Basking

Basking unashamedly in the morning sun, Kaspar shows the way. There's real warmth in the sun now, still a chill in the breeze.

Thirty years ago, when I was introducing sexy new therapy models to the UK, an eminent psychiatrist sent me a client he felt stuck with. A retired dancer (she described herself as 'an old hoofer') beautiful still, but an apparently hopeless alcoholic. On our second session she told me about her new kitten, describing longingly its instinctual happiness and contentment. Suddenly she looked straight at me and said 'I know what I'm going to do. I'm going to become my kitten, do everything that it does, when it does it.' Sounded good to me.

The following week, having done exactly that, she was ecstatic, rested, looked ten years younger, hadn't touched a drop. Imagine a therapist metaphorically breathing on her nails, polishing them on her lapel. Young, so very young and inexperienced.

It didn't last. She missed her next session, the psychiatrist called. Her partner had left her, reporting that she had gone on the mother of all benders, the worst he'd ever seen. Not so shiny now those nails.

And then, miracle of miracles, she got up, cleared all the empty bottles, poured the full ones down the drain and that was that. She cured herself, never drank again.

Kitten therapy comes highly recommended.

Forgot to add the Eider burble that provided the soundtrack. Then church bells at 10.30 - I'd quite forgotten the particular quality of this peace. Do listen to the birdsong - it will make you smile.