Dear Auntie Sue,
Last Sunday, I popped down to the park in Shawclough for what I thought was a craft fair. Turns out it was a “community wellness gathering” and I somehow got roped into a drumming circle.
At first it seemed harmless, a few people in tie-dye tapping away on recycled bongos. But now it’s every Sunday. They gave me a “drum name” (It’s Thundering Otter, Sue. I can’t live like this).
They’ve started messaging me about “vibrational healing” and “reconnecting with the root chakra of the Pennines”. One woman brought a didgeridoo. Another tried to sell me turmeric in a sock.
I don’t even like drumming. I just wanted a flapjack and maybe a mildly overpriced candle. But now I’m stuck in a rhythm-based cult and they won’t stop chanting about the moon.
How do I leave without causing a scene? Or worse – being spiritually hexed by someone called MoonSarah?
Yours trapped in tempo,
Janet from Shawclough
Dear Janet,
Oh love, we’ve all been there. One minute you’re browsing hand-knitted tea cosies, the next you’re halfway through a shamanic jam session being asked to “release your inner maraca”.
It’s classic Rochdale trickery.
First thing’s first: you’ve got to ghost them gently. Don’t say you hate it – they’ll just start drumming louder to “realign your aura”. Instead:
- Blame an inner ear issue. Say the vibrations are clashing with your eustachian tubes. No one argues with medical fiction.
- Develop a sudden, deeply suspicious allergy to hemp. Say you broke out in hives after touching the communal djembe. Again, unprovable but powerful.
- Join a rival cult. Tell them you’ve committed to a Gregorian chanting syndicate in Todmorden and your energies can’t be split. They’ll respect the exclusivity.
And if all else fails, turn up with a kazoo. Nothing kills a drumming circle faster than a rogue kazoo.
Yours rhythmically,
Auntie Sue
