No, *you're* the child of privileged parents, etc etc
People can get sad about summer coming to an end, with the return of school, the end of beach days and long summer evenings. But, what happens when this sadness turns to something more? 'Seasonal affective disorder' (SAD), also known as 'winter depression' affects approximately 1 in 15 people according to the NHS.
As I started to gig more, working in an office job by day, then heading off to gigs all around the country by night, getting the perfect run up to a gig became impossible. I'd rush into a gig in Totnes, moments before being due onstage, the mournful fragments of a Greggs pasty crumbled over whatever T-shirt had been clean(ish) that morning.
Excuse me? Love yourself? Are you crazy? Oh no, no, no, we're far too used to telling ourselves we're too tall, too small, too messy, too lazy, too tired, too fat, too grumpy, too rubbish at parenting, too busy making mistakes.
I used to be unhappy until I understood how to live in the present moment. Now don't get me wrong, I'm not talking about being spontaneous to the point of not thinking about the effects of my actions, I'm describing a more philosophical approach to living in the now.
As a teenager I suffered terribly with anorexia and was sectioned into an adult psychiatric unit to keep me alive. By the time I was 20 years old I was ready to be integrated into society via a rehab unit as I had lost all my social skills.
The yoga mat is your sacred space, your playground for learning. In this arena we're all students and teachers. In fact as a teacher facilitating the class, I find my students are the best teachers as I learn the most from them. We're all equal and I do my best to channel the ancient teachings of yoga to my best ability.
In 2006, at the height of my career and living in Knightsbridge, I took a three-month sabbatical to meander off the beaten track in India. The reason was that I was earning in excess of £100,000, yet I never seemed to have enough money to treat myself.
During a minor and routine medical procedure, I suddenly went into anaphylactic shock. Though I know a lot about such reactions, as I have two people close to me struggling with severe allergies, nothing prepared me for the traumatic experience that followed.
It didn't make hearing the word any easier. The feeling of that moment was shockingly surreal - nothing dramatic, just numbing and totally life changing. I could still take in what the consultant was saying and follow the conversation, until she said chemotherapy.