Days 3 – 5

As my week progressed, I began to get to grips with Marley Matthews and his flawed character. The man had completely terrified me on the first day, but I soon saw through his tyrannic facade and was almost endeared by his eccentricities.

I began to enjoy discussing holistic medicine and healing crystals, and it became second-nature to clear poodle excrement.

Before I could see it happening, Marley’s bizarre lifestyle became the norm. His spiritual hang-ups and health fads were getting to me. Suddenly my bedroom felt very un-balanced, my diet felt very un-organic and my lifestyle most un-zen. I needed to do something about it.

I promptly signed up to a yoga class – hoping to find some sort of inner spirituality.

After discussing the topic at great length with Marley, he recommended that I should sample Hatha Yoga. My flatmate KFG also wanted to get involved, and so after a bit of googling we found a Hatha Class in our local Hindu Centre.

A Hindu Centre isn’t exactly the first location that springs to mind when it comes to doing a touch of sport, but then again Hatha Yoga cannot really be defined as sport.

As we entered the curious centre for the first and last time, we were greeted with the appalling smell of stale curry and cheesy feet. I’m not gonna lie, it wasn’t the most fragrant of olfactory experiences.

From a bad beginning, things only got worse.

The class itself consisted of lying down and breathing. That’s it. We paid six whole pounds to lie down and fall-asleep for an hour. Call me old fashioned, but I’d rather not pay to kip.

And it wasn’t even a peaceful snooze! The silence in our yoga studio was constantly disrupted by a group of women stomping around upstairs in their Bollywood dancing lesson.  (They had obviously not been taught how to be light on their feet.)

As the Hatha class finally drew to an end, we were forced to chant ‘om’ for a good five minutes. I caught KFG’s eye and struggled to suppress the giggles.

What was wrong with us? No matter how hard we had focused on mantra meditation, we both left the class feeling distinctly un-zen.

My ‘spiritual’ moment lasted a whole week. (About as long as I worked as Marley Mathhews PA.) After the fateful yoga experience, I was brought back to my senses. I realised, not without embarrassment, how quickly I’d been swept up in a pile of unfounded crap.

Oh well, at least it was fun whilst it lasted – but I think I’ll leave the alternative lifestyle to the Marley Matthews of this world.

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