Date Monday 16 January Time 3.30am
My thoughts and reflections:
It’s late Monday morning, and the last time I wrote in here was only Saturday evening, and yet it was centuries ago.
I’m at the BFI café, and it’s noisy and familiar and anonymous and I’ve come here quite a few times because it’s close to work, usually with Drunk Stephen, but this time I’m on my own, so that I can write this.
I want this pocket of time to relive the weekend – the crazy, amazing weekend, which already feels like a shining bright fever dream.
Less than an hour after I’d left Louise in Soho, I arrived at Stamford Bridge, and walked back from the tube station along Chiswick’s leafy streets where you could barely tell it was a Saturday night.
Even though it was dark with a faint drizzle, and January, I felt a sense of anticipation and excitement.
I had manifested living in Astrid’s beyond-beautiful residence; I’d manifested Guy Carmichael finding me attractive and now, just when I’d been feeling low, an opportunity to harness the power of a Capricorn new moon had fallen into my lap.
What if I really could manifest the perfect life?
The walk home hadn’t yet afforded me a glimpse of this new Capricorn moon, but it was barely seven o’clock.
I let myself into Astrid and Aziz’s house and luxuriated in its emptiness: for one evening it was all mine.
If I felt like that, borrowing a house, imagine what it must feel like to actually own somewhere like this – somewhere with an entrance hall the size of a bedroom, elegant period features like high ceilings and wooden bannisters, and slick modern conveniences like underfloor heating.
I went upstairs, changed into my Lululemon dupe tracksuit bottoms (thank you, TikTok) and Astrid’s Nike hoody, and piled my hair up.
As I padded through to the kitchen to make a sandwich, my thick socks sliding satisfyingly on the polished oak floors, I peered up out of the skylight, but all I could see was darkness.
Never mind – still plenty of night left for some moon-spotting.
I put some music on and was halfway through an incredible sandwich I’d compiled when I heard the unmistakable sound of rain clattering against the glass ceiling.
Hmmm. I finished my sandwich slowly, hoping the rain would abate, but it didn’t: moon manifesting in Astrid’s back garden was rapidly becoming less appealing.
Although, I reminded myself, every obstacle is an opportunity…
I decided to go the Wordsworth / warm bath route (no incest obviously) and moon-manifest from the comfort of indoors.
I checked The Guide again and had a hunt through the fridge, but I couldn’t find any sage.
Then I had a brainwave and looked in the spice cupboard: one already opened and another brand-new jar of sage.
I tipped the contents of the opened one into a small blue bowl.
It looked rather sparse, so I added a bit more from the new jar.
I fetched Astrid’s Baobab Black Pearl candle from the downstairs loo (where it seems to be used for general decorative purposes as it’s never been lit) and set it on the coffee table in the living area along with the sage, my copy of The Guide and a box of Cook’s Matches (only ones I could find and they did somewhat spoil the effect).
I turned off all the lights, which was harder than it sounds because Astrid and Aziz have set some up on timers and others are linked to ring circuits which should be simple, but seem to involve a number of light switches that do nothing at all.
Eventually, the house was in complete darkness (well, not complete because there are quite a few electrical appliances as well as far more street lights outside than I previously realised and the neighbours have effectively illuminated their garden like it’s a brothel in Amsterdam, which I might mention to Astrid because surely that’s got to affect house prices, solar powered or not).
Next, by the light of my phone, I lit the revered Baobab Black Pearl candle, then attempted to ignite the sage.
This proved tricky. It involved a fair amount of smoke, a couple of insignificant burns to my fingers, and some prolonged coughing, and eventually I made the kind of executive decision that would have impressed even Guy Carmichael himself, and decreed the room cleansed and sacred.
So, I focused on the candle and stared at the flame.
I waited until at least a minute had passed and the flame flickered and swayed and dipped and sprung in a way that I think I may have found surprisingly and utterly captivating, but I’m not entirely sure.
Because there’s a chance it was as underwhelming and candle-y as anticipated.
Or it may have been quite the transcendental moment. Either way, after a minute or so had elapsed, I took the bull by the horns and began manifesting.
By the light of you
I make myself new
Shed this old skin
And unfurl wings
Bathed in your glow
Ready to grow
Released, renewed,
Ready, imbued,
Cleansed, reborn
I am yours, Capricorn.
(If I’m honest, at this point, it did feel a bit surreal talking to a candle. But it wasn’t like there was anyone here to witness it, so I pushed ahead, through the misgivings, and followed the path of The Guide .)
I articulated carefully in a kind of churchy voice because it seemed right to do so.
By the light of Capricorn, I manifest the perfect man falling in love with me.
That’s Guy Carmichael, to be clear, and thank you for all you’ve done already on that front.
If you could also stretch to making him as fantastic in the sack as I imagine him to be, I’d be super grateful.
And maybe one post on Instagram just for Charlotte’s benefit.
By the light of Capricorn, I’d like to manifest continuing to live in Astrid’s house until I get my own flat and it would be great if she’d maybe go easy on the utilities and be a bit more generous with the wine sharing.
By the light of Capricorn, please do not let me get sacked from work. Sack some of the other fuckers who are useless. Please keep my job secure, and add in a pay rise whilst you’re at it. And could everyone get my name right?
By the light of Capricorn, I manifest garnering respect and admiration from friends, colleagues and family.
I don’t want to get too specific, but I’d like Cool Jason from Design to do one of those little nose laughs when I speak, as if I’ve said something genius.
And I want Charlotte to ask me how I always put together such amazing looks and Arrie to ask me for some advice and Astrid to say, You make me feel like a complete dunderhead, Alice – how do you know so much and Mum to say, Who would have thought Alice would be the highest earner of the —
And then, like a needle scratch in the Moonlight Sonata, a deep voice said, ‘Alice, can we manifest making it less dark in here? Would the light of Capricorn stretch to that?’
Seriously ?
‘What the actual fuck, Matthew?’ I said in disbelief, turning round to see a shadowy outline in the doorway. I mean, what was he? Some kind of stealth ninja? ‘You’re meant to be in Shoreditch.’
‘Yeah, I took a rain check,’ said Matthew.
I fumbled frantically around in the blackness and managed to get a side lamp on.
‘What do you know,’ said Matthew, dripping onto the oak floor. ‘Manifesting really works! We have light. You’ve won me over, Alice.’
‘Where are Aziz and Astrid?’
‘They’ve gone to dinner at The Clove Club,’ said Matthew, picking his way over to the kitchen and grabbing a tea towel. He started roughly drying his hair.
‘They agreed to go without you?’ I said in surprise.
‘No,’ said Matthew. ‘I said I’d catch them up. But by now, they’ll be at least one course into the ten-course tasting menu, so you don’t need to worry: they can’t leave even when they realise I’m not coming. They’ll be stuck there together for hours.’
‘Why didn’t you go? Astrid’s going to kill you. And what makes you think I’m worried?’
‘Because you’ve been chaperoning me and Astrid all day.’
‘I haven’t!’ I lied.
Matthew pulled off his sodden jumper, stretched lazily and yawned; his T-shirt rose up at the side, exposing part of his abdomen. I tried not to dribble. For an arsehole, he was aggravatingly built.
‘Look, I know your sister will be mad at me. But I figured they could use a little space. She’s shutting out Aziz at the time she most needs him. So I bailed.’
‘Hmm,’ I said, trying to keep focused. That was thoughtful of him. I could see the start of a tattoo on his upper arm. When did he get that? ‘So, you, erm, want them to be together, then?’
Matthew stopped and gave me a seriously pissed-off look. ‘No, I’m just patiently waiting for things to go wrong so I can cop off with Astrid. Problem?’
I don’t know how he gets to be so arsey. It’s a perfectly reasonable concern given how attractive Astrid is and the fact she and Matthew are as thick as thieves. ‘No problem here,’ I said stiffly.
‘Anyway,’ said Matthew. ‘Things are definitely going to go wrong for you when Astrid gets back and finds out you’ve been doing a bong in her house.’
‘I haven’t!’ I said indignantly. ‘I’ve been burning sage.’
Matthew scoffed. ‘Did your journal tell you to?’
‘Yes. Problem?’
‘No,’ said Matthew. ‘No problem here. I mean if The Guide franchise are comfortable exploiting vulnerable females with mental health issues, it makes complete sense to cash in via the cultural appropriation route too.’
‘Again, I am not a vulnerable female with mental health issues.’ I grabbed the box of Cook’s Matches and took aim at his head. But the glib twat caught them.
He raised his eyebrows at me. ‘No, definitely no anger issues here.’
‘Only where you’re concerned. I get on super-well with other people. In fact I—’
‘— Garner the respect and admiration of friends, family and colleagues ?’ said Matthew, his eyes glinting.
‘You shouldn’t have been listening to that!’