew up the motorway (unwittingly gaining a speeding ticket that landed in our post box a month later) but… wow…. the scenery was just stunning.  I got goosebumps.

But, here’s something I have never publicly shared before…

Despite my generally wuwu, calm demeanour, I am not your ideal passenger.  My Gorgeous Man being the traditional gent that he is, likes to do the driving for his wild woman… and I’m actually very proud to spill the beans that MGM has a racing driver license (albeit lapsed from our days in Hong Kong) and is a bloody good behind the wheel.  He’s one of those ‘annoying’ people that can reverse park… perfectly… in one go.  But despite all of that… I’m still a nightmare of a backseat driver who puts her foot through the footwell on the imaginary brake and takes sharp intakes of breath at all the near misses… which are nowhere near, near misses.

And in Spain, it was mega magnified.  It became very obvious that if MGM and I were going to live happily ever after, then I was going to have to get a grip.

And it all came to a head on certain property hunt.

Lanjaron's central fountain with a sculptures of a couple sitting side by side of the edge... and children playing along the high top plinth.
Lanjaron’s central fountain.

We met the estate agent by Lanjaron’s town square fountain on a very hot sunny afternoon and he happily suggested he come in our car and direct us to the property.  He was a charming,  retired ‘old school’ English gent wearing a spotless panama hat and there was no way he would fit into the back seat of our little bubble of a car… so I happily took up that prize spot while he settled into the front.  The 1.4L engine roared into average slowness and up the tiny lanes and concrete single tracks we began to crawl. 

A view of the lovely smooth road winding its way through the mountains and up into the clouds.
Gorgeous smooth mountain roads!

We were going to see a more remote property in the mountains that was in need of renovation… there was plenty of land for veggies, orchards, dogs… and it was in our price range.  Our interest was piqued and we were looking forward to seeing it.  It was going to be about a 30 minute drive… and we had been reassured that the private ‘un-concreted steep mountain track’ as its access, wasn’t actually a problem for a normal city car.  No Chelsea Tractor or LandRover Defender needed.  Yay!

Well, this turned out to be a slight untruth in the hugest, most humungous, frikking proportions. 

But the fact that we are still alive to tell the tale, I suppose does give it a grain of truth.

Anyhoo… we wound around the mountains and I took my silent intakes of breath, clutched at the seats and then huddled down to bury my attention into Facebook, as MGM and the agent amiably chatted away.

Finally we turned off the tarmac and onto the dirt track.  We were getting close I thought.  But I was wrong.  MGM had the car in second gear as we bumped, slipped, clunked and prayed our way along this track… which mightn’t have been so bad if there hadn’t been a steep drop-off to one side.  One false move… and we’d be playing Alpujarran roly-poly.   I found myself getting hot under the collar even though I wasn’t wearing a collar… and even worse than that… my mobile signal weakened to the point of nothingness.  Not even inane Facebook scrolling could save me now.  Our little hire car was learning a big life lesson of its own limits.  I felt totally vulnerable, totally out of control and nasty beads of hot sweat started to trickle down the back of my neck…. and dare I say it, down between my clenched buttocks.

And then it got worse. 

We reached the steep bit.  My first thought was “FFS… are you f*cking kidding me???”  It was steep, very steep… still with the death drop to one side and tyre ripping rock to the other.  All of my decorum abandoned me as I stifled the profanities that I wanted to scream out.  I could feel MGM immediately tense up and focus… and intensely ignore my expanding, energetic panic within the confines of the car.  The agent, amazingly, seemed oblivious as he continued his affable verbal diarrhoea of God knows what.  What made it worse was that the dirt track was becoming even more deeply rutted where vehicles had driven back and forth over the years… where seasonal rains had further eroded bits away… where dirt and rocks and shifted and where, if we weren’t careful, our little city car could actually ground itself on the middle. 

I wanted out.
Let me out…  
I’m f*cking walking. 
Let me out now. 
I can’t do this. 

Deep panic welled up… and kept welling up.  We edged forward in first gear.  We skidded.  We juddered, We bumped.  We scraped and ground against the ground.  Tears welled up from my terror and lack of control and I was now sweating like a frikking racehorse.  I couldn’t look out the window because as stunning as the view was, it was certain death out there.  I couldn’t speak, because I didn’t trust what would come out.  There was nothing for it, but to close my eyes and pray my sweaty ass off to the angels, fairies, Ascended Masters, guides, light beings, star beings and any frikking miracle worker that would just help us make it down to the frikking property that I no longer wanted to frikking see. 

I knew I had to pull myself together…
So I began to do some deep breathing and decided that the best thing I could do was to connect with my gang upstairs and totally zone out of planet earth’s present reality.  I knew MGM knew I was struggling… but I also knew that I had to totally leave him alone so he could save us from this track from hell.
A major freakout would not be helpful. At all. 

By the time we got down to the property, I couldn’t have given a damn if it was our dream come true with original features and fireplaces (my things), swathes of wild meadow flowers (another of my things)… and an outdoor shower (you guessed it, another of my quirkier things) because there was no way I was ever, ever, ever going to come to terms with that track.

I prised my paralysed muscles and body out of the back seat, prayed that my profuse sweating hadn’t soaked through my linen trousers, thanked my team upstairs for our miracle survival and tried to be very spiritual and forgiving towards the agent.  I obviously didn’t try hard enough because I found myself asserting that the track was in no way suitable for a small town hire car and he should never have allowed this to happen.  MGM magnanimously stepped in, knowing that I was not very successfully masking the depth of my trauma and could potentially and unpleasantly pop. 

I very rarely pop… but when I do, it’s not pretty.
It’s real… but it’s still not pretty.  I heard MGM saying that “I think my wife (I do like it when he calls me his wife, even though we’ve not actually done that deed) has had a sense of humour failure so the house is already a no go.”  He did me a great favour… because we all still had to somehow get back up that track together.  And alienating the local estate agent wasn’t really going to help us find our new home.

Sadly, the house did have quite a lot of potential and a bizarrely strong phone signal, which is THE top requirement on our list.  Damn that track.  Damn.  And damn the fact that we had to go back up it.

I have no idea how I actually got back in that car because in my mind, I was walking back up. 
All I can remember was our little bubble car stalling… wheels spinning… a very loud, worrying, grinding crunch from underneath… and the agent bravely telling MGM he was driving too far over to one side… and then offering to get out so the exhaust wasn’t continually dragging against the dirt.  It was not a good time.  Suffice to say I was just visualising our survival long enough to find the nearest bar.

Two ice cold Spanish beers in a local bar!
Dos cervezas por favor!

Our English Gent of an agent never stopped talking and we couldn’t help but like him… but after we finally reunited him with his car… we looked at each other in silent, telepathic, WTF disbelief….and yes, we headed for our newly found favourite pitstop. 

It was one of the best ice cold ‘cervejas’ I’ve ever had.  And the next one was pretty damn good too.  And so was the tapas that just kept on coming.

  We had survived.  Spain wasn’t so bad after all.


MGM you are my hero. 


Top Tip for empaths and sensitives who suffer similar ‘passenger aversion symptoms.’
Take a minute to tune in to your aura and how far it extends out from your body… and then consciously pull it right back inside the car and close to your body.  I couldn’t believe the difference it made!!  YAY!  No more ‘crashing or near misses’ at 50ft… my antenna’s reach and spacial awareness had been wound back in! 

Living in Zen Limbo and Still Staying Sane.

So here’s where we are at.  We’re still in limbo.  With very little to report on the exciting “let’s move to Spain and start a new life” front.  Very frustrating.  Very disappointing.  And really making life a little bit difficult too.

When the Universe throws you these curve balls, it’s natural that you start to question your choices.  But my mind has long been ruled by my heart.  I have absolutely no doubt that moving to Spain is the bestest, rightest, most superduper path for me and MGM (my gorgeous man), but when reality is strangely showing you a No (as in our flat isn’t selling) even though the Universe had given us the wholehearted  ‘when Harry met Sally YES YES YES’… then you do start to wonder what ace card the Universe has got up its sleeve.

Personally I’m hoping it’s the winning lottery numbers because I sure as hell am not going to spend another winter in Scotland.  

Note to self… buy more lottery tickets.

“There has to be a reason that the flat is not getting viewings.”  This is what we keep saying.  If it’s a Universal, spiritual, destiny, fate and flow thing… then fair enough.  We’ll keep bending over backwards and trusting that we won’t break. But if it’s a practical, logical, material thing, then we need to address it… and heal it. 

But nobody seems to have an answer.  We keep hearing how crazy the Edinburgh property market is… but we’re just not seeing it in our exclusive little corner of The Shore.  My internal radar’s  gone fuzzy and I’m feeling no wiser than the UltraSpiritual JP Sears at the moment as to what to do about it… and MGM is seriously being challenged to keep trusting in the wuwu way of life that we leapt into when we left Hong Kong 2 years ago. 

We’ve already had to contact our Spanish agent (Thank God for Google translate) to delay our entry into the rental we committed to in June… but my heart is still screaming “GET DOWN THERE AS SOON AS POSSIBLE!!”… but we just can’t leave without our flat and financial situation being resolved.  Add in to the mix that I’ve already got 2 fully booked Spanish retreats up and running for early November (this was part of the original big Spanish YES flow!)… and the pressure is on.  

I must just add… that I’m very, very excited to be running the Spanish Channelling Love Retreats… they will be the corner stone of our new life in the Alpujarras!  

So, we are thinking out of the box…
we’re keeping our options open… long term rental, short term lets, the miracle sale…. and we’re trying not to attach to the ‘how.’  We’ve got crystals in the doorway…  we’ve had the carpets cleaned… we’ve had a space clearing done…  we’ve shifted the furniture around… we’ve posted it on Gumtree and Facebook groups… we’re visualising ourselves up in the Spanish mountains with space to breathe and lots of golden sun to give us happy, mediterranean wrinkles.  We’re dreaming of opening our front door in the early hours and just letting Sir Maxelot out for his ‘morning motions’ without having to get dressed, get the lift down 4 floors and take him round the block in the dark with the delights of Scottish horizontal winter rain.  And yes, I have done it in my PJs.  And I’m proud of it.  Max couldn’t give a damn as long as long as there’s no rain and he gets his breakfast on time.  He really doesn’t like rain.  He’ll love Spain.  And hopefully he’ll love the Spanish rescue Galgos girlfriend we want to welcome into our family once we’re settled. 

You see… our dream is still alive!

Our new life FEELS great!  It will happen.  I know it will.  It really will.  I feel it.  The ‘how’ will sort itself out… and in the meantime I’ll have another jumbo bag of Kettle sea salt and balsamic vinegar crisps that I won’t be able to get in Spain.  It’s amazing the lies you can tell yourself for a little bit of comfort food.  I’ll start the juicing detox tomorrow… again.

So while the limbo is ‘limboing’ and we’re being flexible beyond flexible and staying ‘oh so zen,’ I thought you might enjoy a few photos from our trip out to the Alpujarras in June.  It may have been our first time there… but it instantly felt like home… and soon it really will be. 



PS.  On my next instalment I’ll share the story behind my monumental sense of humour failure while out on a property hunt in the Alpujarras back in June.  It’s almost funny when I look back on it… almost.

Happy! Exploring the Lanjaron area in June 2017!




The First Time the Universe Kicked our Butts…

 This week I’m going to wind the clock back a couple of years.  Because right now… there’s very little obvious, tangible, outward frikking movement towards us actually getting to Spain!

Yup… we’re in limbo.

But we’re holding the vision… holding our nerve….trusting… handing over to the Universe… having momentary, mini freak outs… cutting energetic wuwu chords… changing names….. releasing the past… meditating… chanting… singing… begging… praying… ignoring… crying…. writing on the vision board… being super duper calm… and super duper positive… detaching… surrendering… we’re carrying on as normal, except it’s anything but normal.  Basically, we’re waiting for the flat to sell.  This flat is the key to our future… so no pressure there.… no pressure at all.

Back in March this year… when we originally decided to hit the Scottish exit button, we were told our hands would be bitten off by rampant buyers desperate for this gem of a property.  It would only be a matter of days till our dream was financially viable and no longer reliant on rainbows, unicorns and pots of gold. But because we allowed our dream to be ‘damp squibbed’… it was June before we picked ourselves up, dusted off the fear and eventually put the flat on the market.

But a lot can change in a couple of months.
Like, everyone fecks off on holiday!

So while we wait for the suntans to fade and for peeps to decide that they really do want a new home before Christmas, I’m going to tell you about how 2 years ago,  MGM (My Gorgeous Man) and I actually took our first big leap of faith.

I moved out to be with MGM in Hong Kong in 2013… it was the only way for us to be together and we sure as hell weren’t going to let love and life pass us by.  We are middle aged, after all.  Life out in the Far East was actually pretty amazing.  Funded by MGM’s high flying director role in the upper echelons of international corporate kingdoms, it was a world that was completely alien to me and not at all aligned with my heart based lifestyle… but it was also the first time I had ever experienced life without the stress of meeting bills and of finding creative ways to ‘make do’.  And in that respect, I really quite liked it.

Our view to the front…
Our view to the rear…

We were ridiculously happy together in his typical ‘postage stamp of a flat’ up on the 27th floor.  It had a great view out towards Hong Kong harbour where you could see the night time light show on the ICC building and there was the partial green of a mountainside to the back. So despite living in a high-rise block of rabbit hutches… squashed in beside more high-rise blocks of more rabbit hutches, my need for open space was somewhat satisfied by just looking out of the windows.  And it was MGM’s generosity in supporting me (albeit that it was illegal for me to work there) that he gifted me the space to create the foundations for my wuwu world of Channelling Love.  More about the wuwu another day.

‘Glamming’ up for the St Andrew’s Ball, Hong Kong

But the longer I was there… the more I saw the degree of payoff for the big bucks salary.  The sheer hell and stress that MGM shouldered was becoming increasingly unbearable… and detrimental to his health.  Fridays became the nights to get completely lashed… and the weekends became a process for recovering… releasing the ‘protective armour’… sleeping off the emotional exhaustion and hangover… and then building up the armour again to go back in on Monday morning for another week of hell.  It may have been a materially abundant lifestyle but it was totally mind, body and soul destroying on every level. 

The thing is, we both knew we didn’t want to stay there long term.  Our life became more and more shallow… our livers more pickled and the novelty less sparkly.  And in all honesty…I really struggled with the 90% humidity.  One of my lowest points was arriving home with sweat literally pouring down my neck and legs… to then find that I had been walking around with a very obvious great big sweaty wet arse for the whole of HK to see.  I cried.  I cried a lot.  And sweated even more but the air-conditioning was already maxed out so I just carried on sweating.

And so our dream began to take shape.  To move to Europe… to live a simpler rural life where we could have outside space, grow veggies, have chickens and dogs…. breathe… and run a few Channelling Love retreats.

So we kept Hong Kong life ticking over.  I found a spiritual network and began to make friends, we had holidays and nights out and we moved into auto pilot while we waited for that ‘perfect’ moment to leave.

Then, two years after I joined MGM, we received a HUMDINGER of a shock.  MGM’s company was to be restructured.  And that meant no more Asia Pacific Director Role.  Well, all I can say is that when you plan and dream from your heart… the Universe always answers… just not always as you expect it.

We swung between “YES!” and “Holy F*ck!”  

From… “Freeeeeedom!” to  “Oh Shit!” 

Hong Kong is not a city you can stay in without employment… crazy prices mean you need serious stashes of cash to buy a just pack of veggie sausages.  MGM thought about finding another role… the city is full of high rolling opportunities… but the thought of remaining in the ‘treadmill trap’ made us both feel even more ill… but we sooo weren’t prepared for an exit into a whole new life.

It was only a couple of weeks later that the Universe sent us another kick up the butt and made the decision for us.  Our landlord served us 2 months notice.  FFS!    We were like rabbits caught in full beam headlights.  With no future income and now no future home… the effort to stay put was just too overwhelming.  It was time to take that leap of faith.

We were exiting Hong Kong with no safety net and no Plan B.

At the time MGM was a full on, corporate, logical, strategic planner of life… and very, very good at it.  Amazingly good!  His gut was weirdly telling him to leave… but his head was freaking out screaming “What the hell are you doing?!!”

My heart knew without a doubt that it was time to go, but even I was reticent to let go of this newly embraced lifestyle and security. 

It’s one thing to talk about changing your life… but it’s a whole other thing to actually walk away from everything you have and know, to do it.  

But doing it, we were.   

It was nothing short of chaos, fear, elation, trust and not really having a clue as to how it would all pan out.

And just in case our flat still hasn’t sold by the time I write our next blog… I’ll save some of those stories for next time.

Wish us luck!


PS… Click here if you’re interested in a great flat on the prestigious Shore area in Edinburgh!  

The living area of the flat on The Shore, Edinburgh
The Shore, Edinburgh

Don’t you Dare get out of your Box…

So when is enough, no longer enough? 

When do you no longer put up with a mediocre life as ‘all there is’ to look forward to?  And when does ‘just treading water’ start to actually feel like you’re going under?

Well, you’ll just know.  There will be a horrible, silent scream from inside that says “Get me outta here!” Just like our beloved and desperate Z-list celebrities down in the Ozzie jungle. There’ll be that point of no return and you’ll just know that you caaaaannooot stomach another witchetty grub or kangaroo’s testicle.

This internal call will then filter up to your head and set off a whole shit storm of other alarm bells, flashing lights and sirens as your conditioning, ego, guilt and fear all have a hay-day to try and stop you from clambering out of your box.   And it will certainly trigger a whole load of ‘stuff’ within those around you too.

So, when you reach that point of knowing that enough is enough and you’re hanging off the cliff edge of drastic life change, you really do need to be ready to pull on your bestest and strongest, ironclad Big Girl Goddess Pants… right on up to your armpits.

Our moment was actually back in March this year. 

We reached our point of no return when the increasing “F*ck this shit” mutterings could no longer be ignored.  So we decided to go for it. 

We weren’t going to wait for that perfect moment!  No!

We’re weren’t going to wait on those elusive winning lottery numbers!  No!

We acted on our intuitive knowing and that amazing feeling inside  of YES! YES! YES! 

Damn we felt great! 



A bit scared.. yes…but … we felt SO ALIVE!

There was a whole new life waiting for us!  We were leaving the grey skies of Scotland and going to live in the stunning Alpujarras in Spain!  Viva Espagna!   

So, when we eventually came down off our cloud  and the reality sank in that we actually were going to do it, this meant that we then had to broach the subject with our nearest and dearest. 

And that didn’t go so well.  Nope.  That didn’t go well… at all. 

It felt like a ‘mahoosive’ water bomb was dropped from on high and our fiery spark of excitement and positivity was quashed into a damp squib of despondency and fear.  We allowed ourselves to be pulled under and drowned.  I was sick to my stomach and I was terrified that our dream was over.

The move was off.

But this is the reality of what happens when you dare to be different.  When you dare to follow your dreams… and you dare to live a life that doesn’t conform to everyone’s expectations of you.

Following your dream takes balls as the world rallies against you…  you’re offered well meant, but fear-based, advice on the ‘what if’s’ and ‘hows’…. and let’s not even mention the ‘but what about me’ card.  You’re labelled as either selfish, reckless or just downright irresponsible… or … and here’s the funny part… you suddenly become the best friend because you’re moving to a country where seeing the sun is no longer a miracle to be posted on Facebook.

Modern day culture in the Western world has squashed the life out of us.  It may have given us the gift of technology and wonderful material comforts, but it has completely and utterly deadened our hearts and souls.  We live in a society that mollycoddles, controls, limits, separates and disempowers.  We are so numb, dumbed down and disconnected, that we don’t even realize how unhappy, stressed and fearful we actually are.

Quite simply, the tragedy of mankind has become its normality.

But me and my gorgeous man (MGM) really had, had enough.

We have since rallied against the naysayers… stood our ground and taken our lives back.

The move is back on track… well almost.  But more of that next week.

In the meantime, I’m off to buy some super strong Spanx.  Even a Goddess needs a little bit of extra supernatural support.





BRITISH – informal
  1. exceptionally big; huge.
    “you don’t need a mahoosive bag for a night out”

When your heart speaks… you listen.

The truth of what actually happens when you follow the call of your heart…

Welcome to our real deal adventure… the nuts, the bolts, the nitty gritty grime… the highs and lows… the challenges and hopefully the bliss of Universal flow.  Here,  we’ll be sharing our journey as we act on the call of our hearts and transition into a completely new life in completely different country.

They say that life begins at 40… but we say it’s 50.  Because that’s the decade we’ve recently found ourselves in… and it scared the hell out of us.  We decided that life’s too short and it’s time to really start living instead of hoping that ends will just miraculously meet.

So we’re bucking the trend… we’re packing up our average grey life in Scotland and heading to the stunning Spanish Alpujarra to start anew.  A simpler life.  A healthier life.  A warmer life.  A more fulfilling life.   A whole new life and a whole new us.  It’s just me, my partner Scott and our Max.

We’re not what you’d call a conventional couple.  I’m a channel and healer… what I do is well ‘wuwu’ and out there… and it transforms lives.  And Scott successfully flew within the heady heights of international corporate kingdoms… until he woke up and chose to ‘save’ his life and give it all up .   And Max?  Well, Max is ‘our boy’.  He’s an old rescue greyhound… an ex-racer turned professional sofa surfer and the size of a mini pony.

Here in this space, there will be no holds barred.  No airy-fairy dreams being fluffed and faked.  No ultra-spiritual illusions of perfect hippydom.  Just grounded truth and insight along with the ability to find the humour and embrace the lessons as we go.

We may still be in Scotland… but the journey’s already begun and I hope you’ll join us along the way.


Sally Claridge