Andrea

I know countless amazing women, and one of them is Andrea Kwiatkowski, a yoga teacher whose classes I first discovered in Cambridge. I’ve found her jivamukti classes on a yoga app to which I’ve subscribed. I’ve always been pathetic at the discipline of practising yoga alone, but the advancing years create impetus to change. A win for technology to connect remotely with the feel good factor. Not such a win for photography skills, but I think Ands would be pleased with the form of my crow.

I tittered today when a Tanzanian rude boy pulled up at a junction, arm out of the window, serious gaze, stereo pumping. Pumping Westlife ballads. The tittering was without judgement as I have certainly been known to engage in Westlife love-ins including one very memorable bus journey returning from a hike in Eswatini (then Swaziland) with a group of volunteers. We ticked off several of their banging chart-toppers. I like that in Tanzania, young men with a penchant for Westlife can listen to them as publicly as they like. In the UK if a 20-something man was caught voluntarily listening to Swear It Again I suspect he’d still be getting ribbed by his mates on his death bed.