Last week, went to London England: two days of interviews for a Big Job. Very posh, just around the corner from Buckingham Palace, you know, but I would have had to stop teaching yoga if I moved to London and became a Big Jobber. Besides, London is really polluted, I noticed the particulates in the air, guess it's from more diesel use. It's super expensive, there's security reminders every few minutes. And the poor bottlenose whale who swam up the Thames, not far from the part of London I was walking in (and just as lost as I was), died as I flew out of town.

At this point, it should not be difficult for the perceptive reader to discern that I did not get the job. I take comfort in the lachrymose Fureys ballad, "Mullingar":

So young men of Ireland take warning:
In London you never will find,
That gold at the end of the rainbow,
For you might just have left it behind.
Actually I felt crushed and very much like having a drink on Friday night after I got the call in my hotel room. Instead, courtesy of Bikram, I sweated a few pints out, and changed my head space just as much. Took a ride in one of London's amazing nimble taxis, and got to the City Bikram Yoga Studio just in time for the last class. Loved the standing postures, made it into a nice toe stand, but I'm not used to the heat anymore. Got dizzy and eyes crossed after the camel. Had to stop and lie down, even ran out of the room to cool off. I had arrived at the last minute so I got the hottest place in the room, it must have been 110. A good wringing out for sure. But not my first sweat of the day!

Back home, on Monkland Avenue, teaching my Sunday morning group, was a real nice place to be that Sunday morning. Everybody was happy I didn't get the Big Job!