Tag Archives: Cash Peters

Political Psychic Predictions

Hi there. Some news.

Just lately I’ve been taking the same channeling abilities I use to analyze people’s handwriting (visit my website here) and expanding them to include predictions for political figures in the UK and United States–with, I should add, astonishing results.

It’s been a total revelation, literally, not only that the gift could be used for something like that–which shocked even me; how wild is that?–but how accurate these predictions have been so far. From the get-go I was absolutely prepared to get it wrong, and treated it as a lark. But with the passing of the weeks since July, when I started making predictions for President Trump and others, I’ve watched the predictions unfold into reality and been gobsmacked.

The channeled downloads take the form of landscapes and timelines. The person whose future I’m trying to examine passes through this landscape and I simply observe the ups and downs of their life as they happen, then write these down in the form of drawings. You can watch this sample video to get a better idea.

Alas, I’m the very worst artist imaginable. That’s the weak link in this. I couldn’t draw a horse to save my life, for instance. Or even people. That bit’s a disaster. But as for the accuracy of the predictions so far, it’s indisputable. Pompeo, Graham, Barr, Clinton, Buttigieg, Biden–they’re all there. Will Trump step down from office? Will Biden be president? Will Hillary re-enter the race? What about Bloomberg or Gabbard or Warren or Bernie? Will Boris Johnson win the UK election? Will Brexit go through and Britain leave the European Union? I’ve done all of these and posted the results as short videos on YouTube for you to enjoy.

I posted the latest one on my YouTube channel last night. It includes Clarence Thomas resigning from the Supreme Court and Trump’s immediate future. Watch it here. Or click on the video above.

You can subscribe to the videos if you like, but I’ll also be posting them on here each time I do one, so that you can keep track of the predictions and monitor whether they come true. If you have feedback, please write your comment under the video–but make it nice. We don’t trade in insults or negativity here.

Hope you like it.

 

 

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“An irresistible opportunity to explore your soul’s path.” Don’t miss out.

Have you ever thought of having your handwriting analyzed? writing person

Many people say, “Sure, I’ve just never asked anyone to do it.” While others come back with a blunt, “No.” In fact, they’re aghast that I’d even bother bringing the subject up. “Why? Who writes longhand any more?” Or they tell me their writing has deteriorated to the point of being a scrawl and embarrassingly illegible.

But here’s the thing about your handwriting. It’s not really about WHAT or HOW you write that matters as much as it is about the ENERGY with which you write it. The way you jot words on a page reflects accurately the energy going on inside of you, which logically must mean that someone with the right abilities could take those words and unlock the secrets behind them, right? The energy of your soul, your life, your pain, your wounds, your passions, the way you love, the way you deal with people. It’s all in there every time you put pen to paper, something standard graphologists have known for centuries.

I am not a standard graphologist. 25 years ago I embarked on a staggeringly powerful adventure of analyzing handwriting, Spirituality & Health taking my natural gift for exploring a person’s energy and interpreting it, then mirroring back to them what’s going on in their life. There’s an article here about it in Spirituality & Health magazine. The clarity and understanding this can bring to someone is inestimable.

Most of the time we’re too close to living our daily lives to be able to see the bigger picture of what’s really going on. Intuitive handwriting analysis can bring a fresh perspective. handwriting 2

Every so often, I will become drained and overwhelmed by the work and have to withdraw the service so that I can get my depleted reserves back up again. Well, one of those rest periods is coming to an end, which means that, for the next few weeks, I’m ready to go again.

handwriting website front pageSo if you’re interested in having your writing analyzed and the avenues of your soul’s path explored, then please get in touch. It’s easy to do, a whole lot of fun, and very entertaining and insightful.

Visit my website: http://www.cashpeters.com, click on the Handwriting tab, and it will take you to this page on the right. That’s where you’ll see a short video about what I do, and find out what you need to send. It’s simple, it’s quick, and the results may well blow your away.

Cash Peters has written three books on this subject, one of which was a #1 bestseller in its category in the UK last year. He has appeared on numerous TV and radio show demonstrating his abilities, including Entertainment Tonight, Montel Williams, and The View. He has also acted as a consultant to The Smithsonian.  The Life QuizYou can listen to his podcast, THE LIFE QUIZ, by clicking here, or downloading it from iTunes.

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Something new that’s well worth an hour of your time

Some while ago, after my 15-year run on the BBC came to an end, listeners wrote in (and still do) suggesting I put out a podcast.

That seemed like a very unrealistic objective to begin with, quite frankly.

First, I was bored with broadcasting; I’d been at it for forty years, man and boy. Surely I get to take a break at some point, don’t I? There comes a time when you’ve said all there is to say. With that in mind, I simply retired to write books. Besides which, I considered podcasts a bit of a come-down for a long-time professional broadcaster. Howard Stern calls them ‘radio for losers.’ Losers being people who can’t otherwise get into radio, or who’ve been fired from regular broadcasting and can’t find a job. I was neither.

Now, though, three years later, podcasts ARE radio. Podcasts are where the action is.

Whereas radio of every stripe is beholden to sponsors and advertisers and political correctness, amd therefore can’t ever give you the whole story – or if it does, then that story has been edited by a committee of four people before it reaches you, especially on the BBC or NPR – podcasts don’t do that. They feature honest, uncensored content. My kind of content.

The Life QuizFor that reason, I finally got around to doing a podcast. It’s called The Life Quiz and it’s like nothing else that’s out there. I think you’re going to like it. The reaction so far has been tremendous.

It’s based on an idea I had a looooong time ago. Season 1 features six shows and six guests, each answering a list of set questions about life, living, and what it’s all about. The result is fascinating. The six people I interviewed were very special in their own way, and willing to be  candid, vulnerable, and open. The conversations are amazing, as well as often moving and enlightening.

So why not check it out? The first show features Sally Stevens, who you’ll recognize from The Simpsons, Family Guy, and her work on loads of movies, from Jurassic Park to The Matrix and Terminator; even The Sound of Music. Either listen below, or visit the website and get more information there. It’s also available for download on iTunes. Just type ‘The Life Quiz’ into your podcast search box, and away you go.

Episode 2 features Veronica Cartwright, one of the stars of Alien and The Witches of Eastwick. Episode 3 is devoted to a truly fascinating man, Christof Bove, a former NBC Universal executive who got mired in the Hollywood lifestyle of drink and drugs in a way that almost cost him his life. His revelations are riveting.

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Candida – a new weapon in the war

If you’re one of those people who’s suffering from a raft of unsolvable ailments, from hearing loss to psoriasis, zits and rashes right up to cancer and M.S., then I have just the book for you. A book that’s like nothing else around, I promise.

Early last year, I dashed off a little post here about my run-in with Candida albicans – manifesting as deafness, tinnitus, acne, dizzy spells, mysterious rashes, circulation issues etc. – and how I’d attempted to tackle it. It wasn’t meant to be much, just a speculative discussion about causes and possible remedies. A confessional almost.

Since then I have kept on experimenting and looking for ways – physical, mental, emotional – to overcome this pernicious little horror inside of me. There are so many questions people ask about Candida, and I asked the same questions too, when I was tackling it. Years I spent searching for the answers. In the end, I thought it made sense to explain what I’d found out, as well as the Humaworm cleanse I went through to reduce me Candida overgrowth, and make it accessible to other sufferers. The result is now a short but amazing new book.

Taming the Beast Within Final CoverIt’s called Taming the Beast Within: A New Weapon in the War on Candida. You can get it on Amazon HERE. It’s of course on iTunes as well.  

The ebook is crammed with information, lay-person to lay-person.

  • How to test for Candida
  • What Candida looks like
  • How to respond appropriately to a Candida overgrowth
  • Why treatment by doctors often makes it worse
  • What a 30-day anti-fungal Cleanse feels like (with photos)
  • What the cause of Candida might be. Not the trigger, the cause. How come you have candida problems and not the next person?
  • How yeast infections may be behind M.S., deafness, tinnitus, cancer, acne, Crohn’s, etc.
  • A whole new path about healing Candida, and bringing the body back to harmony. Something you won’t find in any other book.

Taming the Beast Within is an informative and engaging personal journey into the dark and potentially dangerous world of Candida.

Its very first unsolicited Amazon reviews have given it 5 stars. ‘This book is a must read for all humans. The information….is worth every penny.’

Another review says: ‘A great book that has shown me a whole new way forward. Highly recommended to anyone who suffers from Candida, has health problems of any kind or who simply wants to learn more about a healthy life style.’

I’ve put my heart and soul and more into this book, in the hope that it will help other lay people who, like me, have been mysteriously afflicted with unaccountable symptoms for years but never realized why, to come to terms with what they’re dealing with and to fight back. At the very least, it’s an interesting, absorbing, and maybe slightly unsettling read.

ThursdayMorningMemo1400x1400LISTEN to Cash talking about his Candida issues and what he believes is the cause of them in his weekly podcast, The Thursday Morning Memo. Available for download on iTunes.

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A witty and enjoyable new travel book from Cash

I promised you a brand new travel book, and here it is. My fourth. Called, Best Vacation Ever! simply – and appropriately – Best Vacation Ever!

A ‘delightfully witty and informative travel book,’ it says on Amazon, ‘exploring the joys of river cruising.’It goes on: ‘Award-winning travel writer Cash Peters organizes a group of ten friends and family to go on a cruise through French wine country, along the River Rhône in Provence, starting out from the Roman town of Arles in the south, where Van Gogh lived and painted, and sailing all the way up to historic Lyon.

The sharply observed narrative chronicles life on board a river cruise ship with all its glories and pitfalls. The result is a dazzling five-star vacation that over the course of eight days introduces the group to some of the best food and wine they’ve ever had, as well as exposing them to some very peculiar passengers and a few sharp surprises.

An absolute must-read for first-time cruisers as well as enthusiasts eager to eavesdrop on the experiences of other travelers.’

That pretty much does the work for me, as a matter of fact, because it’s exactly what the book’s about.Best Vacation Ever! features numerous tips and tricks for making a river cruise even better, including:
• How to secure the best seat at mealtimes
• Choosing a good cabin
• How to make sure you enjoy the trip without jetlag
• How not to react to the sight of the ship’s captain packing his bags mid-way through the cruise and jumping in a cab
• How to make the most of excursions ashore
• How to deal with bad-tempered and drunken passengers
• What NOT to bring on a river cruise. Example: children

D’you know who Rudy Maxa is? He’s a big cheese in the travel world, with his own TV and radio shows. And he read the book. Here’s what he said:

“Pithy, evocatively written and hilarious. It’s a most entertaining ride!”

 

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The answers to Life’s BIGGEST questions.

Feeling low or lost? is your life filled with anxiety, fear, or worry? Don’t know which way to turn? Need a boost to your self-esteem, or directions about how to find your purpose?

Then, great news: my latest book Why Your Life Matters is now available on Amazon for your Kindle and as a paperback. Also, of course, to be found on iTunes. I’m so proud of it. Already it’s received seven unsolicited reviews on Amazon, saying amazing things, such as:

Why Your Life Matters‘You will love this book….a must-read…brilliant writer…’ 

Rich with wisdom, replete with guiding principles, and abundantly practical, this book is for us all.’

‘To be short and to the point, this is a wonderful, wonderful read. Once started, I could not put this book down.’

There is nothing out there like this. It is inspirational, uplifting, moving, informative stuff that I guarantee will change how you handle life’s challenges. Above all, it will help you understand who you are and your place in the universe, as well as inspiring you to find and fulfill your purpose.

Just recently, Spirituality & Health magazine ran an excerpt. To read it, click HERE.

Why Your Life Matters is food for the soul for anyone seeking to make sense of his or her life. Great wisdom lives here. Read it and remember why you and your life are indeed important.’ – Alan Cohen.

“So well-written. A very enjoyable read.” Dr. Rita Louise, Just Energy Radio

“I really enjoyed this book. Wonderful principles, packaged perfectly.” Robert Sharpe, BITE Radio

 

 

 

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Candida: could there be a magic potion cure after all?

Taming the Beast Within Final CoverHappy new year, candidates.

New book – available now. Taming the Beast Within. How I tackled Candida and won (almost). Maybe it will help you as well. 

Buy it on Amazon today (click on picture to go to site), and iTunes very soon. 

This is a brief –  but getting longer all the time – P.S. to the Candida post I wrote last year. That whole thing, if you recall, was an experiment to discover what the causes of candida overgrowth are and to find ways to bring it under control. It was a mixed bag. As interesting as it was, other than cutting out sugar, dairy, and wheat, and reducing salt, I’m not sure we ended up any the wiser and the world still searches for a solution.

candida-albicansMy own status is that I still have whistling in my ears and slight recurring deafness that has no rhyme or reason to it, as well as skin that’s prone to break-outs whenever it feels like it, but usually related to the foods I’ve eaten. The break-outs puzzled me for the longest time. Then I discovered they might be related to leaky gut syndrome, and I went, “Oh.”

That’s all: oh.

Well, come on, how many theories I have heard by now? Thousands.

Sometimes, when you have a candida overgrowth, you find that nutrients, toxins, and whatever else spill out through holes in the intestines and enter the bloodstream, which then redistributes them around your body, causing zits, rashes, and all kinds of acne-like symptoms. I’m making it sound more fun than it is, but trust me, it’s annoying in the extreme. Same thing happens with parasites.

Anyway, I’d almost given up trying to solve what is turning into a long-term systemic problem. I was done. Nothing worked. It was just the luck of the draw – something I was stuck with forever. That’s how I saw it. It was quite depressing.

Then, one day last November, I stopped by an amazing health food restaurant in Los Angeles to buy some lunch, and spotted in the cooler cabinet a little plastic bottle with no label on it. Underneath, stuck to the shelf, was a piece of paper that said, ‘Anti-candida shot.’

Wow. Really?

The guy behind the counter assured me it was: i) very popular, ii) tasted good, and iii) actually worked.

The mystery potionSo naturally I bought a bottle. Here it is, on the left. It looks like something you’d carry a urine sample in.

Having drunk the contents, I can honestly say that the man in the store was lying through his teeth – about number ii anyway: the potion was probably the worst-tasting liquid I have ever put in my mouth, and if you know me or have followed my career as a travel writer even a tiny bit, you’ll appreciate how bad it must therefore be. Soooo bad, actually, that there’s nothing to compare it to. Except maybe urine, mixed with vinegar, pepper and ginger.

But hey, that’s just me. And if it works, what the hell – right? It’s worth any amount of suffering if it means getting my hearing back and clearing up my skin.

To make things more complicated: a) the drink is only ‘alive’ in the bottle for 48 hours, so you can’t buy a batch of it in bulk ahead of time; and b) the store only makes it when the chef is in the mood, OR if you nag him by calling up every morning, asking, “Is it in yet?” Which is what I did. After much pestering, I’ve managed to get them to agree to make and sell me two bottles every two days for the next two weeks. It’s my two-two-two candida solution, and if it works, then I’ll be the first to tout it as the miracle healing potion we’ve all been looking for.

So what does the bottle contain?

I asked them. It’s a cocktail of several powerful natural ingredients mixed in set proportions, including oregano oil, pau d’arco, cayenne, apple cider vinegar, and ginger (but no urine). Because it’s made fresh, the store doesn’t ship it, but – and this is where it’s so great – if you email them, they will give you the recipe!!!!! Not sure why they would do that, but it’s what the manager told me. I mean, how fantastic is that? I love these people.

So there you go – I feel a whole new experiment coming on.

The crash test dummy is submitting to another two-week self-medication program. I’ll be drinking a bottle of the mystery potion every day, though not all at once, of course – it’s so strong – and reporting back. At the same time, I’ll be helping the process along by cutting out sugar, gluten, and dairy from my diet, and reducing my salt intake. That at least gives the potion a fighting chance. Then, if it works, I’ll name the place and give you their email address, in case you want to follow up and ask any questions of your own. How does that sound?

Good.

I returned from the store an hour ago, clutching my first two bottles. I am very excited. So let the masochism begin. Come back tomorrow and I’ll tell you how the first day went. Watch this space.

DAY 1:  Drank the potion in two separate stages.

By mid-afternoon, felt slight pains around my liver and also where my gallbladder would be if I had one.  Bear in mind, my body is very confused right now. When you take into account the combined abuse it received between Thanksgiving and New Year’s Day – all the food, all the drinking, and so on – it’s a wonder my organs still function in any meaningful way and haven’t stormed out in protest. So I’m allowing a little leeway for my system to clear itself up.

Leaky Gut

Actual X-ray of my stomach today

As a result, my leaky gut is flaring up terribly and my face is a mess (if this is the equivalent of organs storming out in protest, then the protest is right there on my skin). As the potion kicks in and I cut out the things that cause the problem – sugar, wheat, dairy, etc. – that will subside, I’m sure.

What I’m noticing on this first day is that the skin tone is better. Not  a lot better, but part of it could be that I’m waving goodbye to cookies and chocolates and coffee, and switching to salads and green drinks, using water to flush the system and calm everything down. But it’s hard. Taking this potion is like throwing a wet towel over a nuclear power plant fire. The problem won’t go away in a morning. But at least I’m noticing minor differences, and any zits are clearing up faster than normal.

By tomorrow, there should be progress.

DAY 2:  Well, I guess it depends on what we mean by progress. I say this because something terrible happened.

To begin with, let me admit that I think it’s working. At some level, the magic potion is causing change to happen, because my skin tone is definitely better and the volatility of my complexion has subsided greatly. I still bear heavy scars from the Holidays and the gluttony that is my calling card these days, but on the whole things are picking up quite noticeably.

I have huge sugar cravings still, which I’m told is a sign of candidiasis, because, like the plant in Little Shop of Horrors, the angry yeast needs feeding.  And I confess, I buckled: somebody landed a box of Edelweiss chocolate pretzels in front of me, and I simply didn’t have the willpower to resist eating two of them. But no more. I’m done with sugar, dairy, etc. There will be no more lapses.

So things, I thought, were improving.

Then, last night, something terrible happened, and it left me quite shaken.

I was having a crazy dream – the kind of dream that’s so vivid it jolts you awake. You know the kind? Well, in this dream I was choking and drowning, desperately trying to expel water from my throat. It got so bad that in the end I opened my eyes, and found that it wasn’t a dream. I tumblr_men3eomeiA1rm2wy4o1_400really was choking and drowning.

There was fluid stuck in my throat. My gag reflex was triggered. Vile-tasting fluid that I think was bile, and which would neither come up nor go down, had accumulated in the hinterland past the back of my tongue, blocking my passageway. Oh my god, it was horrible. For thirty seconds or more I resisted panicking and just coughed and swallowed, coughed and swallowed, until eventually the bile dissipated and I could breathe again. But it was a horrific moment. My throat is still sore and the muscles in my neck are aching.  The taste in my mouth afterwards was ghastly as well. Again, it had to be bile from my liver.

First thing this morning I rushed to the health food shop and spoke to the guy who prepared the potion. He seemed unfazed by my apoplectic ranting about almost dying in my sleep. “It’s probably your lymph system detoxing,” he told me calmly.

“But I’ve done four Master Cleanses, how much more bloody toxicity can there still be in my lymph system?”

He rolled his eyes. Doesn’t think much of the Master Cleanse, apparently. “The body’s just clearing out toxins, that’s all. The liquid is strong.”

“Oh. Okay.”

And so I bought two more bottles.

I felt like a fool doing so, but I can’t stop now. I can’t allow myself to be thrown off-course by an act of non-erotic auto-asphyxiation. The experiment will continue. Drinking lots of water and green tea now. No more sugar, coffee, dairy, gluten, etc etc etc. You know the drill.

And we’ll see how things develop tomorrow. I promise I’ll never use the word progress again.

DAY 3: Itchy. So very itchy. It started off at my thighs, but now my ankles itch as well. I’m told that many lymph nodes are in the legs, so maybe that’s it, and the potion is being a new broom, cleaning out all the trash. Still, it’s annoying. Just visited a friend’s place for brunch, and people kept looking at me, wondering what I was scratching.

Also, woke up with loud ringing in left ear, almost distractingly so. Is the candida throwing a tantrum?

The chef who makes up the potion has gone to Australia for a month, so he instructed someone else how to make it while he’s gone. Clearly, the recipe didn’t get passed on right, because this batch is a lot less offensive. I managed to drink a full bottle in under an hour, and do so without convulsing and making noises.

Poop-check: Was expecting blobs of candida in my stool, but nothing so far. The poop sits in the toilet like a sleeping dachshund, peaceful and happy. Hopefully, as I continue drinking, that will change.

DAY 4:  Did I mention the itching? Oh my god. It woke me up twice in the night. Thighs and shins, itching like mofos. And you know how much a mofo itches.

I also have the most appalling sugar cravings today. Since a symptom of candidiasis is an insatiable hunger images-1for sugar, I have to believe that this is connected. Without sugar, the candida overgrowth will start dying off, and it doesn’t want that. So perhaps the itching is symptomatic of change. I notice when I eat too much sugar, or if I drink a Diet Coke, my arms and legs itch for hours afterward. It’s possible it sends the lymph system into overload, trying to remove the crap I’m putting in. So, without sugar, the lymph nodes start cleaning themselves out and I end up itching all over again. Maybe. Who knows?

On the plus side, my skin is looking better all the time. The zits from New Year’s Eve are subsiding finally and things seem to be looking up on that front.

I’m thinking this might be a two to three-week process – reducing the foods that stoke the candida while killing off the overgrowth that’s already there. My ear is whistling today, but not as much. I’m just trusting that this is the candida being pissy like a two-year-old,  and howling – literally – in agony. Instead of tinnitus, I imagine it screaming, “Nooooooooooooooo!”

This is all becoming quite bearable, though, now that I’m in the groove. Even the potion doesn’t taste quite so bad.

Today, off to buy two more bottles. I love the way the store is making sure they have them available when I get there, so that I can continue this treatment. The woman behind the counter told me, “It’s more about the health thing than the money thing.” I love that. They could go broke before I’m healed, mind you, but I’ll respect them as long they’re open. Hurray for them.

DAY 5: I had high hopes that there would be some improvements by now.

The skin thing is definitely a plus, but other than that there’s not much to tell. The tinnitus has subsided, which is good, but the itching continues and is maddening. Whatever’s happening on the inside of my thighs I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy, unless I wanted him to scratch himself to death. Since this is a new phenomenon, I must assume that it’s all linked in to the cleanse.

Last night, a friend came over for dinner. “Don’t hug me, I have a cold,” she said. Then it turned out she’d given up wheat and dairy and her body was detoxing. The runny nose was just her body clearing itself out. It’s what happened to me on the parasite cleanse last year. Even so, she left without eating, and without a hug, she felt so bad.

The sugar cravings are catastrophic. I caved again yesterday. Ate two chocolate-covered almonds. Hardly the end of the world, but it broke my intention. I’m shocked at how much the candida wants to be fed and how powerless I am against its demands. They say sugar is as potent as heroin, and I believe it after this. I keep getting up and going hunting for something sugary sweet, then telling myself, “No, buster, you’re having an apple.” But it’s hard. Reeeeal hard.

Oil[UPDATE about sugar cravings] I read somewhere that a great way to combat sugar cravings is with coconut oil. ‘If you take a tablespoon of coconut oil twice a day,’ the article said, ‘it not only has a bunch of health benefits, but it stops the craving for sugar.’ How it does this I have no idea, but clearly it’s a brilliant thing and I’ll give anything a try. So yesterday, when every impulse in my body was telling me to go to Coffee Bean & Tea leaf and buy some cookies, I instead took a tablespoon of coconut oil, and….well, bingo! My desire went away. Just like that.

Now, don’t forget, I’m highly suggestible, so it could be my mind playing tricks. Also, coconut oil is fat you’re putting into the body, but I certainly didn’t want any sugar for the rest of the day.

I must admit, it’s taking me longer each day to get around to opening the little bottle and drinking the potion. Right now it’s 1.13pm and it’s still sitting in the fridge, untouched. I just can’t face the taste. But I need to have it by mid-afternoon, so I’m bracing myself.

Hope things start improving tomorrow.

DAY 6:  Slept through without itching in the night. So that’s good, right?

First thing, off to the health food store to get two more bottles. The woman who usually makes them was late today, so the cashier had to do it. I hope that’s okay. She seems like she knows what she’s doing, but who knows? In any case, I looked at the liquid as I was leaving and it has blobs floating in it. Blobs of goodness, no doubt, but still….

As I sat in the store waiting, my ankles began itching and I spent the whole time scratching them. Without doubt, this is the worst part of this exercise, but otherwise I feel great. What I think is happening is that the liquid is going in each day and bullying the candida into backing down. There are battlefronts all over my body, and the potion is working hard to take down the enemy. Yesterday, I had ticking in my ears. That’s new. And I was a little woozy briefly – I mean for seconds, that’s all. These are, to me anyway, signs of die-off, a signal that something is going on unseen, so I’m just accepting it and plowing on.

I am, however, eating half a pot of probiotics every day, to counteract anything the potion might be killing. Because, let’s face it, it could be a bloodbath in there for all I know, with millions of dead flora and yeast lying around all over the place. I have to put good stuff in to replace that.

Still no candida in poop, I should add. That’s disappointing. Poop-watchers everywhere can stand down. Nothing to see here.

DAY 7:  Depressed and angry today. Wow, this is going great.

SadWhat I noticed when I did cleanses a while ago was that the release of physical toxins often triggered the release of trapped  emotional toxins too. All kinds of old wounds surfaced during the two weeks or so of the cleanse, and I became quite mopey. Well, maybe this is what’s happening today. Not feeling good at all. Persistent problems rankle, old scars are nagging me. Feeling discontented, mildly resentful. Very strange. I keep telling myself, ‘It’s just part of the die-off.’ Only, myself keeps replying, ‘But what if it’s not, and you’re just depressed and angry?’

It took me all day yesterday to face what was in the bottle. If you recall – and if you don’t, scroll up – the woman by the register in the shop made the potion for me because the chef was late, and it had dark blobs in it. Not to be overdramatic or anything, but I see them as ‘dark blobs of terror.’ And…I dunno, I just had a feeling they’d be tough to get down and keep down, so I waited, and ….well, I was half-right. The drink was more potent than usual. I realize now, you have to shut off that part of your brain that goes, “Oh my god, yeuwwww!” and just drink it. Get the thing down and shut up with your whining. Anyway, an hour later my left ear started screeching. Hopefully, that was the candida taking it to the gut and acting up like a little girl.

On the plus side, the itching is way less today. My legs are sensitive and if I wanted to, I’m sure I could scratch them, but I’m trying not to exacerbate anything. Ignored candida is happy candida, I’ve decided.

DAY 8:  Feeling much brighter, thanks for asking. The clouds have passed.

Skin good, itching stopped. Ear whistling more than usual, but bearably so, and anyway it’s probably due to the wine I drank last night.

Wait – what?

This quitting sugar thing is hard, as is cutting down on salt. They’re in everything, often discreetly, especially if brockyyou eat out in restaurants. I’m convinced, as I once again transition to a mainly raw, living, plant-based diet, that if there’s something going wrong with the body, it’s our fault. We’re doing something to ourselves that causes the problem, or perpetuates it anyway, and if we’d only stop doing that harmful thing, then the body – which knows a thing or two about healing and can be its own physician – will put itself right. It knows what to do, it’s just that we keep hindering its efforts by eating the wrong foods, or abusing ourselves with substances, additives, excessive sugar, salt, gluten, and so on.

keep-calm-and-eat-no-sugarThe more I cut out sweet stuff, salty stuff, gluteny stuff, fatty stuff, and dairy-y stuff, the better I look and feel, that’s just a fact, and the healthier my body becomes. So what if it’s as simple as that? Make essential adjustments that the body is crying out for – and we know it is, because that’s what pain and disease are, the body trying to get our attention – and it will heal. Could take a little time, but healing can happen, if only because healing is always on the body’s to-do list.

Yesterday, my closest friend was diagnosed with HIV. he’s been losing weight drastically for a while. The doctor told him, ‘Your liver is eating you alive, and eventually it will kill you.”

OMG. Your own liver can eat you?

When he first got sick, we discussed how he might switch to raw, living food, and try being less angry, exercise more, dump his phobias in favor of enjoying life, and so on – but he was resistant. He loved his comfort foods too much, and his anxieties were a safety net. Instead, he was looking for an external solution; a pill to sort out his problems. But of course that doesn’t work, and now here he is, faced with taking a cocktail of harmful poisonous medicines for the rest of his life, just to keep his liver from swallowing him.

For anyone interested in natural ways to heal HIV, I found a brilliant article you might want to read. The final quarter deals with ideas on how to bring the body back to full health. It sounds amazing, if true.

believing book coverIt would also be remiss of me if I didn’t mention my book. This blog is not about plugging stuff, but the book includes the ‘7 Pillars of Self-Healing,’ and these have helped people all over the world who are sick or coping with disease to understand how healing works. I know it looks like a religious book, but it’s not. But it’s a really useful thing to have on your shelf just in case. It’s available HERE.

So what am I thinking? I’m thinking that this ‘magic potion’ from the health food store may well assist in bringing candidiasis under control, and seems to be doing exactly that – hurrah! – but in the end, it’s going to be down to me – and you – to figure out how we’ve abused the delicate balance of our internal infrastructure, and to take steps to put that right. It’s us, it was always us.

Okay, sermon over. I’m now going down to the store to get two more bottles.

DAY 9:  January 1st, California made it illegal for stores to use plastic bags to put your Unknown-2stuff in. The bags now have to be paper or nothing, and if you want a paper one you have to fork out ten cents. I found this out for the first time the other day at the supermarket, and thought, ‘Nah, I’m not wasting 10c on a bag,’ whereupon, like an idiot, I walked all the way home with an armful of vegetables.

So I go to the health food store yesterday. My two bottles are waiting for me, specially labeled, which is nice (love this store!), and I buy them. But the woman behind the counter doesn’t put them in a bag. And when I ask for one, she in turn asks for ten cents.

“We don’t use plastic bags any more. You can either buy a paper one or bring one of your own. You didn’t know?”

“Yes, I knew,” I say, “but I keep forgetting. And I can’t carry a bag around with me just to put two small bottles in.”

Hippie bag for carrying two bottles in“Sure you can. Get a bag and carry it. Like this one.” (She bends down and picks up a woman’s hippie-style purse as an example.)

“Just so that I can put two bottles in it?”

“Of course.”

Good grief. No way, okay? So I give her ten cents and buy a bag. She then begins riffing about how we have to save the planet and be kind to Nature, something I agree with but don’t want to hear from her. So I rush out before I’m tempted to cancel future orders and not come back. Hate being lectured to by zealots. Even lovely, well-intentioned zealots.

Anyway, I have my precious potion, that’s all that matters.

Update: zits on face clearing up nicely, though it’s taken a week. Ear is whistling still. Skin tone good. No candida in poop. Keep getting little pains here and there throughout my body – stomach yesterday – but that could be part of the die-off.

So all’s going well and I’m feeling good. Don’t forget, though, I have changed my diet as well, and that is probably 90% of this. I’m eating mostly raw living food every day, and anything that’s cooked has to be vegan. I’m only drinking green tea and water. So by not feeding the candida, this is helping enormously. I even have a feeling, as yet unproven, that if I simply did the diet without the magic potion, things would still be improving at the rate they currently are.

But I’m pressing on with the regime anyway to the end. Then we’ll draw our conclusions.  Oh yes.

DAY 10:  Sunday. Got shifting pains in my stomach. Wondering if the potion isn’t a bit hard on the system.

Otherwise, feeling good. Ear still whistling – wondering if that might have something to do with NISC, non-intentional salt consumption. We ate out last night, and nowadays everything I eat in restaurants tastes really salty. Every so often I break with the raw food thing to have normal stuff, just to ensure balance, but always I suffer. By the time we left, I’d lost 30% of my hearing capacity in both ears. Today I’m fine again, but food’s impact on our bodily system is clearly huge. They’re right when they say you are what you eat. Last night I was chicken piccata. Today I’m humble pie.

There’s an interesting article here about whether salt is good for you or not. The comments at the bottom are fascinating. One person says, “My basic nursing course gave me enough knowledge to know salt causes intercompartmental shifts of fluids.” Oh my god, really? That could explain why my ears go deaf when I eat salty food. After all, aren’t the ears compartments? Sure they are. They’re compartments I listen to stuff with. And salt causes ear fluid to thicken in those listening compartments, and I go deaf. So it’s all connected.

Other than that, nothing to report. The face is still in the process of clearing up, but nothing new or bad is happening, so that’s a good thing. I need new bottles, but my partner is getting them from the shop as I’m finding it a little tedious to keep going down there every two days.

Only a week to go. Yay!

DAY 11:  A warning about the potion. It’s made fresh every day, and potency varies.

I mention this because the latest batch is so awful I can’t get it all down. Sorry, not possible. It tastes like they’ve added an extra ingredient, which could be Castrol GTX, or that liquid they put in refrigerators to help them freeze. (Kidding BTW – they wouldn’t do that). Anyway, it’s so disgusting for some reason that, quite honestly, I’ve left a quarter of the bottle undrunk. That means I have one and a quarter bottles to drink tomorrow. Ghastly or not, at five dollars a pop, I’m not going to waste it – are you crazy?

When I recoiled visibly at the first sip, my partner walked over and tried it too for the first time. There was no expression for a while, then a bunch of red-faced coughing and ‘Woah, that’s strong.’

Good, so it’s not just me.

But there’s no doubt it’s having an effect. Face looking better, feeling okay. I have a rash on my neck that I didn’t even bother to mention before – I’ve had it so long, I forget it’s there – and even that seems to be clearing up. So maybe it was all candida-related.

A little miffed that there was no candida in my stools this past week, though. I did a coffee enema yesterday, using this fantastic special enema coffee from Canadadetail_3_detail_2_newbags__36647.1270646735.1280.1280. Once I was done, I was like an archaeologist probing and investigating, digging in my poop for anything even remotely suspicious. But other than making me think, ‘I really have to start chewing my food more,” it was a bust. Nothing interesting.

Oh, and then I had an accident.

Dramatic re-enactment

Dramatic re-enactment

Bear in mind, I’m a stable human being generally and haven’t fallen over, not that I remember anyway, since I was a toddler, but yesterday I fell over. I was putting my shoes on after the enema, using the bed to rest them on. Obviously I didn’t want to get the bedcover dirty, so I used my messenger bag as a footrest instead. I tied the laces, but when I tried to lift my foot off, it caught in the bag’s handle. I hopped a bit, tugged a bit, kept tugging, but too late, I went crashing to the floor. Ouch. Bruised my arm and did something funky to my back that had me worried all night that I may have damaged myself. Fortunately, I’m only bruised, but it’s little mishaps like that that lead to hip replacements in later life. “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up.” Very worrying.

DAY 12:   Couldn’t do it. Sorry. Nope. no way. I could not get the thing down my throat. Not immediately anyway. It was so vile that for the first time I watered it down and drank it in stages. Even then, I only managed to get 75% of the thing into my system.

The problem is worsened by the fact that, when you buy two bottles, if the first tastes horrible, then you just know the second one will too, because they were made together. Needless to say, this has been a grueling two days. And my back still hurts.

At Xmas, someone gave us a box of chocolate-dipped glazed apricots. It’s been sitting here the whole time untouched because I was staying away from sugar. But yesterday I lapsed and ate one, and, oh my god, huge mistake. My legs started itching like mofos again. So when you couple the sugar cravings with the itching, I seriously think we’re talking candida in the legs here.

Skin much improved, though. Rash on neck better. Ear squealing still, so not much change there. And feeling fine. The pains in the stomach seem to have stopped. Obviously, it’s doing some good, so I’m not complaining, and I think if it’s coupled with a rigid diet change etc., taking the potion could be beneficial, but as we approach the end of the experiment, I’m almost ready to conclude that a change in diet and health regime alone will perform miracles, and to hell with drinking anti-candida shots.

DAY 13: The potion wasn’t ready today. The person who knows the formula didn’t arrive until 3.30pm, and even when they got there, the store didn’t have lemons. So I had to wait until 4.10pm. There’s something adorably scrappy about any business with organic/raw nutrition at its heart. The people seem to have it together on the surface, but look beneath the patina of civility and decorum and there’s always a little kooky turmoil going on. I like that. And I still LOVE this store.

Ear termites

Ear termites

These new bottles taste better, that’s for sure. Yesterday’s was an aberration we’ll never mention again. What’s interesting is that within an hour of taking the latest lot, my left ear started ticking the way it has done before, but more intensely, and crackling. This continued until I went to bed. I can’t decide if that’s the candida physically being torn from the cells and sent packing by the potion, or if I have something trapped in my ear that can’t get out. I’ve read about doctors finding spiders and even cockroaches in people’s ears before now. This sounds like termites.

And the itching in my legs! Oh, boy. They’re practically bleeding from the scratching I’ve been doing, and that’s not good, right?

Also the zits have come back around my nose. I’m now convinced that this has more to do with diet than anything. Diet feeds candida, which promotes leaky gut, which leads to zits. That’s it. That’s the circle of life for yeast.

Mouse, visual aidOh, and I woke up in the middle of the night and there was a mouse on my bed!  A mouse, though! Not once have we ever had rats or mice in this house, but last night I opened my eyes and found a mouse sitting on my blanket. Jeez. Maybe this potion works like a cologne and makes me attractive to rodents suddenly. ‘Eek! for Men’ from Jean-Paul Gaultier. That would really round off my week perfectly.

DAY 14:  Just got back from the health food store. Told them about the severe itching – they had no idea what it might be. Told them about the disgusting, foul-tasting liquid they’d sold me, passing it off as an anti-candida shot, and they were quietly horrified. So they’re giving me two free ones. That means I’ll be doing the experiment for an extra two days, then giving it a rest for a while to see what happens.

saunaSpeaking of itching, I now have a lumpy rash behind my right knee – a cluster of bobbles crying out to be scratched. And of course I oblige. This, together with how raw my ankles are from scratching, is making life extremely uncomfortable.

I mentioned this to the woman in the store and she agreed that it might be the lymph system playing the diva and going toe to toe with the candida. If so, there must be a full-scale battle happening in there. I mean, what, other than candida carnage, causes bobbles behind the knees? She suggested I take a sauna to speed up the release of toxins. Well, it just so happens that we have an infra-red sauna in the house. We bought one years ago. Had it shipped from China. It’s a great little thing. So I’ll use that tonight and see if it has any results.

Other than that…nothing to report. Ear still ringing, sugar pangs just as strong as they were, feeling okay. No candida in poop. I do keep getting small headaches above my left eye, which I believe has something to do with the liver/gallbladder meridian, so something’s happening there too.

To sum up, I’m a mess, but a healthy one.

DAY 15:  I’ll keep this short, simply because the itching is making me irritable and I can’t sit in one place for long.

Had a sauna last night to drain some of the toxin build-up away (see above). I still scratched my legs well into the night, however, so I’m not sure it helped at all. Let’s just say it didn’t, and leave it at that.

Another great way, I read, to help the lymphatic system drain is rebounding.

Me this morning on my rebounder.

The lady is a trampoliner.

Well, how’s this for amazing? Just as we happen to have bought a sauna years ago, we also, around about the same time, bought a rebounder, which is a fancy name for a mini-trampoline, the kind clowns leap on at the circus before jumping through a fiery hoop and setting their hair on fire.

According to a site called Candida Solutions: “Rebounding is a cellular type of exercise that cleanses the cells and strengthens the body’s immune system….The act of jumping can cleanse the lymph nodes and cause perspiration, which can also have a cleansing effect. It also gets your heart rate up and gets oxygen through your body, which creates an alkaline environment. Because candida thrives in an acidic environment, it’s ideal to get yourself to an alkaline state.”

Same thing, only with an annoying person doing it.

Same thing, only with an annoying person doing it.

Ooooooh!

But wait, there’s more. According to the same site: “Just five to ten minutes a day of rebounding could substantially increase your body’s ability to successfully reduce candida bacteria production.”   Woah, dude – that’s huge.

So I’m throwing this into the works as well, while taking every precaution as I do so to make sure my hair doesn’t catch fire. My new regime, then, consists of: rebounding every morning, sauna-ing every night, and in between times consuming lots of green vegetables and juices. This is combined with a reduction in salt intake, and cutting out refined sugar, dairy, and wheat products altogether. I will also be continuing with the anti-candida potion until Monday.

I have to say, though, that my skin is much-improved; the rash on my neck is considering going, I feel sure of it – it’s clearly in two minds; the bobbles behind my knee have gone; I have no aches and pains, and I feel great. Oh, except for the damn itching, which is in my ankles, my thighs and yesterday in my back. Otherwise terrific.

So there you go – consider yourself updated.

DAY 16:  So I wake up this morning with a large puffy growth on the inside of my right elbow – at that point where syringes go in when nurses need a blood sample. And I’m thinking, ‘Wow, candida, you’re quite something. This potion is your nemesis and it’s causing you to flee.’

Turns out it’s a spider-bite. Bloody hell. Now I have something new to scratch.

The itching in my legs had stopped completely by last night, though, and I slept right through. That bit’s great. This morning, they’re back to itchy again. Half of me wants to go ahead and stay on the potion until the candida is eradicated; the other half of me is scratching the spider bite. First a mouse, now this. Jeez.

The whistling in the ears has gotten quieter, I think. And, very noticeably, my complexion is way better. And when I eat foods that previously gave me zits they don’t now. So the leaky gut is being tackled all the time and resolved, I would say. But, as I keep repeating, I’ve also modified my diet to largely exclude troublesome foods, so it could be that. At any rate, I’m coming off the potion Monday and will stay off the harmful foods too, see if the skin thing keeps going well.

Today I have to go visit my friend with HIV before he starts chemo for lymphoma this week, so my thoughts will not be on myself and my itchy legs for once. That might be useful as they’re starting to obsess me.

So there’s progress, but not the kind of blazing success I was hoping for. If I consult my book of medical divination, the I Tching, I see that, the moment I come off this potion, all these symptoms will stop. I can only hope.

DAY 17:  So here we are, on day 17 of our 14-day experiment. I have two final bottles left in the refrigerator, one for today, one for tomorrow, then I’m stopping.

Current state of play: my ankles are bloody from scratching. Bloody, I tells ya! My left ear is still whistling, though nowhere near as much as it was. My shins have small swellings on them. My face has a zit that, even though everything else cleared up, has persisted throughout. And I got bitten by a spider – nothing to do with the experiment, it’s just one more swelling on my body that won’t go down.

In the healthfood shop yesterday, I spoke to a guy this time, and he emphasized that the anti-candida shot is no use at all if it’s not accompanied by tough lifestyle choices – no sugar, reduced salt and fat, and so on. “If you’re taking the anti-candida shot, but you’re still eating these things, how can it work? It can’t.” Which makes me feel even guiltier about those chocolate-covered glazed apricots I ate, and other sundry lapses. Damn my boundless appetite for the good things in life!

After tomorrow, my plan is to continue the experiment, this time without the potion. Cut out all the candida-promoting things that I like to eat, maintain a steady regime of green vegetables, juices, etc., and simply monitor what happens.  At the very least, I think the itching will go.

The whole thing has been annoying, I would say, with no conclusive result I can point to and go, “See? My candida’s on the run. It works!” That’s just not how I feel. I’m left thinking, ‘Hm, I wonder if it’s the candida that’s causing the itching, or the potion itself?’

All of that said, yesterday I visited my friend who has AIDS and cancer both at the same time and is wasting away before my eyes. The fact that my legs itched and I’d been bitten by a spider suddenly seemed particularly smallfry concerns alongside his suffering. At least it added a sense of proportion that was missing up to this point. We have every belief that he’s going to recover somewhat, but he’s at his lowest ebb right now, and I came home in a much more sober frame of mind and less obsessed with something as trifling as whether my ankles are bleeding.

DAY 18:  Well, this is depressing. I wrote an entire entry this morning explaining the state of play, and for some reason it never appeared on the blog. All day I felt my work was done, and now I have to rewrite it. Bugger. Anyway, here goes…

Today I’m not itching. This is the headline. But I figure it’s because I’ve not had my potion yet. And why have I not had it? Because I wanted to eat a scone first.

“But hang on – why, given that everything about a scone promotes candida, would you eat a scone?”

You make a very good point. Because I wanted to see if it was sugar causing the itching in my legs, or the drink.

So I ate the scone, and guess what – no itching. Hurrah.

Therefore it must be the anti-candida potion. Which leaves two options: either the potion itself causes the itching and I’m allergic to something in it, OR my legs are Afghanistan and the potion is on the front lines fighting the Talibandida. trying to regain ground over my lymphatic system, and everyone knows that lymph nodes are rampant in the legs. Hence the itching.

That’s my theory. Probably not a good one, but it’s all I have.

So it’s now 2.50pm on the very last day of the experiment. I will drink the potion at 3pm. Even now it still takes me ten minutes to summon up the courage to drink it – it’s quite horrible – and about an hour to get it down. Tomorrow I will tell you what happened, and also finally reveal the name of the store and its details, in case you want to contact them about their lovely potion.

Secretly, I’m quite glad this is over. I’m tired of wriggling and people staring at me, wondering if I have fleas or bedbugs.

DAY 19: Here we are, it’s done.

I left off this blog yesterday just before I drank my final anti-candida shot. By bedtime, I can report, my legs were itching again. So the two are definitely connected – hopefully in a good way.

Therefore here is my conclusion: the anti-candida shot probably works.

Probably, notice. Because I have no idea, honestly.

It seems on the face of it to be a worthwhile addition to our armory on the assault on candida overgrowth, but I don’t think it’s an antidote all by itself. We have to play our part too, and that part seems to involve – unsurprisingly – cutting out of our diet all the things that promote candidiasis: sugar, fruit, dairy, wheat, etc etc etc. Without those actions by us, there’s no magic potion that can come along and zap away the problem. This is not Bewitched. On the other hand, anyone who’s willing to take all necessary steps to avoid those factors that promote candida overgrowth may well find that the anti-candida shot is a worthwhile weapon in the battle. It tastes so horrible, how can it NOT be doing something?

I found the people at the health store to be incredibly concerned and helpful. They couldn’t have been more obliging during this experiment. These are really nice guys, and even if you don’t use their ‘anti-candida shot’, I still recommend the place. The word awesome is overused, but this store definitely is. The food – and especially the raw desserts, OMG – is incredible.

My spiritual home

My spiritual home

It’s called Lifefood Organic. 

The store is at: 1507 Cahuenga Blvd, Los Angeles, CA 90028

Their phone number is: (323) 466-0927. Their website is: HERE. And the glowing Yelp review page is HERE.
 
Also – because I know what you’re like – you can email them HERE. 
 
When I was in there Saturday, I asked the guy, “Is it okay if people contact you for the formula for the potion?” And his reply was, “All the ingredients are available commercially, so it’s not a secret. Yeah.”
 
So I leave it up to you.
 
And finally, for the sake of perspective once again, I should note that my friend who’s dealing with AIDS and cancer simultaneously goes in for his first chemo today. He called me yesterday, unable to speak and barely able to breathe. He’s lost 95lbs in mere weeks, and is very depressed and very scared. He fears he’s dying. We hope not.
 
[UPDATE ON LEN]  Sadly, he didn’t make it. The AIDS swept through his body so fast – diagnosis to demise in under six weeks. He thought he would live forever. And to a certain extent that’s true, he will. Still, we’re all missing him like crazy.
 
His brother, Ray, is a phenomenal writer. Prior to Len’s death, he penned this article about him. Check it out.  
 

 
 
 

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More about Cash’s life-changing health and healing book

believing book coverAre you sick and don’t know why?

Do you have a disease, and are frightened by what comes next? Or maybe regular doctors didn’t help you at all, or even made things worse.

If so, this book could change your view of life, the way it’s changed so many others.

A Little Book About Believing is a real-life adventure about the power of the mind and spirit to heal. A pioneering story filled with insightful discoveries and valuable life lessons that the whole world needs to hear.

It follows Spirituality & Health writer Cash Peters to a spiritual retreat in Brazil with a group of cancer and M.S. patients who are searching for healing outside the conventional medical system.

For everyone who reads it, it’s uplifting and incredibly inspirational stuff. But if you have cancer or any other treatable disease, or someone you know is currently addressing a serious health issue, then this book is a must-read. It could radically change your, or their, perspective on what it takes to get well. The second half features a section on the Seven Pillars of Self-Healing, exploring ways that even the most advanced sickness might be reversed. It’s incredibly revealing. I know cancer patients who read this part over and over and over again, so it comes highly recommended.

Now, you might be saying, “But it looks like a religious book, and I’m not into religion.” It’s not, though. Let me put that in bold:

This is not about religion

Simply put, you can’t possibly look at the world or yourself the same way after reading it.

Doctors can work wonders, but in the end it boils down to this: you are significantly more instrumental in your own healing than you may think.

In short, this is one man’s personal exploration of the subject of health and healing. The discoveries he makes and some of the conclusions he draws could someday help save your life.

It has a foreword by a leading Harvard doctor and an afterword by one of L.A.’s top cancer specialists.

But I’d say everyone needs to know this information. On top of which it’s a really engrossing story. However – and this is important – it must be approached with an open mind and heart, the way Cash approached the subject in the beginning. Some hardened skeptics have read it and learned from it, but many people have blinkers on when it comes to matters of spirituality in any form, and can’t get over their own deeply-ingrained prejudices.

You can listen to a June 2013 radio broadcast, in which Cash talks about his John of God experience HERE.

It is available everywhere on Kindle and the iPad, and paperback copies can be ordered on Amazon.com and will be mailed from America. The paperbacks can be signed if requested.

Leave a comment

July 31, 2012 · 6:40 pm

The 30-Day De-Wormer: not for the squeamish

Taming the Beast Within Final Cover

Before we start, a quick note: the new book about cleansing  Candida and worms from the body is available now. It’s called Taming the Beast Within, and it’s about time someone wrote a book like this. Not only will it inform you about this stuff and let you know what to do about it, but it looks deeper into the triggers for yeast and parasite infections, as well as examining why some people are prone to parasites and Candida and others aren’t. You’ll find it a fascinating read. There are even photos.

It’s already riding high on Amazon. You’ll find it HERE.

And in case you’re wondering what kind of parasite I’m talking about, try this little monster for size.

Rope worm

A stage 3 rope worm. This came out during the Candida cleanse featured in the book. I mean, look at that thing – it has tentacles!! And that was just the beginning.

Seriously, read Taming the Beast Within. We’re not kidding around here. It could save your life.

ThursdayMorningMemo1400x1400

LISTEN NOW to Cash talking about Candida and what he believes is the REAL cause behind all the misery, and also behind cancer, M.S., and diabetes, on his podcast The Thursday Morning Memo. Available for download on iTunes.

Now, on with the blog.

———-

I can’t honestly tell you why I’m doing this. Not why I’m deworming myself, but why I’m writing a daily blog post about it. In what universe could anyone other than me conceivably want to know about my parasite cleanse?

Then again, maybe you have parasites too. A-ha! Indeed, it’s very likely you do.

I read somewhere that 90% of us have unwelcome creatures of some sort living within us, invaders that lodge in various parts of the body and not only consume nutrients from our food to stay alive, but lay eggs and breed, causing a variety of mysterious ailments, such as rashes, headaches, allergies, boils, etc etc.

How can we contract them? Well, I wouldn’t try too hard, but if it happens, then it might be from pets; from eating sushi, meat, and raw vegetables; or from traveling; or simply from everyday human contact. Parasites can give rise to unaccountable health issues that doctors don’t know how to treat.

So, in my capacity as a curious layman and ceaseless guinea-pig, I’ve decided, for the next thirty days, to flush away the wee rascals from wherever they’re hiding.

After all, look at my life so far. I’ve traveled extensively, eating countless weird foods along the way in the most unsanitary conditions, in places such as Cambodia, Kenya, Russia, Brazil, Vanuatu, etc. I’ve also been a raw food guy for years, and even regularly kissed and cuddled my cats. I’m the perfect candidate for parasites.

Last year, I was doing a liver flush – my fourth or fifth – and a five-inch white worm dropped into the toilet. I almost freaked out. It was the weirdest thing! It’s this that alerted me to the possibility that I may have other unwanted guests in my system, an idea confirmed by an odd rash on my neck that never goes away, by a constant ringing in my ears, and varying degrees of deafness (which can also be a by-product of candida, I’m told), plus I have a stack of food sensibilities that are just plain ridiculous. I get pimples if I so much as look at milk, pig products, sugar, and oil, while nuts and wheat actually make my skin flake off like dandruff. It’s crazy.

Nobody could have been more diligent in pursuing a remedy. I’ve consulted dermatologists, regular doctors, Eastern healers, colonic irrigation experts, aromatherapists, reiki practitioners, and countless others. Everyone had theories, but none was ever able to pinpoint the cause of the problem. Then I read a really great blog about the subject which I recommend (the picture below comes from there) about successfully treating parasites and I was inspired to give it a go.

In some ways this is my list-ditch effort to get to the source of the problem. It’s almost as if it can only be parasites. What else is there left to try? Curious to see if my suspicions were right, I heard from a friend about this treatment called Humaworm, and sent off for a 30-day supply. The directions say to take two tablets twice a day 30 minutes before meals, so that the parasites eat the contents of the tablets, and not the food. Then they begin to die.

Humaworm isn’t the only method out there for dealing with this problem. A friend drew my attention to a post on Curezone about cleaning out parasite species called flukes from the blood, liver, GI tract, pancreas, & lungs. I can’t vouch for this, but it might be worth reading. Liver fluke drug treatment. You follow it at your peril.

Me, I’m sticking with Humaworm for now. Once again, I will submit myself as a human crash-test dummy.

I’ve been doing this – detoxing and reforming my diet and approach to life since my trip to the health and healing center in Brazil. You’ve probably already read my book about this. If not, obviously I recommend it. It will open your eyes in so many ways, as it did me. Life will never be the same again. It’s funny to me that many people see the hands on the front of the Believing book and assume it must be a religious work. Trust me, it’s not. It has a foreword by a Harvard doctor and explores the world of health and healing from a self-empowerment point of view, where we become our own saviors and bring our bodies back into balance.

That’s why I’m de-worming. I’m not an expert, remember, just a regular guy who’d like to shed a few parasites, if he has them. With that end in mind – and there’s really only one end they’re going to come out of – my 30-day experience begins here.

The 30-day De-Worming Program

Day 1: Not expecting much. The two tablets smelled very strong, and shortly after swallowing them I let out a belch that I could taste for at least fifteen minutes afterwards. Had three extensive bowel movements during the day, including an urgent one in the middle of the night. Otherwise, nothing to report.

Day 2: Noticeably lethargic today. Listless too. Could still be the jetlag from my vacation, or the beginnings of parasite die-off. According to the Humaworm site: “Die-off can take many forms: headaches, body aches, rashes, fatigue, mood swings, body odor, and gas and bloating to name a few. Drinking at least two quarts or more of water daily and having regular bowel movements will help get the parasites and toxins out of the body faster thereby eliminating many common die-off symptoms.”

The rash on my neck is redder, and I woke up with a pain in my neck too, which is interesting. Plus, I had shifting aches in my abdomen, sometimes acute, that reached up to my liver. Additionally, my stomach feels bloated. I’m not psychic, but I do foresee another bowel movement in my immediate future.

Day 3:  No worms, but woke with a headache that dissipated very quickly. More pains in stomach too, and a general wooziness. My left ear is really whistling. That’s not a good sign usually. Though today, maybe it is. All part of the die-off, I assume. Have to go to the cinema this afternoon to watch a movie for the BBC. Hope I can last 90 minutes without an explosive disaster ‘downstairs’. I notice in the list of ingredients that there’s a laxative, senna. Oh great. That explains it.

Day 4: No worms, but still getting shifting aches all over my body. This morning my fingers hurt for some reason. Taking Humaworm leads to several hefty bowel movements a day, which has got to be a good thing. I think I’m maybe expecting too much too soon. The one interesting side-effect – if indeed it comes from taking the tablets – is that they seem to make me extremely horny. I won’t go into details, but it’s very, very noticeable. Strange.

Day 5: Things with tails. That’s what I saw yesterday.

To help the process along, I did a coffee enema, which is more fun than it sounds. And in the second flushing there were a number of small stringy things in the toilet afterwards. Now, I thought, “They’re just bits of undigested lettuce or something”, and that may be so, but they looked suspiciously like worm casings to me.

All sorts of weird pains throughout my body that come and go. And I just collapse with tiredness around 9pm and sleep til 6.30. Odd zits here and there too. Part of the die-off or part of the original problem? As yet, I have no bloomin’ idea.

Day 6: Nothing today, except maybe disappointment. Feeling a lot better. It even looks like the rash on my neck is slowly starting to clear up. However, that comes and goes anyway, so I’ll have to wait a while to give a definitive verdict. Bit disconcerted by the fact that my fingers are aching still. Not sure why that is. But otherwise, still waiting for a big break-through.

Day 7: My little worm friends are back. But they’re different this time. Three semi-transparent coils that at first I thought were hairs in the toilet bowl, but which sat lazily under the surface of the water as if in shock at being dropped suddenly and without warning from a warm, closed environment into a cold, hostile environment.

In blogs about de-worming, the parasites that are shown as most common tend to look like a bear’s footprint or long and  brown. I’ve seen nothing like that. These were slender and quite hard to see, and very different to anything that’s dropped out of my system before.

Last night, we went to dinner at a friend’s house. I tried to talk about my deworming program. It’s remarkable how nobody wants to discuss this topic, particularly while eating.

Today I woke up with an achey stomach – food poisoning type achey (which is possible) – and a yearning to poo. A yearning I am about to satisfy. I ache in other ways too. Yesterday there were times when I felt like my body had been stored in a tight box for three days and just emerged, stiffly and painfully. Today….it’s not so bad, but my intestines are gurgling fitfully, so that’s a sign of something. Thank you, Humaworm, for contributing to life’s eternal conundrum in this way.

Day 8:  The rash on my neck has almost gone!!! That’s the big news. A-ha! Thank  you again, Humaworm.

Otherwise, theme of the day: weirdness. My esophagus overnight was so swollen that I could hardly swallow. It was like I had a huge blockage halfway down. It’s better today, but I sound like I have a major cold coming on. Very husky. Which doesn’t bode well for the broadcast tomorrow.

The website Livestrong.com lists common cold symptoms as among the results of the die-off. “Since increasing the flow of mucus is one way the body tries to rid itself of contaminants,” it says, “you may experience respiratory symptoms like those of the common cold–sneezing, coughing and a stuffy or runny nose. These are the body’s attempts to get rid of the dying parasites and their toxins, which it may perceive as invaders.”

Well bingo to that. So I guess the little blighters are pouring out of every orifice all the time.

BTW, no worms evident in the toilet this morning. I get very disappointed now when that happens. But maybe they’re mixed in with the general dump rather than floating freely. I know that some of the stools had strange little tails hanging off them. And, dead-center, was a white blob about a quarter-inch across which just lay there and could have been anything. Normally, however, I never get stuff like this, so something’s working.

Beyond that, it’s a mysterious process. I know some cleansing people like to take out their poo and dissect it, looking for worms. I am not one of those people. I have 22 days left on the Humaworm cleanse – I’ll trust it’s doing its work.

Jeez, I hope this sore throat disappears by tomorrow. Out, damn worms, out!

Day 9:  Cold symptoms continue to linger, but the worst appears to be over. My nose won’t stop running, but I feel fine otherwise. Once I’d accepted that it was my body detoxing, meaning it was a good thing, it became easier to bear somehow. I’m going to sound ropey on the radio tonight, but that can’t be helped. The show must go on.

Bit of a zit issue today, I notice – on my face and with little bumps like flea-bites on my fingers. Also my ears really itch.

And when I did my first poo of the day, I noticed more of those strange little tails, like ant-legs, sticking out of my stools. I don’t want to give you nightmares, people, but my turds have antennae! This whole regimen piles mystery upon conundrum. Was I really that infested with parasites? It’s hard to believe.

I wish my nose would quit running. This is getting annoying. I’ve run out of handkerchiefs and now I’m using kitchen towels.

Hope to be well for Saturday. Going to do yoga in Malibu. The woman whose home we’re doing it in tells me she’s been getting worms out for a couple of years, and that they’re 12-15″ in length, white and very thin. She’s fished them out of the toilet and taken them to show her doctor but he has no clue why she keeps getting them.

You have to admit, this is a fascinating subject. Gross, but fascinating.

Day 10: Felt rough first thing, but am slowly improving as the day revs up. Cold symptoms persist. My nose is running like a faucet still. There isn’t a clean handkerchief anywhere in the house. Clearly, my entire body was toxic with parasites, though how this can be I have no idea, given than I have been cleansing pretty consistently for five years. Am entering a depressed, ‘nothing’s working and I’ve wasted my money – again‘ phase. Maybe I didn’t have parasites at all, just regular stuff that everyone else has and I simply caught a cold. My powers of self-delusion are well-documented in the health field.

Nose stopped running after breakfast and didn’t run for the rest of the day. Like the faucet was suddenly turned off.

I have multiple zits on my face, but in one small area. They keep on coming. Unpleasant to look at.

Have decided to do coffee enemas every three days to help the process along. If I don’t get some serious worm action soon, I’m going to write to Humaworm and tell them. Oh, and by the way, the name’s appropriate. You really need a sense of huma to do this, otherwise you’d throw yourself off a bridge.

Day 11:  Big thing happened today.

Woke up feeling really, really rough. Sluggish, with a head full of sawdust, and a terrible ache behind my eyes. Found it hard to get out of bed. Actually, the cat was sitting on me too, so doubly-hard. But this is going to be a slow start. I don’t know if I can face another 19 days of this. It’s getting in the way.

Hope to complete my new mystery novel by tomorrow.  Yesterday, every word had to be dragged forcibly out of my head and onto the page. I either couldn’t settle or I couldn’t focus or I wanted to eat, or something. Always something.

However, I did my yoga practice first thing, and while I was mid-asana I had a sneezing fit. Immediately, the headache and the sluggishness went. Vanished. Now I’m fine. Oh, and the zits I kept getting on my left cheek – gone.

It’s typical to go to the toilet three times a day during a cleanse. I think Humaworm contains psyllium, which makes you, not runny exactly, but certainly prolific. Anyway, I noticed a couple of translucent threads in my bowel movement last night. I always think it’s just hairs in the bowl, but it didn’t really look like it. Was very excited that it might be more worms. So I leaped off the toilet, turned around to take a good close look – and, well, I had a little accident. Now I have to add ‘cleaning a rug’ to my list of chores today.

Day 12: Another rough one. Oh my lordy, do I feel awful today! Slept for almost 11 hours. More translucent threads in the toilet bowl, I notice, and also white blobs. These white things are candida, I think.

Decided to double down on the attack. Last year, when I got a five-inch white worm out during a liver flush, I was using a zapper at the same time. This is a little device I imported from South Africa which apparently electrocutes parasites as they sleep and breed, and it seemed to work. So I strapped that onto my arm last night and will wear it for the next few days.

According to the Orgonize Africa site: “All parasites and diseased tissues are positively charged. The zapper introduces negative ions through the skin and into the body’s living tissue, killing the parasites by reversing their polarity and also helping to heal the diseased tissue.”

So there it is. You can feel it pumping electricity through your skin all the time. The more acidic your body is, the more the electrodes tingle. Fascinating actually.

The parasites have had it pretty easy for the past few years, squatting in my system, being fed and watered, swimming each day in a heated pool. Now it’s time to evict them. They’re resisting like crazy, of course, which is why I feel so bad. Tired. Eyes watering. Headaches that come and go, and pains that shift around the body constantly. The cold symptoms vanished as quickly as they came, so that’s good, but I never feel ‘right’ or lively or upbeat, just depressed and drained. I guess August is the perfect month for this. Nothing else is happening – it’s a great time to feel horrible constantly.

18 days to go.

Day 13: Today was a big long day involving the amazing yoga session in Malibu, which was fantastic. I couldn’t afford to have a poo crisis suddenly while I was there, so as a preventative measure I had to skip my morning Humaworm tablets. This will probably have  a knock-on to tomorrow as well. It was worth it, though. Worms, you have a reprieve for now.

Before I left the house, there was a long string of white foamy phlegmy something in the toilet, which may have been mucus, but could have been candida. You’d think I’d get a book, wouldn’t you, and look these creatures up? But I simply flushed it all away without checking. In any case, I’ve not seen that before.

Blew my nose a lot all day. Incredible amount of stuff still pouring out.

My friend who has the 15″ worms that come out regularly (see above) has a vast garden full of organic fruits and vegetables. She took us around, plucking fresh raspberries and strawberries and handing them to me to eat. Fantastic flavor. But she was concerned.

“I don’t understand why I keep getting these long worm things,” she said as we walked. “It’s a mystery.”

But maybe it isn’t. Insects lay their eggs on plants. If you eat stuff straight from the garden, unwashed, those eggs and whatever else are going straight into your intestines, where I guess they hatch, live, feed, and breed. That makes sense to me anyway. And it did to her too. How weird that I would be the one to think of that. It’s so obvious really. Wash your fruit, lady.

Day 14: Feeling fine. All aches gone, feelings of sluggishness gone, and no worms or other suspicious objects in the toilet bowl for once. Things are looking up, finally.

Day 15: Halfway through, and unless it has some uncharted surprises in store for me, it looks like Humaworm has done its stuff. I feel great yet again, with no obvious alien beings wriggling in my stool, so all’s well on that score too.

I do notice that I have to get up to pee between two and four times a night, which suggests that Humaworm is still active, helping flush out smaller parasites, but otherwise…..nothing to report.

Oh, one other thing – for a long time now I’ve had dark crescents lining those little crevices on either side of my nostrils. Well, those have gone too. The skin is no longer dark. Quite fascinating.

Day 16: I was expecting this cleanse to slowly build to a glorious crescendo, but it appears that after a while you simply feel better and the whole rigmarole becomes regular and comfortable. Apart from the copious poos twice a day, there’s really nothing to report. Feel good all around, which, after a horribly shaky two weeks to start with, is a massive relief. So I suppose I should feel happy, not disappointed.

Day 17: The day’s big lesson about Humaworm: if you have a long day ahead and no opportunity to go poo, don’t take de-worming tablets in the morning. How I didn’t burst today I have no idea.  It’s not that anything bad was wanting to come out, but Humaworm, I believe, contains psyllium husks, and they promote colonic wellbeing. And nobody wants to be caught enjoying colonic wellbeing during a meeting.

Other than that, all’s well. Peeing and pooing inordinately, so it’s entirely possible that I’m jettisoning boatloads of parasites I can’t see. It just isn’t dramatic, and I feel great. Which is something, right?

Day 18: Oh lordy, could this be more boring? Apart from the fact that you constantly want to poo, I don’t see any difference between a person on Humaworm and one who’s not on it, that is once you break through the first-two-week barrier. Other people may be so chock full of worms and other parasites that the effects of die-off continue for weeks. Me – I’m just dandy. I’ve done liver flushes and Master Cleanses over several years, so maybe I’m relatively free compared to other folks.

The lasting effect seems to be: clearer skin. I’m not as sensitive to foods any more. That’s a major benefit. I do have one zit, though, that won’t go away. It’s in the dead center of my chin and, no matter what I do, it remains. That’s highly unusual, so I must account for it by saying, “Humaworm.” The tablets are on a covert mission. I don’t know what it is, but the pimple is the result.

Otherwise, as I say, just dandy.

Days 19 and 20: Two-thirds of the way through and feeling great. It’s possible that microscopic stuff is being jettisoned from my body and I don’t even know it, but there’s nothing obvious happening. Some people experience a relapse around this time, as though the body takes a rest to gather its forces then suddenly begins detoxing all over again, but in my case I may have been fairly detoxed to begin with, because I feel as fit as I’ve ever been.

Throughout this what-began-as-an-ordeal-then-got-better, I’ve been doing coffee enemas every three days. Normally, my partner and I, we do these twice a month, but because I wanted to empty my butt completely – it’s a technical term, don’t worry about it – I decided to give it a little help.

A coffee enema is a tremendous stimulant to the liver, increasing its performance in some cases by several hundred percent. You basically fill your small intestine with organic medium roast, following some very simple instructions, and lie on your right side for 12-15 minutes, doing so twice with two separate lots of room temperature coffee. This does wonders for your system. You feel brighter and look perkier afterwards, and the stuff that comes out can be startling.

I just heard that the best coffee for enemas, the one used by the Gerson Institute, is S.A. Wilson’s from Canada. 44% more caffeine! Bloody hell – I’ll be as high as a kite. Will give it a try and report back.

Day 21: Well, it looks like I’m clean. For the time being, nothing disturbing is emerging. But that could mean, as I said earlier, that things are coming out still, but they’re small. Entirely possible. The side-effects have gone, though. My complexion is definitely healthier looking, and if I do get reactions to foods, they seem to vanish at ten times the speed they did before. That’s tremendously empowering.

So 9 days to go. My Humaworm packet is almost empty. I’ll continue to the end – I never give up on things – but short of a major development, I think we’re done.

Day 22: Look the other way. Please, just go. I am not worthy of your attention today. I completely forgot to take my pills.

Well, it’s understandable – nothing dramatic has happened in over a week and after a while you get sick of staring into the toilet hoping for worms and getting nothing.

The pills are supposed to be taken twelve hours apart before meals. Tonight I ate dinner and didn’t give my Humaworm a thought. Just slipped my mind. I wound up taking them after dinner instead, and now I can’t get the taste off my breath. My punishment for taking my eye off the ball for a second.

So today the parasites won. They got a reprieve. Now, let’s move on and pretend this never happened, okay?

Day 23: BIG NEWS!

Just when I’d given up hope. My landing gear was down and I was cruising toward the terminal building, and there they are – parasites. Ta-daa!

For a start, last night I could not sleep. I lay awake for hours, which I never do. I never have insomnia. Plus, I have a strange zit-like boil thing on the side of my neck, which can’t be explained away by logical means. But that’s only the beginning. I went to the loo just now, and was quite shocked.

First, there was another of those translucent floaty things, about two inches long, a worm casing maybe, floating in the water. Haven’t had one of those in two weeks. But the most interesting thing of all was what lay around the water’s edge. Normally, I put almost everything I see in the bowl down to eating a lot of salad stuff, which can show up later in any manner of odd configurations when it drops out. But this was different.

Around the edges of the water, where the water laps up against the sides of the toilet, there were five little ‘things’. Short things. barely 0.75″ long,  lying half in, half out of the water, spaced around the bowl. Think about that: each one was half in, half out of the water, as though trying to escape. I have never seen anything like it. There was none in the the rest of bowl that I could see, only around the edge of the water.

Then, when I was performing a little cleaning ritual afterwards, on my hand I found a 1″ long yellowy-white hard thing. My first thought: it’s wet toilet paper scrunched up. But it didn’t look like toilet paper, it looked organic and dead.

So after 23 days, including a long vacant gap that was very depressing, something has finally shifted. Humaworm obviously keeps on toiling away, even when you’re not thinking about it. Fantastic.

Day 24: Woke up with pains in my left boobie. Those seem to have dissipated now. Keep waking up in the middle of the night with my body aching here and there.

No parasites in poop this morning. Not visibly anyway.

Day 25: Nothing noticeable in the toilet bowl today, apart from large patches of white stuff, which I think was a form of gas maybe, but not sure. I’m about to do another coffee enema, so we shall see.

However, there’s BIG news you should know about. Last night we went out to dinner at a friend’s house, which is always a difficult proposition for me, due to all the stuff I can’t eat. We didn’t know these guys well, and they didn’t know about my lifelong problem. It was just asking for trouble.

I have horrible food sensitivities. My skin reacts badly to cheese, meat, fried anything, cream, sugar…etc etc, so I almost freaked when every one of these was trotted out during the meal. In fact, it was made up 85% of these ingredients. There was nowhere for me to turn.

Normally, after a night like that, the following day I’m scared to look in the mirror. I can expect hives, rashes, even bits of skin flaking off. It’s ghastly. But today, guess what, people? My complexion is perfectly clear. Not a blip, no redness, no bubbling up, no spots. How wondeful.

So in that respect, it looks like my dear, fantastic new friend Humaworm has performed a very powerful service.

Day 26: Winding down now. Nothing to report. All aches and pains gone, nothing worth mentioning in my stools. There is a strange zit on my neck today that wasn’t there yesterday, so that’s a mystery. Otherwise, zlich.

I’m open to new developments, and even yearning for them, because I love doing this stuff personally, but we may be done.

Let’s see what happens tomorrow.

Day 27:  Oh dear. Well, here’s something unusual – my Humaworm tablets have run out!

I took the last two before dinner tonight. How can that be? I even skipped taking them twice during the past month, so theoretically at least I should have enough to last 31 days, not 30. But no, it’s day 27 and they’re all gone.

Hm.

I may write to the people who make them and raise this point. I’ll let you know what they say, because that’s very bizarre, isn’t it?

I’ll also write one last blog entry tomorrow, in case the parasites enjoy a resurgence and do something spectacular, like the firework display at the end of the Olympics. I’ll also offer some final thoughts on the experience, dispensing wisdom freely to anyone who’s interested and thinking of doing something similar in the coming years.

Otherwise, that pretty much sews up the experience. I confess, I’m a little disappointed that it ran out before the 30 days. I didn’t see that one coming. Bummer.

Day 28: I am Huma-less. It felt strange to wake up today and NOT take my tablets. But the packet’s empty, even though there are, technically still three days to go, including today, on my 30-day parasite cleanse.

I shot off an email yesterday to the Humaworm people, laying out the broad strokes of the situation vis a vis my shortage of tablets. They replied first thing this morning with a response that, unless I’m misinterpreting its finer nuances, indicated that they’re as confused about this as I am.

“We are very interested in your blog and discussions on radio,”a lovely woman called Barbara wrote. “I appreciate you letting us know about the shortage of capsules…I will bring this to Stephen’s attention.”

Two questions about that: 1) who is Stephen? and 2) Although I’m sure he’s lovely too and means well, how will bringing my shortage of tablets to his attention resolve anything?

A friend of mine started her Humaworm course three days ago and feels terrible, she says. Good, it’s working. She emailed me a photo of her poo with a white floaty thing in it. I’ve had several of these. They look like shreds of toilet paper, but they’re not.

I, on the other hand, am feeling fine these days. Not too different to before, but fine. A lot of unidentified alien stuff has dropped out and been flushed away these past four weeks. I can only assume I am better off without it. My skin has improved, the rash on my neck has lessened – although it changes daily – but I still have a whistling in my ears which I wish would go away.

The Hunaworm company does a cleanse for Candida too, so that’s my next one. Whistling in the ears is frequently connected to a Candida Albicans overgrowth. However, during a cleanse, you are not allowed to touch sugar, sweet stuff, or anything that turns to sugar in your body. I mean, not at all. That’s tough and a real trial, but worth it if this pesky ringing will stop.

Can’t do anything for three months, though. Must give traumatized digestive system a rest. But, come October, I’ll be gearing up for the next one. I am determined to beat these little bastards, whatever it takes.

I’ll keep you posted.

Watch: Cash’s award-winning short film about the Master Cleanse: Fast and Very Loose.
 
 

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Filed under Candida, healing, Health, Parasites, Self-help, Wellness

BBC. Fifteen amazing years. Done. Thank you.

So there we are. It’s done.

My TV/movie review slot on BBC Radio Five Live is no more.

Part of it is down to me – after 41 years of constant writing and broadcasting for radio and TV since the age of 15, I’m slowly tiring of doing this kind of presentation. The light and fluffy nonsense kind.

That said, light and fluffy has served me well. I’ve done everything I ever dreamed of doing, and way more. Written for The Two Ronnies, featured on a TV game show, hosted my own American TV travel series, which is still being shown and will probably continue running long after I’m dead; lived in, and reported from, a number of countries, been on countless adventures and assignments, interviewed thousands of interesting and not so interesting people, written nine books….and on and on. By anyone’s standards, it’s been astonishing.

But now it’s time to move on to more serious things. Things that matter and which affect people and how they see the world. A new life beckons, I must go.

Me, in the early days of the broadcast

After a decade and a half on the BBC’s Up All Night, and what has been truly the most wonderful fun with Rhod and a consistently great team, I’m done and ready to move on. The past five years were especially tough as I realized I was slowly outgrowing what I was doing. Each broadcast became a strain to do; to get enthusiastic about, to stay focused on, etc. I started saying dumb and irrelevant things just to keep my brain alive, and that’s not the way to engage in any kind of broadcasting. If you’re not loving it, leave, and let someone else take up the reins.

What a gift it’s been, though. I couldn’t have wished for better. I’m so grateful. We did some fab, entertaining stuff for the longest time, often against horrendous technical odds. But I have to face it – I’m finished. Each week my mojo was slipping a little more until I was no longer looking forward to doing the broadcast the way I once had. And the BBC people picked up on that. They felt the magic had gone too.

So how do I know it’s time to go? What were the subtle signs?

Here’s how it went. This was the paper-trail that led me to this conclusion:

  • First, the BBC fired me in 2010. One of the producers went nuts in the studio. She’d had her handbag stolen and was incredibly fragile that night, apparently. For fifteen minutes she yelled at me on the phone non-stop. It was quite bizarre. She even tried to have my pay docked secretly as a punishment. The BBC apologized for her spiteful behavior and paid up later on. Also, they reinstated me the following week. So no harm done.
  • Then, in 2011, a fresh assistant editor arrived on the scene. Part of a new breed. My theory has always been that the BBC orders these guys in bulk from a warehouse. Tags ’em, numbers ’em, implants ’em with a special political correctness chip, programs ’em, boots ’em up, and just lets ’em loose, whether they know what they’re doing or not. Somehow, impossibly, unstoppably, they then rise and rise within the Corporation. It’s a marvel to behold. Anyway, back to the point: we got this new editor. A nice enough person actually. Young. Pretty competent, no doubt. Alas, within months, he’d fired me too, only to relent somewhat and rehire me later. As Rhod told me at the time, with a weary sigh and shake of the head, “He doesn’t know what he wants, he just knows what he doesn’t want, and he doesn’t want you.” Anyway, who cares? No hard feelings. The guy was just carrying out orders, I’m sure.
  • Now, in 2012, yet another new assistant editor has taken over in his place, and…. you can probably guess the rest.

I don’t know about you, but I see a pattern building up. Only this time, even if they offered to rehire me, I’d refuse. I’d have to. Out of sheer self-respect. Someone has to draw a line in the sand. The annual firing ritual was becoming a joke.

Of course, from the BBC’s side, the axing of my Slot was a bureaucratic decision, rather than an artistic one done with the audience in mind. We know this because vociferous protests and petitions from so many faithful listeners were powerless to stop it.

[UPDATE: December 19th 2012: the guy at the top of Radio Five Live has been cantilevered from his position, and into another one. Deary me. It’s beginning to sound a lot like karma.]

The previous assistant editor called one day, very annoyed by the audience uprising and blaming me for taking it seriously. “We have a huge listenership, Cash,” he said. “Four hundred people writing in to support you is not a lot of people.”

Really?  Are you sure?

Have you ever known four hundred people voluntarily do anything in the middle of the night, much less send in petitions and write to the controller of the network? It’s almost unheard of, and I was totally blown away by the reaction. Secretly, I think the BBC was too, but management stuck with the decision anyway. Many listeners are still boycotting Up All Night as a result.

[UPDATE: Almost eighteen months on, I still receive messages and tweets almost every day, saying how much the audience misses the Slot. Crazy, really.]

Essentially I was silenced. The Slot was sacrificed on the altar of political correctness and removed from the air, albeit in a low-key, long-haul way, so that I could no longer offer my true opinion on things that the BBC felt was unsuitable for its audience’s ears. This happens on every network, by the way; they’re not alone. It’s a sign of the corporate times. Fear governs editorial decisions in Britain nowadays, I’ve learned to my cost, and this excessive editorial control is leading to the sad passing of yet another tenet of life we broadcasters used to take for granted – free speech.

Example: for years I would play clips of TV shows during my Slot to illustrate the points I was making. One night I ran a brief snippet from one of the most brilliant sitcoms on American television, 30 Rock. A snippet that aired during primetime here, when kids are watching, so it’s deemed completely inoffensive. In it, Alec Baldwin called someone “a douchebag.”

Well, next day, all bloomin’ heck broke loose within the BBC. Seems a few listeners had complained about the word douchebag. Listeners who were, in fact, douchebags themselves, I’m sure. In my experience, any person who has the time to complain to a broadcasting organization is lonely, bored with their life, jealous, or not getting enough of the right kind of sex. Instead, they fixate on minor stuff, and they channel their unspent energy into making total nuisances of themselves. If they were happy, they wouldn’t bother. What better thing to do, if you’re a miserable loser, than make other people miserable too?

One particular douchebag I came across a while ago had collected transcripts of every conversation Rhod and I had had on the air for ten years. Not because he’s a fan, but, incomprehensibly, because he devotes his life to monitoring the BBC for bias and wants to prove that my TV review slot is politically motivated, so that he can complain about it. Seriously. Can you imagine a more soul-crushing, deadbeat kind of existence than that?

You just want to take someone like him to one side and explain, “Do you know how precious life is? How short it is? How many of those precious days you have left before, pouff, you’re gone? Why not use your life like it means something? Why waste even a second on petty sniping and nitpicking? Live, my friend. Go out there and be constructive with your time instead of complaining. Inspire others. Encourage, build, enhance. Just do something.”

But do you think he’d listen? Not bloody likely.

In the 30 Rock example, rather than just ignoring the complainants, which is the correct way of dealing with them, the BBC office went crazy. The next morning, I received a slew of emails and phone calls from panicking producers and assistants in London telling me that I was banned from playing clips in future – not just clips like that, but all clips – unless they had been screened and okayed by editors in the UK the day before the Slot went out. A ridiculous overreaction. And impossible. I was in L.A., using a borrowed studio – the editing and sending over of material a day prior to the broadcast was simply not feasible. So that was the end of it – I was forced to do a TV review slot featuring no clips at all of the TV shows I was discussing. That’s how bonkers things have become at the BBC.

But I digress.

My own reason for leaving the Slot did not coincide with their reason for axing it. These were two separate things. In the end, however, the result was the same, and it’s a good thing. 15 amazing years. Done.

To dwell on the cancellation scenario is pointless and only makes me sound bitter, which I’m not. Baffled and disappointed on some level, yes, but I feel we should rejoice, not carp, about this change. Delight ourselves with how excellent it was to have that lone voice of comic spontaneity, clear and uncensored, on the radio each week for all that time. An era of vocal highwire-walking may have come and gone, and at some level we mourn its demise, but it sure was great at the time, right?

I’ve said enough. But if you want more, then I’m reposting below a blog entry I wrote last year after news of the second axing broke. This gives the bigger picture and ties everything up nicely.

—————————————

This post was written in October 2011 and published in December.

Making magic: how to do a TV review when you don’t own a TV

What’s fascinating to me is that the slot wasn’t even supposed to be a slot at all. It began as little more than a serendipitous coming together of a lost journalist and a struggling network with time to fill and nothing to fill it with. That was in 1997.

I’d been in Hollywood a matter of weeks and things weren’t going well. Thoroughly depressed, I was facing the serious possibility of having to return home soon if my life didn’t shape up. Then, one day, everything changed. A close friend of mine, who happened to be working on a relatively new BBC radio nocturnal magazine show called Up All Night, catering mainly to truck drivers and milkmen, rang me in some panic and said, “Our U.S. TV critic has vanished, or possibly died. Anyway, he’s not answering his phone. Would you be a poppet and review some television for us for a couple of weeks while we find a replacement? We’ll pay.”

Pay? Great heavens!

Unfortunately, I didn’t own a TV at the time, which would make reviewing shows difficult, I told them, though not impossible. Friends had televisions; I could muscle in on those. So…

“Yes,” I gushed. “I’d love to do it.”

In Hollywood, you always say yes, whatever the question. It’s one of the rules.

For the next month, as producers in London trawled the States for someone, anyone, who knew slightly more about American television than I did – there were roughly 380 million candidates at the time – I filled the gap. And for another month after that as well. And another. After which I guess they gave up trawling, because a year later I was still doing it, even though I still didn’t own a TV. Someone else in the house had one; I wasn’t flying completely blind. But I could not, by any stretch of the imagination, be regarded as a professional TV critic. Additionally, before each broadcast I’d pop down to Ralph’s, our local supermarket, and hover around the checkout reading TV magazines and tabloids, researching something to talk about.

It was all very laissez-faire. Nobody appeared to care that I knew nothing, as long as it was entertaining. The slot was a three-minute filler, that’s all, which is an eye-blink in radio terms, so patches of ignorance could easily be masked by a guy being funny, talking very fast, and giggling more than is right. Plus, it was done on the phone, lessening its integrity still further.

Problem was, I didn’t have a phone either! I shared a party line. This in itself presented countless problems.

Quite often, I would be sitting in my scruffy, mouse-infested apartment to the rear of the otherwise very beautiful Samuel Goldwyn Mansion right in the middle of Hollywood, jabbering live on-air to the BBC, giving my honest opinion about some show I’d not seen, when someone elsewhere in the house would come on the line and start talking over me. Or they’d suddenly dial a number and my voice would be drowned out by peeping noises. Or they’d go, “Hello? Hello? Who’s this?” The slot never went off without a hitch. It was always acutely awkward and nerve-wracking. But at the same time it was real! Real and spontaneous and entertaining and unpredictable – qualities that were valued back then; not stiff, over-prepared, and read word-for-word from a script, the way all other TV reviews were (and are). That’s what made it so refreshing and so un-BBC-like. Structure’s not my strong point, as you know – for instance, look at the way I’m rambling here – so I must applaud the producers of Up All Night for sticking with me, and it, for as long as they did.

Once, I remember, we’d just gone live; I was chatting happily to the presenter in London, when a well-hung naked black man climbed in through my window and ran across the room and out the door. He was being chased by another man, this one clothed and armed with a pitchfork, who also climbed in through the window and ran out the door. It was very dramatic, and, I should add, entirely representative of the madness that went on daily in that mansion. I’m surprised none of us got killed. Anyway, in that moment of crisis, as I expostulated, “Oh my god, there’s a big black man running across my room!”, history was made. I switched from talking about TV – which, let’s face it, I knew nothing about anyway – to discussing who the black guy was and why he was naked, which I knew A LOT about.

And that’s how it got started. The chatting, the cheekiness, the crazy Hollywood reporting about my life. For the first time, it gave people in Britain a chance to experience the real L.A., and what it’s like to live in this weird, mad place, from the inside – something they couldn’t find anywhere else on the radio. In time, it became known as ‘My Lovely Slot.’

Listeners, of course, adore stuff like this. And very soon what began as a brief fling turned into an ongoing affair. Within a couple of years I’d been upgraded from a three-minute filler on the phone to a five-minute filler on the phone, then ten minutes, then fifteen, until eventually I was given an entire half-hour every week to do my comedy thing, despite the usual complaints and protests. There’s always a small portion of your audience that, feeling helpless and unheard, takes their self-loathing out on other people, and usually – because they’re an easy target – media people, by endlessly writing in to whine about something you’ve said. When you’re in broadcasting, you accept that.

However, some of the protests originated within the show itself. That was the shocker.

They came from the creator and presenter of Up All Night, Rhod Sharp, who, according to one of the producers, took a rebellious stand in the beginning against their new  ‘TV critic’  getting any more air-time – “But why?” he groaned. “He’s not a real journalist!” – and even campaigned for the slot to be cut back. One of the producers told me this before I went on-air one night. The reasoning, though, was flawed. Of course I’m not a real journalist. That’s the whole point of the slot. Even so, a more persuasive argument would have been: “But why? He doesn’t own a television.” Now, that might have worked.

But Rhod’s a sweetie-pie. Eventually he mellowed, as we know, and nowadays we’re practically in love.

The spirits speak

With the passing of the years, the half hour became a little more professional, I must say.

I quit giggling as much, for example. Then, in year two, I actually went crazy and bought a TV, so that I could start getting my information first-hand, which was a vast improvement. I invested in a phone, that’s another thing. And later I even managed to wangle a real, and quite fabulous, studio in downtown L.A. to broadcast from. During those early bleak days, this little slot of mine, as silly and insignificant as it seemed, was my life-saver. Without it I could not have made it in L.A. The pay was risibly small, but it was enough. Enough to get me from week to week, if I didn’t eat much and walked everywhere instead of taking the bus.

The whole traveling-to-America thing had been a monstrous gamble anyway. I arrived here on spec with almost no money to my name and unable to earn any because I didn’t have a green card, so I was forced to rely totally on the kindness of strangers. And since strangers in L.A. are not exactly renowned for their kindness, that meant I was in survival mode every single day. Now, though, it’s been fourteen years and I’m no longer in survival mode, am I? I’m living quite the life. Things turned around in the end. I wrote books, had my own TV travel show, and got a regular gig on NPR over here.  So for the last half-decade or so, the slot has been done for pleasure only. Mine, if nobody else’s.

Rhod called me at home in October, the day after the axe fell. “Don’t be downcast,” he said, sounding just like he does on the radio. “There’ll be other opportunities.”

And yes, there probably will. But I don’t think he quite gets where I’m coming from on this. The ending of the BBC slot is not a bad thing. It’s a ‘thing’, that’s all. I tend not to fight change, I embrace it readily, and even a little starry-eyed at times, on the assumption that when one situation falls away, it’s only to make room for something bigger and better. It’s always been that way for me. And in this case that’s definitely going to be what happens.

How do I know? A psychic told me.

(Don’t you dare roll your eyes!!)

Back in September, I had one of my regular readings with a quite brilliant channeler guy in Oregon, and for the first time I heard myself ask, “When will my BBC slot end?” Don’t know why I was prompted to raise the issue, but I did. And he laughed, saying, cryptically, “Well, it won’t be less than a month, but it will be over by the end of the year. Just accept it.”

Oh my lordy! That soon?

He seemed very sure.  “You want me to go without a fight? Seriously?”

“Yup.”

So when the day came and I heard the actual words: “It’s over”, it should have been no surprise. Yet I admit I was caught off-guard. I didn’t yelp or squeal or do anything girly, but I think I may have emitted a gasp.

“It  probably should have happened after ten years, not fourteen years,” I told the assistant editor. Which is true. I remember joking on-air with Rhod only a month before. I said they’d have to take me away in a body bag before I’d ever give up my Slot. But I’d already talked with the psychic by then. I knew I was done for.

[UPDATE: when I chatted with the psychic again in the spring and told him I was doing monthly film reviews now, he sighed heavily and said, “Oh god, you shouldn’t have done that. It will be like a long slow fade to black, and it will end mid-year.” Bang on yet again!]

Winding things up, the BBC way

The young BBC man who called was extraordinarily polite and cordial, and probably nervous, wondering if I’d go bananas when I heard I’d been dropped. After all, he was most likely still studying for his GCSEs when I started this thing. To avert a crisis, he apologized sincerely for putting me out to pasture in this way, congratulating and thanking me as he did so for my long, devoted service, inadvertently making me feel gloriously cherished, brutally discarded, and very, very old, all at the same time.

I could have announced, I suppose, that it was my decision to leave, for the sake of my pride. But why?

Because if we’re heading down that road, why not go the whole way and issue one of those robotic statements that are euphemisms for ‘He’s been fired”, and which bruised artists routinely use to shield their pride?

“Cash is leaving to spend more time with his family.” (Which, since I don’t have a family, would make it an even bigger lie), or: “Cash is leaving to work on other projects.” (Okay. But strictly speaking is retirement another project?) Or even: “We’re taking the show in a new direction. We’re hoping to use someone who won’t cause as many listeners to complain.” (Er….oh…well, that might be nearer the mark, I suppose. Yes, use that.)

Anyway, that’s it – the bulk of it. We’re all squared away. Everyone’s happy. There’s no going back now.

[EDIT POINT: Both guys who authorized my firing – the editor of the show and also the head of the network have since been shunted sideways and replaced. Remarkable.]

Okay, I’ll take any questions.

Yes, you over there in bold, carrying the big Q.

Q. Will you miss doing your slot?       For a while, sure. It was engraved into my calendar all those years, week in week out – how could I not?

Q. Is your ego fragile right now?      It’s been a couple of months since I found out, so no, I’m over it.

Q. Does this make you feel old and over the hill?    Not as much as it used to when Rhod would go on vacation for a couple of weeks and be replaced by what sounded like bubbly children’s TV presenters.

These, I assumed, were considered the BBC’s best hope for the future. One or two were great – Giles Dilnot being one; now THAT guy has a career ahead of him – but the majority were mediocre, I thought. Humorless, awkward, and often floundering in the face of unscripted spontaneity, in ways that would have been inconceivable a few years ago, when you needed to have talent and years of broadcast experience to get on national radio, not merely a degree in media studies and lashings of youthful enthusiasm.

It struck me many times as I was doing the slot that, if this was how far down the bar had been lowered in terms of presenter acceptability, then inevitably the BBC would soon be wielding the axe on its more seasoned professionals. It’d have to, if only as a way to make the newcomers seem less like struggling amateurs.

Q. Will the audience miss you?      Hm, not sure about that. Some, maybe. But I know how I am with people who disappear from my life. I move on very quickly.

Q. Would you stay if the BBC insisted?      They’re not going to insist.

Q. This whole cancellation lark sounds very fishy. Why would the BBC axe something that is incredibly popular with listeners? Is there something you’re not telling us?   Ah, well…

How hate, not love, sometimes prevails

If anyone asks, the only reason I continued doing my slot for as long as I did was because, each time I so much as hinted that I might stop, I’d be deluged the next day with emails, tweets, and Facebook messages begging me to keep going. “You’re the highlight of my week,” some milkman in Cheshire would say, or a matron stuck on overnights in Essex, or a cab driver trekking around rain-soaked Liverpool in the dead of winter. “Your slot brightens my life. Please don’t go.”

Ah, but I must, you see. The other day, I said there more reasons why I’m leaving. The first was by far the most significant: it’s time to go. It just is. And here’s another. Reason #2 was:

The corporation’s new “Delivering Quality First” initiative.

In much the same way that the Bush Administration’s topsy-turvy “No Child Left Behind” policy led to almost every child getting left behind, and now nobody in America under 25 can spell, add up, speak in full sentences, or find their home town on a map, the BBC is delivering quality first at its news and talk flagship Radio Five Live by seemingly eviscerating it; cutting £5 million per annum, I’m told, from a network whose budgets are already pinched like an Irish pie-crust, inevitably forcing editors over the next couple of years to sweep aside anything that isn’t cheap or nailed down.

I regret to say that this includes me. I’m not nailed down; I have to leave. It’s progress.

A compromise idea was tabled: how about I give up my slot but continue to contribute to Up All Night the way I do to any other radio or TV network – casually, informally, and as needed? To me that feels like a horrible demotion. Agreeing to it would mean I was just so desperate to stay on the radio that I’d do anything.

But then fate stepped in anyway. A couple of days later, I received my very first piece of direct hate mail, at which point everything changed.

Haters are very vocal. 10,000 listeners may love what you do, but of course they won’t write to the BBC and say so. I myself adored the sitcom Better Off Ted, and was mortified when ABC axed it last year. Did I write in and tell them that? Nope. I’m too lazy.

Haters and whiners, on the other hand, are not lazy. Also, they seem to have a lot more time on their hands than the rest of us. They’re always writing in. Years ago, before emails and texts, they had to send letters, which were easily misplaced or ignored. Now, though, they have the immediacy of the Internet, and they use it to the fullest extent – especially, it seems, when it comes to my little slot. And so the final reason for my leaving is this:

Reason 3: there have been complaints. 

Uh-oh.

Face it, whatever you say on the radio is going to offend someone. If I suggest that the latest series of Doctor Who is shallow drivel, which it is, dozens of easily-pleased people with no taste will write in, saying I’m wrong and it was the best ever.

For every stand you take, there’s someone out there poised to take the opposite side. And that’s fine. It’s democracy in action. The more the merrier. As long as – and this is the important part – as long as producers, editors, and network controllers don’t yield to pressure and let a tiny minority dictate program policy, or, worse still, let them silence voices they don’t happen to agree with. Because then the tail’s wagging the dog and you’ve strayed into very dangerous territory indeed.

Years ago, when broadcasters received hatemail, it was seen as a good, even important, thing. A strong listener response  meant you’d pushed buttons and stirred up passions to the point where they’d been compelled to get off their indolent arses and physicalize their anger. And what’s art, really, if not an attempt to arouse passions in people?

But you can see the dangers, right? For creativity to flourish, artists need to be protected. They need editors and managers with a backbone, who believe that every kind of voice should be heard, not just the ones that try to please all the listeners all the time. Managers who place self-expression first and their own promotion prospects second. Managers who understand the value of originality and defend it, if only as a way to resist the relentless, slow, downward drag into mediocrity that haters represent. Managers with real balls, in other words. They do exist, both inside the BBC and out, and I’ve worked for a couple in my time, but I need hardly tell you – in a world of shaved budgets and increasingly homogenized blandness, they are rare.

Times are tough. Backbone is scarce. You can’t buy it in packs of six, not like in the old days. To stand your ground and support something of value when you’re under fire and anxious to keep your job – that’s a lot to expect. If the choice is to either fall on their sword in the name of integrity, or to take the easy way out by buckling to the irate demands of a few loony listeners (and maybe a couple of complainers within the BBC too, naming no names), my guess is that most producers and editors will buckle. I probably would too.

One piece of hatemail helped clinch the deal

But none of that is important. For me, there was one specific piece of hatemail that made all the difference. The exact-same day, unbelievably, that the BBC man called, I received my first-ever angry tweet about the slot. Came from a new follower in Essex. It was uncanny how it happened. A bizarre coincidence.

“I’m following you,” he announced, “so I can tell you that you make me cringe every time I hear you on the radio. You’re a buffoon.” This was quickly followed by a second tweet. He’d thought of something else: “Oh, by the way, just how affected can an accent be? Answers on a postcard…”

Nothing to be concerned about, you might think. Just a guy I don’t know venting his feelings about an affected buffoon he doesn’t know, and with every right to say what he said. But that’s not the point. I don’t believe in coincidences. Nothing happens by accident.

This listener wasn’t aware of it, but he’d sent his tweet at a watershed moment. On any other day his intentionally cruel words might not have mattered. But somehow, that one insignificant little nugget of malice felt to me like a sign. A sign of changing tides. Same way the BBC is changing. We’re told it’s about to start delivering quality first. Well, good. About time. And I’m sure savage budget cuts, a reduced talent pool, and overall limited resources will help bring that goal nicely to fruition. However, the very nature of the terminology tells you that there’s no room for me in that scenario.

After fifteen years of the best fun I could possibly have had in broadcasting, I’m feeling cornered. There’s no air in here any more. Broadcasters find themselves hemmed in by watchdogs, whiners, and waves of insidious, way-over-the-top political correctness, the fascist kind imposed by the fanatical minority, that crushes the human spirit and ruins everything for everyone else. It’s like waking up in the night to find your longterm lover trying to suffocate you with a pillow.

So we’re drawing things to a close.

No doubt all those people, like the hater guy in Essex, who loathed the slot – and there are many others, including a couple of the lesser-talented stand-in hosts –  will be rejoicing, popping corks, and organizing singalongs and pageants of their own at this news. And so they should. They won. Their efforts paid off. Let’s not shy away from the truth, nor take even an ounce of their victory away from them. Whatever jubilation they feel today was earned through rugged persistence over many months and years, even if their triumph is, when viewed in a fuller perspective, tiny, since it was only a matter of time before I left anyway. A month, three months, six months down the line – at some point relatively soon the slot would have drawn to a close. It had to. Which brings us full circle, back to the main reason, which is:

Quite simply: I’m done. The affair is over.

To conclude, then, because I really am rambling now…

My friend, the one who started it all off by calling me in a panic in 1997, was quick to reply when I told him what had happened. “Given that it was initially a temporary thing,” he said, “fifteen years is not bad.”

He’s right, it’s not bad. Actually, it’s better than not bad, it’s brilliant! And it extends to a time way before 1997, because I’m not just ending my BBC slot, I’m ending all my media involvement – TV, radio, the works.

I climbed aboard the broadcasting carousel at the age of 15, doing pieces for BBC Radio Manchester. At 16, a short animated film I made was shown on BBC1. Also at 16, I began contributing material to BBC  comedy programs, first for radio, then later – at 17 – for TV, with The Two Ronnies and Talking Telephone Numbers.  And it’s been going on ever since, alternating between radio and TV, both in the UK and more recently in America. That’s some carousel, my friends. It’s been terrific in every conceivable way, I couldn’t have wished for more. But now it’s time to climb off.

The wind-down began last year when I left Marketplace, the U.S. public radio show I’d been contributing to for more than a decade, and quit being a reporter. Already I’m no longer up to date on world happenings, because I don’t watch the news any more. To me, it’s a bunch of contentious white noise – complete strangers telling me in the gravest tones what I should be worried or frightened about. Well, I can do without that, thank you.

Better still, in January, with no slot to research, I plan to get rid of my TV altogether. This prospect makes me very happy indeed. No more surfing endless channels of nothingness looking for topics to discuss. No more setting TiVo for programs I would never record otherwise. No more having to magic an opinion out of thin air about some vacuous fly-by-night celebrity or a mindlessly indulgent and derivative sitcom that’s going to be cancelled in a month’s time anyway.

Above all, I can quit judging things. Things, shows, ideas, ratings.  That’s the best development of all. I was not put on this earth to be a critic of other people’s work, or to poke fun at their efforts, even though it’s what I’ve done for twenty years. My remit has a broader reach than that. There are the handwriting analysis skils I have, for instance, which are mind-blowing. Also, my new mystery novel has just been published: Force of Habit – Sister Madeleine Investigates. That’s waaaaaay more representative of the kind of artist I am, I think. I was born to create, not to tear down.

Which is why, hanging up the phone on the assistant editor on the day of the axing in October 2011, I found I had a peculiar fizzing sensation in my crotch, as if someone had poured champagne into my pants. This only happens on two occasions: a) when someone really has poured champagne into my pants; and  b) when massive life changes are afoot.

And that’s where I’m at as I write this. I’m embarking on a massive life change, switching from being a media guy, which I’ve been since I was a kid, to being a very happy and non-involved civilian. My career has been living proof that you can have anything you want, anything at all, if you’ll just dream big and be persistent. In my teens, I had a bunch of what seemed like impossible dreams, and every last one of them came true. I’ve been living in a bubble ever since, letting my childhood dreams play out. Now, though, I’m done. Today I have a whole raft of new dreams. Grown-up dreams that don’t involve broadcasting, and which will take the rest of my days to fulfill.

For some reason – don’t ask me why – I have a peculiar feeling that my life is just beginning.

So that’s it really. It’s been great. Thanks to Rhod, all the BBC studio managers, producers, and editors I had dealings with, most of whom were fantastic and exemplary pros, and of course the fans – all 15 of you – not only in the UK (13)  but worldwide (2), who tuned in each week, and who sent me such wonderfully supportive messages. To quote Gabriel García Márquez: “No llores porque ya se terminó… sonríe, porque sucedió.”

In English: don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened.

Two final things:

1) Late breaking news: here are a couple of blog posts some lovely listeners wrote about the ending of the slot. One from Hugh McCallion and another from Stephen Duncan. Am I touched? Oh, for sure.

2) After so many fans of the slot wrote to him, the controller of Five Live, Adrian Van Klaveren, started sending out a robo-tweet: “Sometimes you have to make changes to keep progs fresh and try out new ideas/voices but we hope Cash will still appear on UAN…”. (It’s Twitter, so he probably ran out of characters, and meant to continue: “…doing something dull and safe that will upset fewer people.”)

Okay, time’s up. Gotta go before this gets maudlin. Or worse, bitter.

Missing you already.

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