PAMPER PARTY at your home !

The Emperor’s New Clothes

I’ve written a little book of some poem-things or wordings if you like, which I am self-publishing just because I’ve always wanted to write a book and because after ‘Run Marathon’ it was number two on my Bucket List

The weird thing is now it is finished and due to become live on Amazon in just over a month, I can’t actually bring myself to say the words ‘I’ve written a book’ - not that I’ve even told many people, but when I DO mention it I hear me using the word ‘thing’afterwards, as in; ‘I’ve written this little Book thing. With Poem-things. Or more like Wordy-things really’.  Why the hell am I putting the word THING on the end of my sentences to dismiss it and put down what it actually is. A Book.

And as if that isn’t weird enough - because I asked for guidance from God (or ‘Love’ as I prefer to say in case you lot think I’m a religious nut) to write it - I am not even taking credit for the fact that they are partly my words! Oh yes - I think that I am only a minor contributor and ‘Love’ did all the hard work by telling me what to write!! Which is hilarious because it would be MUCH better and definitely wouldn’t have Ego-stylee subjects in there and a Kate-Roberts tone to the words.  And anyway, I’m sure God/Love/The Divine would use much bigger words if It was doing direct channelling through little me !!

Classic predictable vulnerability in action.  Now I have finished the thing and am about to share it with the world...ok well some of my mates and my parents who might buy a copy... I am absolutely BRICKING IT !!  All this self doubt rocking up in full force. 

Rewind to last November - whilst on a Course in Miracles retreat with Hollie and Robert Holden in Findhorn, we took part in a writing meditation where we asked Love to guide our words and this 'poem-thing' (eye roll) kind of FELL out of me called ‘The Holy Relationship’ about ‘God’ being invited into all of our relationships. So a few people shared what they had written and when they asked for one more, my fella sat next to me, kind of nudged me and I found myself walking to the front ready to share.  Bear in mind at this point I have only ever shared a few ‘blog-things’ (yawn..) on Faceless Facebook before, rather than to actual human beings, of which there were 50 in that room.  I sat down next to Hollie on the floor, shaking and started to read my words into the microphone (as if it wasn’t terrifying enough).  My ‘word-thing’ was quite long. 3 pages in my journal. As I turned the page I looked up at Hollie and rather apologetically said ‘Don’t worry I’ve nearly finished’ worried that I was hogging the limelight.  But as I looked at her she had tears in her eyes and was visibly moved.  I remember thinking ‘that’s weird’ but carried on and when I finished I looked up and other people in the audience were also crying. Then Robert said some stuff I don’t remember but definitely something about having read many of the Sufi poets and that mine was ‘just as beautiful’.

As I returned to my seat my MCV (Mean Chatty Voice) said bitchily ‘He’s definitely lying’ but during the break more people came over to thank me for sharing the words and told me how much my poem had touched them in some way.  I just keep thinking it was SO WEIRD.  And it continued at lunch. People talking about me and my poem at the lunch table and complimenting me and saying lovely things about how they felt when I had shared.  WHAT THE FUCK WAS GOING ON?

I was pretty quiet during lunch until one more person had come over to me it finally dawned on me that NOT THAT MANY PEOPLE WOULD LIE! Like my little mean voice had been so convincing when it was a couple of people (plus Robert and Holllie) but when it got to about 20 people (not an exaggeration) there was no way I could continue to believe him saying ‘They all think your writing is shit and theyre all just being nice to your face. She’s lying too. Theyre ALL in it together’ and I finally got that, sure there was probably a few people that didn’t find it that good but the majority of people did and wanted to tell me. People were telling the truth.

I think that this extreme kind of ‘group reassurance’ sparked me into action, because back home , the following week I wrote (well, LOVE wrote, remember!!) over 40 poems in the middle of the night every day for a week. I had my book. I contacted Michelle(Catanach - check her on FB if you also want to write a book) and things started moving and I decided a launch date near my birthday in April.

I was going to publish my book-thing.

In the meantime, I sent the rough version to Robert and Hollie and rather cheekily (whilst totally shitting it as they are two huge Mentors for me) asked if they would have a look at it and maybe even contribute to a Foreword or give me a quote from The Course that I could include. About two weeks later I heard back from Robert telling me that he was, I quote; ‘Loving my poetry’ and that it was ‘very inspiring’ - which translated in Katey-Roberts-land as..... the COMPLETE OPPOSITE !!!!! WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK ?  Yet again The Voice telling me this time ‘Well, he might have liked the first one you did but he HATES the rest of them and definitely doesn’t think that theyre good enough to go into a book or else he would have written a few words for the Foreword.’ cue HUGE MELTDOWN from me.

Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. I felt mortified, embarrassed, ashamed. ‘Why the hell am I doing this. My book-thing is obviously shit. I can’t believe I think that anyone would want to read it’. And despite any rational person (my publisher and my boyfriend) telling me that Robert had actually said NICE positive things and is a very busy man doing all things Hayhouse or chatting to his mate Oprah and probably simply doesn’t have time; all I wanted to do was pull the plug on the whole thing, because in my head Robert was lying. Again.

But I felt so needy of his validation, his approval, his reassurance and even though he had given it in the email I just was consumed by this self doubt. My book-thing is SHIT.

So I had a little shame-fear-cry and just sat on the floor with my tears, also feeling surprise at the force of my feeling. And when I stopped, turned my computer on to write this - actively leaning into all the uncomfortableness?...uncomfortability?  (definitely can’t get the ‘word-thing’ here!) to try and work out what was going on.

And I thought about the Emperors New Clothes.  Cos that’s how I feel bringing this book into the world; prancing about the streets with it, completely bollock naked with everyone telling me how good it is, but secretly laughing behind my back saying ‘who does she think she is? This is SHIT’

I’d been expecting the Vulnerability Hangover, but this was happening BEFORE I’ve even published the bloomin book-thing ! That’s ridiculous!

So as I write this I remember who I am writing the book for. Me and no one else. Not my fella. Not my mates. Not my parents. Not you lot. Not Robert and Hollie. Just me.

Just because I have always wanted to.

Just because it is a dream of mine.

Just because I wanted to birth some creation into the world with my name on it.

But mainly because I’ve always wanted to write a book. Not a book-thing. An actual book.

And MY book is called ‘What Love Told Me’

Because Love DID tell me.

And that is enough for me.




One of those days

"Wakey Wakey, Lazy bones"

A rude awakening. I open my eyes to the morning light, wondering whose voice it is today. 

It's Fear. "Good morning, rise and shine" he says as he draws back the curtains

"Oh its you" I say wearily.

"I'm here too" said the quiet shy voice of Love, but Fear talks over her, as usual. 

"C'mon, get up - we have so much to do". He drags the covers off me. 

Love just rolls her eyes as she pulls the duvet back over herself. 

I step out of bed and Fear trips me up. 

"Ha ha gotcha!"

I am tearful, wobbly, raw.  I look longingly at Love but she's fallen back asleep. 

Fear drags me to the bathroom and as I look in the mirror he snidely tells me how rough I look. 

I stare at my reflection, searching for Love's best friend Kindness, but only the Evil twins rock up - Bossiness and Meanness. 

"Good morning", they chirp simultaneously. 

"Why are you two so perky?" I ask, but they're too busy inspecting my frizzy hair and sniggering. 

"Ok we have a busy day ahead of us- let's get a move on shall we" says Bossiness as he orders me into the shower, whilst Meanness gives my naked body the once over and makes some comment to the others out of earshot. I pull the shower curtain around me but can still hear them whispering about me.

I wash and dry myself quickly. My energy is flat but they usher me into the bedroom to get dressed.  My clothes feel too big and I wonder if I have shrunk in the night.

"Wow you're very small today" sayd Fear

"Look at the state of you", quips Meanness "You can't go out looking like that"

"We haven't go time for all this messing" says Bossiness. "We have to get things done, remember"

We go downstairs and there is Significance looking at his watch.  "What time do you call this ? We are so busy. Let's Go Go Go. Chop Chop" 

"What's the plan of attack?" asks Fear

“Well clearly this Loser is incapable of organising things today so we’ll have to do everything for her” says Meanness. “We need a meeting” and they huddle together, each of them shouting over the other.

No one notices as I sneak out and go back upstairs.

Love is awake. She’s sitting in bed reading and drinking tea.

“I’m tired”, I tell her. “I can’t do it today. It’s all too much”

She draws back the covers and beckons me in. “Well, get back in here with us, my dear" and I notice Kindness in there too. These two are inseparable after all.  I get in and Kindness speaks softly;"That bunch of fools will be fine without you today" as she starts stroking my hair and my face.

“Don't worry, we’ll look after you today" says Love. "You need some nurturing. Some rest” and I start to relax as she cuddles me.

She looks in my tired, tearful eyes and whispers “Darling girl there is nothing you need to do or be today. You are enough without the Busyness. And sometimes you just can’t do it and that’s ok. Now rest your weary heart, my dear and start again tomorrow. We’ll stay with you” and Kindness nods with her.

And I sigh as I fall back asleep in Love’s arms, feeling her rocking me gently, whispering my name.



Beautiful Grief

I see her sitting quietly on Her bench softly crying. 

She seems oblivious to the tears mixing with the rain water on her face. It's dark. 

I approach her. “I see you” I say silently, but the inevitable “Are you okay?” is what actually comes out.

“Of course not” her eyes reply, but the lie “I’m fine” is spoken.

Neither of us believe her.

“May I sit?” I speak, with the rest of the words hanging in the air;“...May I quietly witness your pain ? Will you show me your truth?”

Her heart raw and open responds. “I will show you. It is too much for me to carry alone tonight”


She sips on her bottle. Archers. The sickly sweet smell transports me back in time for a moment and I lose my presence. She offers me a cigarette then when I refuse, apologises for the smoke.

“How did you see me?”. She seems surprised

I tell her I see a lot of people sitting on this bench in their grief. Remembering.

“I come here to be with Her.”  

“Do you talk to Her?” I ask

“All the time”

“What does she say?”

“Many things. Usually she asks me to come and join her, but I haven’t managed it yet”

The ‘yet’ hangs between us.


And she begins to talk. Stories and memories about Her. She was only 16. Her young life cut short by That Man. We all know him.  He took 22 with him in total. The senseless tragedy of Our City.  I feel anger again.

The empathy is stronger now. “That is fucking shit. The pain you must feel. That is really fucking hard”

I am surprised at my Lioness. My language somehow hoping to connect with her rage in the vulgarity of her pain.

She shows me a video of Her singing at a school concert. Her voice is pure. Stunning. ‘There must be some mistake’ I think - She is so real on the screen. So alive

“She was so beautiful and so strong” she tells me

“She must take after you”

She snorts.

But I mean it.  How beautiful she is, sat here in the rain consumed by this cruel grief.  I see so much love in her pain. The despair and unfathomable sadness has so much grace to it. It’s all there blurred together.

She talks. Almost like a Confession. How she’s plans it. How her brain has decided that she must also stop Being. How every time she has tried, she gets saved at the last minute.  

To me it is a great wonder the pills remain untouched in her pocket.

Given the choice between this Life without Her or Death - I am bewildered why she would choose to stay.

‘What stops you?’ I want to ask; ‘Why would you, when she’s calling you so loudly from the Other Side?’

But I do not dare in case my asking sparks her into action. Nudges her over. And for a moment I panic. I move into Fixer. Helper. How can I stop her? How can I save her ? I’ve been put on her path tonight. But what the hell can I do ? Show me. Show me. Show me...

Luckily she’s tired. It won’t be tonight

We both know

I feel relieved. She feels weak.

Maybe tomorrow


I selfishly ask “What are you going to do now?”, shamefully signalling our meeting is almost over. I am relieved when she tells me she’ll go back. 

She pauses. “Thank you - you are so kind”

“It is me who should be thanking you. Thank you for showing me it all.”

And we walk back. Mostly in silence but with some awkward snippets of small talk. The Vulnerability gone now. The intimacy forgotten between us. 


As she leaves, I embrace her and hold on a little longer.

Perhaps for myself rather than her.

As I’ll never know whether she’ll make it. 


Bad Blood

For the first time ever in my life last night a man (my man) bought tampons for me. This month I have the worst period I've had since I was about 16, when I used to faint regularly in church because I was so weak from blood loss and anaemia. Last night after watching a film on the sofa, I had the mortifying realisation that my period was so heavy, the blood had leaked through my Super-Duper-Mother-of-All-Tampons tampon, my knickers AND my jeans. Luckily the sofa escaped looking like a scene from Chainsaw Massacre and I managed to leg it to the bathroom without further damage.

Then as I sat on the loo, the panic set in as I realised I'd used an entire box of tampons that day, and that I didn't actually have enough to get me through the night. Surely all the chemists where I usually buy the Extra Super Plus Plus (!) variety that my Day 1 required, would be closed at this time of night. 

I went downstairs and burst into tears.  My lovely man was soothing, telling me this was a particularly bad month. I felt vulnerable and embarrassed.  My insecurity goaded me to ask if any of his ex girlfriends had it ‘this bad’ to which he sweetly replied No.  Great, now I was filled with worry AND huge shame as well.

Then he valiantly declared that he would go to Tesco, even though it was 9 o'clock at night (in my brain fog I’d forgotten that unlike the supermarkets in NL, over here they’re open till Stupid O’clock AND there is an ENTIRE aisle full of Sanitary Products! ) Wow what a man! So he went and even returned with a bar of Dairy Milk.

So why did I feel embarrassed?

Image result for rupi kaur period

A while ago, this image above of Photographer and Poet Rupi Kaur’s fully clothed woman lying in bed with a period stain was deleted twice by Instagram because it didn’t 'follow their community guidelines', which prohibit ‘sexual acts, violence and nudity’ and apparently menstruation related pics.  Rather fabulously, this ridiculous response from the Social Media site only grabbed Rupi more attention (hurrah!) and the photos were reposted with an apology, and indirectly more exposure all over the world.

But when I saw the image - I remember also feeling shocked and a bit scared, I suppose.  Like ‘I can’t believe she just did that’.  It was closely followed by the delayed reaction ‘Good on her’, but my initial feeling was definitely shock.  And shame, since this was an image that I could have personally posed for hundreds of times over the 27 years I have been having periods. I’ve seen it all before. I’ve changed outfits and bedclothes and scrubbed mattresses, as I’m sure ALL women have, but I’ve never spoken to anyone about it and I’d definitely never seen images before Rupi’s.  So why is it so shocking ?

I guess in any other situation to have that much blood coming out of a part of your body WOULD be shocking ! Christ, we would probably ring an ambulance or at the very least head over to A&E to get stitched up.  But this is something that’s happening internally on a monthly basis.  That we have to just GET ON WITH. Periods are meant to be invisible. And I also want to keep mine invisible. I do an extra check of the toilet after I’ve flushed to remove any trace of blood, that God forbid another human might witness. I hide tampons secretly in my jeans’ pocket if I am going to the loo for a change.  Once on the bus whilst rummaging in my bag, a tampon fell out and rolled down the aisle towards the driver and I did nothing! I just sat there with my cheeks getting redder and redder, hoping no one had noticed.  What the fuck?!! 

And even now, in this relationship with my loving boyfriend I felt relieved that he hadn’t seen any blood and was only witnessing the aftermath of my pants and jeans soaking in the kitchen sink, which was bad enough. And HE didn’t give a shit (in a nice way) - he wasn’t bothered.  It was ALL me. I felt the shame, the embarrassment. I was the one who tried to block him seeing me scrubbing the red stains as he came in the kitchen. I was the one avoiding eye contact as he left for Tesco.  And then on his return I was so over-the-top grateful to him - profusely thanking him and apologising for ‘having to put up with me’ ! What ? Like it was some sort of traumatic ordeal for him to buy tampons. But certainly he was the first man who has ever ‘done that’ for me.  I couldn’t even ask him - He was the one who offered and wasn’t the slightest bit fazed! So clearly it’s ONLY ME making it out to be a Big Deal.

Or is it? Are there other women out there who feel the same? I have no idea! Cos we don’t talk about it !!

I think I first remember the embarrassment when the ‘Tampax Lady’ visited our school in the 80s and took all the girls into a room separately.  I don’t remember it EVER being mentioned again!  I like to think that no longer happens nowadays and the boys are also included too in the Period Talk.  But maybe I’m wrong as perhaps that would still be embarrassing for the girls?  I’m a 43 year old woman and clearly I’m still embarrassed. 

My fella told me, on his return from the supermarket, that there’d been a small gang of 20-something women sniggering as they overheard him on the phone, checking he’d found the right tampons.  Is it that unusual to see a man buying sanitary products ? I guess so.  But then I have never asked a single ex-boyfriend/friend/work colleague or even my Dad/my Brother in the past. So what do you expect?

So women of the world - perhaps it starts with us. To talk amongst ourselves. To the men. To our kids.  Boys and girls. This taboo will only change if we speak out. And normalise our monthly cycles.  And NEVER EVER talk in code about ‘Auntie Flo coming to town’ or pronouncing the word ‘Period’ like Victoria Wood’s classic sketch !

And to perhaps take the lead from our men, who would be happy to pick you up some Lil-lets next time he’s in Boots. Because HE doesn’t care. He just wants to make you happy. And feel like he’s needed. And appreciated.

The final part of Rupi Kaur’s statement to Instagram (to see her response in full click here: was this: 

“In older civilizations this blood was considered holy. In some it still is. But a majority of people, societies. and communities shun this natural process. Some are more comfortable with the pornification of women. The sexualisation of women. The violence and degradation of women than this. They cannot be bothered to express their disgust about all that. But will be angered and bothered by this. We menstruate and they see it as dirty. Attention seeking. Sick. A burden. As if this process is less natural than breathing. As if it is not a bridge between this universe and the last. As if this process is not love. labour. life. selfless and strikingly beautiful."

She uses the word BEAUTIFUL ! About periods ! Pppffff what the fuck ? That is certainly NOT a word I would use! So apart from Rupi, perhaps it’s some of us with the problem.  The Women. We’re the ones judging our own cycles. We hate our PMT. We hate feeling weak. We couldn’t possibly call in sick at work because of ‘Period Pains’. We cry in the toilets away from The Boss (male or female). We hide away. We compare ourselves to our friends and their cycles. We shame ourselves ‘So-and-so doen’t get it THIS bad’.

There’s also now Women judging Women for STILL using tampons and wasting MORE plastic when they ‘should’ be making their own recycleable sanitary pads. So we buy a Moon-cup off Amazon then start judging ourselves again for not being able to get the bloody thing up there. We judge other people talking about their cycle.  Perhaps you’re judging me? And on and on it goes...

Feeling shameful. Keeping Quiet. Staying Invisible.

And I almost didn’t write this post. My ego was telling me I’m attention seeking or that I’m being a Victim trying to get sympathy for my ‘Bad’ periods. When actually it just didn’t want me to write about it because its still a taboo topic.  I have always felt weird and uncomfortable saying the words bleeding and blood in relation to menstruation. Yet I’m happy to post about the more ‘mental’ aspects of my cycle - trying to normalise PMT and educate myself (and others) about this PMDD which some of us suffer from (which ALSO shockingly my female doctor had NEVER heard of!..I digress).

So perhaps the root cause is that (some of) us have a problem embracing our feminine, celebrating our cycle and reminding ourselves that this is a sacred process.  

I invite you to look at this photo again. Did you also feel the shock factor? Did you find it confronting even just for a minute?  Imagine if it was a photo of YOU that had been posted.  And acknowledge how YOU might feel about that. Would there be some shame and embarrassment? Disgust ? Or could you see it like my new hero(ine) Rupi does - that it simply represents love, life, beauty?

So next time, there’s an ‘incident’, I shall be repeating her beautiful words - “My womb is home to the Divine” as I’m scrubbing my pants in the sink. Or perhaps I’ll ask my Man to do it whilst I go to Tesco..... Too far ? 



The first rule of Red Tent is you do not talk about Red Tent...(So let's talk about ME instead!)

I facilitated our first Red Tent meeting last night.  In case, like me, you were also thinking it was some particularly flamboyant camping trip (Kill. Me. Now) - A Red Tent is a gathering of women usually around the new moon to support each other and be there to reflect on life.  I finally got round to reading Anita Diamant’s legendary book of the same name a few months back and I loved the idea of woman coming together, particularly in that energy of the New Moon when we can be susceptible to extra bonkerness, overwhelm, manic-ness (is that a word? I didn’t want to type Mania!!), emotions, weepiness, over-tiredness, and that antsy feeling where you feel a bit trapped in your own body. So I set up the group and 12 beautiful souls came together last night and a Community was created through the magic of us sharing our truth in vulnerability.

Traditionally The Red Tent is so called because all of the women’s menstrual cycle would be in sync with each other during a particular phase of the moon, so during this time The RED (clue is in the name) Tent would be the place where they would all gather to physically bleed together and release their menstrual blood into the earth for 3 days, before returning back to ‘normal life’ with the men and the rest of the community.  And during this time these women wouldn’t lift a finger, would relax and rest with their sisters (I get it - periods are exhausting!) to just talk, laugh and cry together in this sacred tent during their 'Moontime'. A bit like last night - only in place of the tent (did I mention I HATE camping) it was held in my mate’s warm, cosy living room and luckily for her furniture, without us all bleeding in sync together.  

But it was beautiful.  I was so touched by the courage of them all - especially as some people had only met for the first time that night and already dared to share things from deep in their heart, that perhaps they have never told people close to them.  To witness and hold space for them felt like a deep honour and something even ‘miraculous’  when the relief was acknowledged amongst us of realising ‘Shit, I’m not the ONLY one who feels like that’. 

But when I got home I was relaying SOME of it..(what goes on in Red Tent STAYS in Red Tent!!).. to my fella, I explained that we would be taking it in turns to host(ess) the monthly session. He said. ‘Wow so you don’t have to run another one for a whole year’.


As soon as he said it I felt nervous AND excited. Scared AND relieved. Happy AND worried.

I've noticed recently that the balance of me actually receiving space/love/time/listening ears for ME has got so wonky. Don’t get me wrong, I have some amazing, supportive, healthy, balanced equal friendships,  but the more events I’ve been running , the more I’ve found myself caught up in a cycle of giving and holding space for others and not finding situations back to receive that for myself. It’s probably happened by default, given that the work I do as a Kundalini yoga and Reiki teacher and therapist etc, but perhaps there was also an element of me being really comfortable with it being a bit one-sided.  Perhaps there was some safety in that imbalance for me as it meant I could indirectly do some more intimacy avoidance?  Where I didn't have to share back?  It’s ironic really that I facilitate so much Connection in the stuff I do (Shameless Plug: The next Connection Experiment starts in October if you want to join!) and yet I end up feeling lonely like I’m the one washing up, alone in my kitchen at my own party, with everyone else dancing in the other room ! (That has actually happened). Like I’m happier on the sidelines, not getting involved but secretly longing for that connection FOR me too.

Perhaps it comes from being a shy kid? Perhaps its from the fact I’m an Empath and get overwhelmed by the energy of Too Many People and have to retreat to recharge. Perhaps because I class myself as an introvert.  Or because I want to be in Control or because I like being so independant? Or perhaps the excuses are a cop-out and I’m just scared.

Whatever it is, recently there has been a deep longing in me to be also seen and heard. To NOT have to be there for others ALL the time as I’ve started to resent it a bit if there was no equal energy exchange back (i.e payment/balanced friendship).  People sometimes expect me to support or be there for them almost ‘on call’ and despite sometimes feeling swamped or overwhelmed by this - I have to take full responsibility and simply learn to strengthen my leaky boundaries so that my energy isn’t getting depleted when it feels one-sided.

This has also shown up in my Meditation Practice.  I am outing myself on here that so far, I have ONLY had any kind of practice because of others and not for myself. What I mean is that If I have a Reiki client or a yoga class or a workshop where I have to be on top form to support others - I will take time to meditate, protect myself, clear out my energy and put on my Batfink Love Wings to be able to ‘hold’ whatever gets thrown at me.  Bring it all to me - your tears, your shame, your doubt, your anger, your trauma, your fear - I can handle it. I will see you and hear you and accept you. You can say or do or be anything you like and I will be here loving and supporting you.  But on the other days, when it’s just little old me, the morning practice and any kind of connection with The Universe gets thrown out the window.


Even to the extent of making a brew -

Other Person: “Do you want a cuppa?”

Me (practically running to the kettle): “I’ll make it”

BOOM DEFLECTION! My work here is done. What on earth is that about ? Feel free to insert your own analysis - but I’m sure there’s loads of us like that.  Perhaps the Martyr in you recognises the Martyr in me ?!!

So FINALLY, after holding the group last night I GOT it - that I have to invite stuff in for me. More balanced friendships, more intimacy, more presence and listening, more support, more nurturing, and more cuddles for ME too.  And that starts with me, next month around the new moon, learning to share for myself and open up in this brand new women’s circle. I can’t wait! And since there are no sleeping bags, portaloos and rainy campsites involved, this is probably the first actual Tent I am genuinely excited about.