My Not So Perfect Life(61)

I bet I know what she’s doing. And, sure enough, a moment later she raises her head.

“Vedari! Here it is! The National Vedari Association…Ancient and powerful…Suppleness of body and mind…This sounds amazing. Why haven’t I heard of it before?”

Because I made it up, I want to reply. Because that website was invented by me and put up by Alan last night, in about five minutes.

“Like I say.” I smile at her. “It’s very niche. Shall we go?”

I lead Demeter off through the fields and spread my arms widely as we walk.

“As you may know, the West Country is a very spiritual area. There are ley lines everywhere, ancient stone circles—”

“Stonehenge,” chimes in Demeter alertly, in her I’m-so-clever University Challenge way.

“Exactly.” I nod. “Stonehenge being the most famous. Now, here at Ansters Farm, we’re lucky enough to have an ancient Druid circle. You can’t see it anymore, but it’s there, and it makes the perfect place for us to practice our Vedari.”

We’re walking through Elm Field now, and a few cows come wandering toward us. They’re tan Jerseys, and they’re sweet-natured but very curious. I can see Demeter stiffening as they get near. Is she scared?

“Do you have any experience of cows?” I ask politely. I’m remembering Demeter in that meeting at work, lecturing us all on the countryside.



“Not exactly,” Demeter says after a pause. “They’re quite big, aren’t they? What are they doing?” she adds in a quivering voice, as a cow comes right up to her, staring with its gorgeous dark eyes. “What do they want?”

She’s actually gone pale. Oh my God. After all that guff she said in the office, she’s frightened of the cows too! Just like Flora!

“Don’t worry,” I say kindly. “Just keep walking. That’s it….”

We both clamber over a stile, and I lead Demeter into the middle of the six-acre field. It’s a totally nondescript field. It’s often used for grazing cattle, so there’s dried-up cow poo everywhere, and it’s got a tiny copse of oak trees. Other than that, it’s nothing special. The view isn’t even that good.

But as I turn to Demeter, I adopt an expression of reverence.

“This is the Sacred Field,” I say. “The Druids lived and worshipped here, and there are powerful ley lines under the ground. If you concentrate, you can still feel them. You have to be spiritually open, though. Not all our guests can pick up the vibrations.”

I’m pressing Demeter’s buttons again. No way is she going to fail at anything, including picking up Druid vibrations.

She closes her eyes, and sure enough after about three seconds she opens them again and says, “There is a special aura here, isn’t there?”

“You can feel it.” I smile. “Excellent. You’re going to be a natural. Now, you need to get changed into your Vedari gown. You can go into the little wood.”



I reach into my Ansters Farm jute bag and pull out a sack. I customized it with a neckhole and armholes last night. It’s the scratchiest, ugliest garment in the world, but as I hold it out to Demeter, I manage to stay straight-faced.

“I won’t be wearing the gown,” I say, “because I’m the ceremony leader. The disciples wear the gowns.”

I can see Demeter’s face falter as she takes the sack, and for an awful moment I think she’s going to challenge me.

“I think Gwyneth Paltrow might sell them on her website,” I add casually. “If you’re interested in taking Vedari further.”

“Right.” Demeter’s eyes open wide. “Wow. It’s very…authentic, isn’t it?” She strokes the scratchy hessian.

“You can find cheap knockoffs,” I say seriously. “But this is the real deal. If you’re buying a Vedari gown, it must come from the West Country. Now, let’s head over to the wood.” I nod at the copse. “The first part of the ceremony is called Beauty. That’s followed by Truth. And finally Contemplation.” I hand her another Ansters Farm jute bag. “You can put your clothes in here. Take off your shoes too.”

I want to burst into giggles as Demeter disappears behind a tree. It’s amazing how an otherwise intelligent person can become a credulous fool as soon as you mention the words “organic,” “authentic,” and “Gwyneth Paltrow.”

But I don’t giggle. I remain in character, gathering mud and twigs from the ground and putting them into a wooden bowl. As Demeter emerges, looking very awkward in the sack, I clamp my lips shut, desperate not to explode.

“Perfect,” I manage at last. “Now, as I said, we begin with Beauty. The mud in this wood has a special nourishing quality for the skin. The Druids knew that, and so every ceremony began with applying the mud to the face.”



“Mud?” Demeter looks at the bowl, and I can see the dismay in her eyes. “That mud?”

“Think of it as a Druid facial. It’s totally natural and organic, with ancient nutrients.” I rub the mud between my palms. “Look at that. Beautiful.”

It’s not beautiful. It’s crappy, smelly mud that I’m sure has a few cowpats mixed into it.

“Right.” Demeter is still eyeing the mud warily. “Right. So…does Gwyneth Paltrow do this too?”