The Further Adventures of an Idiot Abroad (37 page)

Stephen sent me a text as I was driving saying that I should stop off to meet a local woman who was into some sort of New Age therapy. Her house was in the middle of nowhere – really the
middle of nowhere – like those ones you see in documentaries about UFOs landing in people’s back gardens. It was quite a big house, all on one level, but I guess land is pretty cheap
round here. I knocked on the door and was greeted by Val. I said hello and put my hand out. Val said, ‘You’re a shaker, not a hugger? You don’t want a hug?’ I explained that
I’d only just met her and that a shake was enough, thanks.

She walked me through the house where there were a few groups of men dotted about. We walked right through the house and out to the back where there was an expanse of rough ground and tumbleweed
blowing by. Tumbleweed is something I associate with America. I remember watching an episode of
Sesame Street
as a kid, that featured a little film of a clump of tumbleweed being blown
down various roads as a group of kids and dogs chased it. Cars almost ran into it, and every now and then it would get lodged in a fence or something, before breaking free and carrying on its
journey to wherever the wind would take it. I remember thinking it would be good to have a tangled ball of tumbleweed to chase, but it isn’t something you find on a council estate in South
Manchester. And it doesn’t really work with an empty crisp packet either. Believe me, I tried.

Val took me over to a large domed tent full of mats and cushions and a few lit candles. She then explained that I would be joining her at her evening Cuddle Party. Apparently it’s a form
of Reiki, which is a Japanese form of stress reduction.

Therapy is something I associate with America more than the UK. I don’t know anyone who has had therapy – or maybe it’s just that they don’t talk about it – whereas
you read about Americans nipping off for therapy on a weekly basis as if it were a coffee morning. I wonder if it’s because everybody’s always smiling in America, so nobody knows if
you’re annoyed and you end up bottling it all up. Back home you walk around looking fed up, and your mates say, ‘What’s up with you, you miserable sod?’, and then you talk
about your problem, which turns out not to be a problem, and then you get on with your life.

I told Val that a hug shouldn’t be wasted and that when Suzanne goes off to work I generally tap her on the head. I’ll say, ‘What’s in the fridge for me lunch?’,
and she’ll go, ‘Oh, there’s ham and cheese in there and a tomato that needs using’, and I’ll say, ‘Cheers, see you later’, and tap her on the head. I
tapped Val on her shoulder to show her what I do, but she didn’t like it. She said, ‘I generally don’t enjoy being tapped or patted, and I’ll tell you why. Because I feel
like a body of water, so if you slap me it’s like a splash in the water, right, so my energy, it’s like startling to me. But if you were to touch me and hold my hand or just give me a
little squeeze, then I feel comforted and really in the flow of who I am. And also a lot of times, when we’re expanding energetically, pats bring me down.’

I put on some all-in-one pyjamas that Val gave me, but I kept my cap on, so I didn’t come across as too relaxed and look like I was game for anything. I went back into the tent where the
cuddles would be taking place. Val was there, hugging another woman. It lasted ages. They were stuck together like two Koala bears.

By this time more women had turned up, but they were still outnumbered by the men. I’m sure Val’s heart is in the right place, but a lot of the men looked like they were just turning
up for a bit of a feel. As we sat around on the cushions, Val thanked everyone for coming.

‘Welcome to Soncco Wasi, Home of the Heart, Joshua Tree, where we are devoting life to love. I am Valerie Gill, and I feel honoured and excited to be able to hold this space with you all
to create a space together where we can feel free to fearlessly explore, fearlessly express ourselves, fearlessly go beyond our comfort zone to fearlessly ask for what we want, and to fearlessly
say no to what we don’t want.’

I probably say no to more things than yes, and I think it’s pretty easy to say no. Saying yes often requires more commitment. But maybe in America they just don’t get as many cold
sales calls or get stopped in the street by as many charity fundraisers as we do.

I sat and ate a few free grapes and had a drink of Cava that somebody had brought along while Val handed out pens and paper. We were then asked to write love notes to ourselves. We had to write
what we would like to hear from somebody – a letter that we’d really like to receive. Val asked me if I loved myself and if I enjoyed being me. I’ve never really thought about it.
I don’t really have any say in the matter. I’m me and I have to live with it. I’ve never understood it when people say they are proud to be American or proud to be English –
it’s not like we have any say in the matter. I’m English because my dad’s testicles were in England. If I’d have come out of Ted Danson’s bollocks, I’d be
American.

Val then asked me if I felt good. But, again, that’s a hard one to answer. I
think
I feel good. But unless some scientist comes up with a way of transferring feelings from one
person to another how do I know if I feel good or not? To me, I feel fine. But if a healthier, happier person was put in my body they may say they feel like shite.

Everybody placed their notes in a teddy bear that had a hole in its back. Then we took it in turns to remove a letter and read it aloud. I picked one out that read:

The group seemed well impressed and responded enthusiastically, murmuring ‘nice’ and ‘beautiful’ in approval. Several more notes of a similar style were read out, and
then finally a woman got to read my letter out:

My letter might not have been as poetic as the others, but I think I was clearer and to the point. I still stand by the fact that I would prefer to receive my note over any of the others.
Personally, I always make an effort when sending birthday cards to Suzanne or me mam and dad. I normally do a little doodle or a poem that relates to them, but the letters people were writing at
the cuddle party could’ve been sent to anyone – there was no personal touch there. Here’s a card I sent to Suzanne for her birthday. The reference to the 20p is because
that’s how we met. Suzanne gave me 20p to buy meself a hot chocolate when I didn’t have enough money.

After the letters, we finally got on to the cuddle stage of the night. Val went through the rules.

At which point people started mingling, and it wasn’t long before everyone was rolling about on the floor with each other. I’d say some of them were cuddling so hard I wouldn’t
be surprised if they had a kid between them now. No one came near me. I was like the fat kid at school waiting to be picked for the football team. But that suited me fine. I didn’t need a
hug, and if I did it would have come from someone who knew me. Plus, I once got ringworm on my leg. I went to the doctor’s to get it seen to and asked how you get it in the first place, and
he said ‘by rubbing skin with strangers’. He told me that wrestlers get it a lot.

Val popped up and asked me to hug her – probably out of sympathy – but I said no. Then another woman asked me, and I said no to her, as well, and explained that if I hugged one
person then the floodgates would open and I would have to start hugging everyone, or start explaining why I hugged some and not others. It would be too complicated.