Sat Raimondo - Genius Healer Supreme

My RSI has been so chronic recently, I recently consulted a powerful healer called Sat Raimondo after a friend insisted I see him. I was praying for a miracle and got it.

Sat Raimondo works from his home in central London and I arrived not knowing what to expect: I've never consulted a healer before. He instantly made me feel at ease by talking about ordinary things. He was absolutely charming.

He sat me in a chair and did spiritual healing on me. He told me to shut my eyes, so I was unable to see what he was doing. I felt a deep heat when he lightly touched my limbs and hands and immediately I felt incredibly relaxed.

 I had no sense of time so didn't know how long the healing session took, but afterwards, he gave me the most wonderful massage on my hands for ages. Afterwards, I floated back home on the tube, completely oblivious to the rush hour crowds.

He must be a miracle worker as he seems to have cured me. Since going to him, I have been typing frenetically without my thumb joints threatening to pop out of their sockets. My writer's 'block' has disappeared and I'm full of creative ideas. I know who to consult when I get blocked with my writing again.

(Sat Raimondo, who also gives all kinds of healing including Reiki, also does psychic readings and Indian head massages. He can be contacted on 020 7242 2163 or at satraimondo@hotmail.com).

Gregory Sams' Party On The Rocks

Photo by Martyn Healer 

My most 'interesting' party of the Christmas season so far has got to be Gregory Sams' birthday party in the wilds of his north London home.

I had arranged to have a reunion tea with an ancient friend beforehand in Soho.  Neither of us had suspected the Saturday we met up just happened to coincide with the biggest Christmas weekend shop of the year, which meant the entire West End had been completely pedestrianised (not a cab or bus in sight).

After I had left my friend in Old Compton Street, I ended up walking all the way to Bayswater Road and beyond,  desperately shoving my way through the heaving throng of frenzied brain-dead shoppers.

I  had tried to get onto the Piccadilly Circus tube station as well as the Bond Street and Marble Arch one, but  didn't have the strength to push my day down through the  crowded steps.

I finally ended up at Gregory's place three hours late and wailing with self-pity, flung myself prostrate on him when he opened the door, boring him and everyone else to death about my horror show of a journey.

Greg (an ingenious macrobiotic cook) promptly dished up his delicious home-made lemon and lentil soup and offered me a generous shot of iced vodka which I threw down my throat in one gulp.

I hadn't drank spirits for years, and it tasted disgusting .. but the hefty slug immediately did the trick and I  immediately swung into the party mood.

 At the end of the evening, my vodka euphoria had evaporated, which saved me from rashly accepting an inebriated stranger's offer of a one night stand!

Instead, I sanctimoniously went home with a a copy of Gregory's book Sun of gOd!