Lest I be accused of plagiarism, let me start off by confessing that the phrase is not mine, but that of Judith Mackrell, dance critic of the Guardian, writing about horse racing. But it so struck me that I made a note of it for future reference. It rose back into my consciousness today after my yoga class. We meet at work in the basement of our office building in a miserable stuffy room. There we breathe and bend and reach and push and pull and stretch and rest, guided by our teacher, until we emerge back into the light like a clowder of cats, smiling enigmatically, glowing with the radiant stretch of the spine.