Life coaching only sounds like a solution if you have no friends

Published on Sunday 13 April 2008 20:52

I was offered a free trial with a "life coach" at the weekend. I didn't know I needed one. I didn't even know they existed. At what point in your life do you decide to take on a job and demand payment for telling other people how to run their lives?

So the man on the phone asked me a few pertinent questions like:

Do you have days when you are going round in circles and achieving nothing?

Would you like more clarity and direction in your life?

Do you feel lost and confused and facing difficult choices at the moment?

The answer to all of the above was yes, but doesn't everyone have days like that?

I recall the catastrophic events of a particularly bad day many years ago.

I managed to leave my baby daughter behind in the local supermarket and then stupidly lost 200 from my purse and, to top it all, set fire to the cat's tail trying to light a scented candle.

I could have done with a life coach that day, but I just sat and cried to my husband, who tried to soothe my fears over my mothering issues, scatty purse organising and scary petkeeping skills.

When the man with the powerful and strangely compelling voice spoke on the phone, I thought for a moment he was selling religion.

Maybe life coaching is the new trendy church and we worship the god of organised diaries.

Maybe we get to wear special bracelets and get to light a candle if we inadvertently take on more work than we can emotionally handle? I am not good with candles, especially near cats.

Life coaches are the latest accessory for the rich and famous, which they employ to help deal with the minutia of their daily grind.

Life coaches talk you through problems, offer you solutions to certain issues that you are avoiding and basically help you make decisions about your career, personal and professional life.

I don't want to sound disparaging about someone's right to hire a personal moan buddy – sorry, life coach – but the easier and cheaper option is find a good mate to just chew the fat with.

They will listen as you gripe about your job and bad relationships and, in my case, my best mate Monica showed me how to walk in high heels and told me to abandon my idea of taking up needlepoint, bleaching my hair and trying to apply an eyelash tint on my own. Good mates tell you the truth and are an incredible source of support.

The upside is that you get to reciprocate. You get to preach to them about how to sort out "Shelia" the office bitch.

And think of all the devious satisfaction of being part of the masterplan that will certainly see off your best mate's unfaithful boyfriend.

Life coaching is big business nowadays; apparently people don't have time to invest in close friendships or are too hectic to make informed choices about their careers.

According to this man with the hypnotic voice, people are working too hard and getting nothing in return. "Maybe getting their mortgage paid off quicker and putting food on the table is a good return for the time invested in work?" I suggested.

"Yes, Janey, but does that make people fulfilled?" he asked.

"Yes, the alternative is frightening. I would think eviction and starvation would be more stressful."

The life coach told me that people in the 21st century just aren't happy and need help finding satisfaction in their life.

I disagree with him. I think blissfulness is over-rated.

Being discontented and angry most of my life is what makes me tick. Who needs to be happy all the time?

On days when my life is dull and easy, I turn into a cloven-hoofed wolverine. I even seek out other people's problems and try to solve them.

Psychologists would have a field day with that admission, but being happy all the time is just unrealistic.

The man on the phone told me there are mantras that can help you stay happy.

I told him my own personal mantra: 'Work hard, pay the mortgage or go to debtors' prison."

"Money isn't everything!" he sniped back.

"Really? Is your service free?"

Of course it isn't. In fact I would need to work twice as hard every month to pay him. How ironic is that?

I am sticking to moaning at my husband and best mates. They love me, understand me and don't require a direct debit from my bank.

Doesn't time fly... except if you're jet-lagged

MY DAUGHTER, Ashley, is 22 years old next Saturday.

I cannot believe that she is no longer six years old and has pigtails or is plaiting her dolly's hair and arranging a funeral for a dead caterpillar. Where did the time go?

Last week she and her best mate Bobi went shopping in Asda to get wine for a party. The girls spotted amazingly cute frocks in the sale, bought them and got changed in the car park in Bobi's car.

I laughed because her extreme modesty as a child was a hindrance.

As a toddler we had to walk miles to find a loo; she would never have a quick 'wee' in public, like most small kids or busy marathon runners.

I will miss her birthday party as I am doing a show at East Kilbride Arts Centre that night.

Happy birthday my big girl!

• I am off to New Zealand next week to take part in their comedy festival.

I am slightly worried about the trip because when I land, after 27 hours of flying, I am going straight onstage with my one-woman show

Jet lag is absolutely soul-destroying and can really make you exhausted.

I recall the time Ashley and I went to New Zealand two years ago. After landing, we decided to have a 'nap' at 5pm and woke up 12 hours later starving and disorientated.

The hour wait for the breakfast bar to open was the longest 60 minutes of my life, Ashley almost threw a tantrum, she was so hungry.

I thought I was going to have to lactate and stick her on my breast to shut her up.

Maybe I will get upgraded and fly first class and sleep all the way and be fresh on arrival?

Well, I can always dream.

Plastic's fantastic in recycled art installation made from toys

I WAS walking in London last week and happened upon an art exhibition.

Robert Bradford is a great artist and his latest Mauger Modern Art exhibition is at The Trafalgar, a hotel on Trafalgar Square. It is huge colourful figures made up of thousands of small toys.

I couldn't resist getting in on the photo shoot for the event. I even picked up a toy gun and pretended to shoot the artist!

I loved the installation, the bright colours and awesome shapes he has made from the little plastic toys are just a joy to behold. Everything is made from recycled materials.

I asked how he gathered so many small toys and he explained: "I bought most of them at car boot sales."

Well, if he needs more there are squillions of wee toys in my loft that my daughter Ashley has squirrelled away for safe keeping.

• www.janeygodley.co.uk