An HY Christmas

Number of studios emailed: 32
Number of books sold: 176
Cups of tea drunk: 7
Number of digestive biscuits eaten in one sitting: 8

The Handstanding Yogi: The passion project; The 18 months of hard hands-glued-to-laptop grind; The 2 dozen boxes now under my bed.

Don't get me wrong, I love this book. It is shiny, informative and beautifully crafted; it is a part of me. 

Like a toddler in its infancy however, this book has turned out to be wildly time-consuming. Not yet ready to look after itself it, it demands to be babysat and hauled around with me. At any given opportunity I am expertly hoisting a copy out of my rucksack and practically throwing it into studio owners/students arms (honestly, you'll love it, I promise - apologies for the swearing). 

Almost a week without teaching and I still haven't managed to catch up on Game Of Thrones or the latest Black Mirror (yet have somehow found the time to see the new Star Wars film. Twice). 

Like a tired-eyed new parent, book baby in tow, now all I want to do is sleep. Forever.

And unfortunately, also like a new parent, for anyone who had the dubious pleasure of seeing either Gabby and myself circa Christmas book launch all we wanted to talk about is...book. 

Book is life. Book is business. Book is baby, no wait, book is life...

Christmas Day.

'No work chat.' 

'But...' 

'NO WORK CHAT'

Very unfestive glares were exchanged as iPhones were grappled out of resentful hands and replaced by glasses of newly-mulled wine.  

Gabby and I shared the same mutinous glance that said 'Don't they understand that this is our ART and ART does not sleep, even at Christmas...'.

So we got very very drunk. 

Art apparently does get drunk, especially at Christmas.

Ash Bond