Today marked a return to Yoga, after a two-week hiatus during which my Sensei no doubt had the time of her life. We soon fell back into the old routine of my name being called out in between every breath, and I was even presented with a new piece of apparatus: a yoga strap. I was instructed to wrap this around my foot and pull, but without exerting any pressure on the hand that was supposed to be doing the pulling. Mastering this technique took a good deal longer than anyone else in the class could possibly have envisaged, but Sensei remained her usual calm and unshakeable self. Later she treated us to a small sermon relating to the yogi practice of tying weights around their waste in order to further improve their flexibility. At least that’s what I concluded that she was talking about, from the half dozen words that I actually understood.
Last night I had made the rather rash decision of buying an online ticket for the final Harry Potter film, in an attempt to avoid the compulsory sell out. Upon arrival at the cinema I thus found an employee, told him that I had bought my ticket online and asked what I was supposed to do. Judging by his initial reaction the Internet had yet to be invented, but eventually I was told to pick it up from one of the automated ticket machines, and did so without incident. I really enjoyed the film, but spent the last third of it trying to convince myself that I was only crying because it was the end of a well-loved franchise, and not because it pretty much signaled the drawn out end of my youth.