A Day of Little Cheer.

Some days I wake up and don't know what to do with myself. On a dull wet Saturday afternoon I'm back from my shopping expedition, my fridge is full, the washing is done and the rugby is on. Yet still I feel listless. Originally I had intended to get the train to Hatfield and have a couple of pints in The Horse and Groom Beer Festival. But to no avail. I woke late, lacked motivation and the rain predicted stopped me in my tracks.

Curiously enough last week got better the later it progressed but I'm still feeling somewhat at sea. True it was terribly busy but I'm doing okay. For reasons I don't understand in the very busy Hedgehog last night so many people came to talk to me I had little time for myself. A good thing I suppose but sometimes I like solitude.

On those listless days there is always the hope that fine food and wine will lift things. So ignoring my diet yet again...not been great with that this week...I have a fine aged sirloin steak to cook beautifully rare on a searingly hot griddle pan, some oven chips, petit pois and a nice bottle of Rioja. Let's hope that does the trick.

The month is coming to an end. Does that signal winter is leaving us? Yes we had a big storm the first appearance of the spring bulbs is already under way, it is lighter out and Easter eggs are appearing in the shops. Another year rapidly moving on. Pay day Tuesday. Then onward to dad's birthday. There are good things ahead. I just hope my flat mood today is able to appreciate them.

Have a good weekend all of you. Then see you probably in March.

I Heard a Voice.

There are Warnings of Gales In....

Hearing the shipping forecast on the radio is etched into my childhood memories. It long predates our move to the seaside town when I was almost 10. Who can forget those words that foretold impending danger "There are warnings of gales in..."? The context of why I recall this is a little more hazy. I suspect it played on the radio just before my mum's daily listen to The Archers. I detested the latter and still avoid like the plague but the shipping forecast always intrigued me.

Well the warnings of gales came thick and fast today as Storm Doris hit the UK in all its fury. In the grand scheme of things compared to other parts of the world we escape devastating storms in the main. The Great Storm of 1987 being the exception for my life time. I was caught in a typhoon in Japan in 1982 and my school friend Lisa survived intact a great hurricane that hit her home in Cayman in the late 1980s. She was not so lucky in 2004 when her place was wiped out and like a refugee sought shelter in the UK for several months.

When storms do hit it is chaos. I saw a downed tree on Digswell Road on my way home. There is lots of litter and leaves but that is about it for me. I fear for my colleague Rob as he tries to get home to Kent by train. Widespread disruption has hit the network. Of greater importance and putting it all in a sobering perspective a woman was killed in Wolverhampton by flying debris.

Tomorrow we rebuild and move on in the main. From here the storm appears to have also moved on. There will be other winter storms and we will flail around but spring will come.

Closer to home it has been a challenging week. My post at the weekend about feeling edgy and unsettled continued for a few days. Tuesday was particularly challenging. My mood slipped and my new found discipline in being slightly less self indulgent and healthier has also suffered. The exception was Sunday evening in terms of mood as my friends provided fine company and fun over glorious roast pork and Handel. But it was a temporary respite.

A few days down the line my mood has stabilised, I'm beating myself up for letting things slip and I'm wondering when the crazy demands at the University will ease a little. I was volunteered to do some teaching in two weeks time but given a vast remit, almost no guidance on what they want it has been hard to put something together. The whole of this morning was devoted to that. I made progress but I'm quite anxious about delivery.

The time will come and go and I will survive. Puccini accompanies my attempts to stay calm and say a day at a time, a task at a time. Tomorrow is another day.

I Heard a Voice.

Gently Does It.

Remember those days when my posts often bemoaned the devastating array of nightmares that marked my life when I smoked? Who would have thought smoking could do that? Now more than two and half years on from giving up my nights are in the main much better. But not this weekend. The hours of Sunday morning today brought violent disturbing dreams in waves. Why that should be I do not know but it has as ever left me quite edgy on what should be a relaxing day of culture.

The culture is of course with me. I opened the batting with Puccini and followed up with Mozart. My reading is helping to settle my mind a little. The pork is out and coming up to room temperature. And I'm contemplating a walk after the Mozart has finished.

Thoughts of tomorrow's battles in the world of mental health are however far too prominent for my liking. There was a day oh so long ago when I faced each day with relish. To start with it was just talking to my people, the mad and the mad. Moving on though my loyalties can be tested as I have to look after the individual and the institution. And sometimes those two clash. I don't like getting caught in the middle of other people's battles. But it is ever thus in a hierarchical set up that inevitably underpins most large organisations. That I'm progressing no further where I am now is patently obvious.

And as I approach 50 will there be any chances elsewhere? I don't know the answer to that but I do know that mentally I'm thriving now in a way I haven't done in a long time. Do I know the world of mental health? Out of necessity I do know so much of it. What is new to discover may or may not become clear to me in the coming months and years. Come September I will have spent a decade here. A new member of staff commented on Friday that I was being particularly "jaded and cynical" that day. That I guess is the price I sometimes pay for being so long in a single place.

For now though I will stick with my opera, my books and the fruits of my industrious kitchen. Tomorrow is another day.

I Heard a Voice.

The Serpent Beguiled Me.

Living here in leafy Hertfordshire I am rarely far from ostentatious displays of wealth. As I drove out to Oaklands for the butcher a bright red Ferrari came haring past me at enormous speed. Going to the country pubs the car parks are littered with four wheel drives. And every time I venture into town the shops of the wealthy stand out.

Temptation is everywhere if one can afford it. In my last post I felt virtuously restrained against the lure of temptation. But the devil that is temptation can and does come back. And so lured by the serpent's wanton hiss I returned to said shop and promptly bought said blazer yesterday. A minor defeat or a small triumph? Who knows. What I do know is the price I paid yesterday was 25% less than I would have done on Tuesday. Oh well, virtue doesn't always last.

It's quite a dull day. I didn't get much on my travels. Some pork to roast tomorrow which I will flavour with thyme and sage. Some vegetables to go with it. I am expecting guests as Richard, Gary and Ali are all coming over. Some time since I cooked here for four. Tonight I think a Thai prawn curry is on the menu. Will make the paste from scratch and sear my mouth with fiery chillies.

Although last week went okay I'm glad it is the weekend. Demand was quite high. So too risk but as far as I know I have made the right calls. By the end of next week we will be half way through the term. I have booked a day off for dad's 80th in March along with a couple of half days to catch up with Cambridge friends and to attend Lancing choir singing evensong at St Paul's.

For now some music, a book and maybe if I can summon the motivation some tidying up and cleaning. I seem to have too much stuff here yet still I buy what I don't need. The beguiling serpent has a lot to answer for.

I Heard a Voice.

One at a Time.

Some time ago I read an article on the NFL website on the dangers of sudden immense wealth that such young and talented people get when they are a high round draft pick. A Head Coach was quoted as saying to his star rookie 1st round draft pick during induction "you only need one car". The reply was "too late coach I've already bought three". So many in our culture yearn for instant wealth. That talented young man lasted only a couple of seasons in the league due to bad choices, immaturity and the madness of wealth. He is what our American friends call a "bust".

I do not have great wealth. Nor is very likely I will ever have great wealth. But having ridden out the storm of moving and debt I get by. Spending has always been part of my madness. Depending on which end of the mood spectrum I'm at I tend to spend. Spend for different reasons. When depressed I spend to try to make myself happier. When buzzing I spend because I can and it doesn't matter. But there are limits sometimes.

In a lull on what should have been a more eventful day than turned out I took a little break and had a short wander in the Galleria. Inevitably I succumbed to the lure of books, collected journalism of the late A A Gill Lines in the Sand and Lampedusa's masterpiece The Leopard. Not sure when I will get time to read them but I will one day.

Elsewhere temptation nearly struck in my profligacy. Seeing a beautiful blazer at a bargain price temptation almost got the better of me. Until I recalled that I have four blazers already and reminding myself of the wise words of coach that I can only wear one at a time. Shame really but I resisted. Anywhere but in the middle as I am today there might have been a more expensive outcome.

The day was okay really although my judgement was sorely tested at times and once again I find myself living with what if I'm wrong fears. Ravel's music is currently soothing that fear. And after I think some Morse. Fight another day in the morning.

I Heard a Voice.

Boorish Behaviour.

If you have been following the news this week you may have noticed several pieces on the boorish behaviour of a young Cambridge student who filmed himself  burning a £20 note in front of a homeless man in white tie. The conceit of it all is appalling but looking back to my days there I guess things carry on. My old college was fairly mixed but us public school boys and girls did not always show ourselves in the best light.

I never went to any white tie events. The nearest I got was various highbrow concerts in which conductor and soloists were so attired. I was saddened recently when the Facebook page of a young local lad I know came across my feed. A law student at Trinity he too was attired in white tie and gave the alarming appearance of having disappeared up his own arse. I was relieved more recently when I saw him at the Fu Hao and his polite kind nature was still in view.

Looking back on my teens I was not the nicest of young men. Angry but not acknowledging it, frightened but un-showing, lonely but denying. I'm ashamed of some things I did and throughout my damaged 20s as I fought a losing battle with mental illness my own self loathing was fuelled by those memories of an awful teen and how unkind I was to people sometimes.

So it was huge relief when my friend Ros who knew me even before Rachel came back into my life and sank my fragile sense of self with the realisation that I was kinder than I have feared. It's been some months since I saw Ros which is a shame but will no doubt be rectified at some point. I look forward to that day not to absolve myself of lingering guilt but to enjoy the company of a good, kind and compassionate friend.

I Heard a Voice.

Snow Flurries and Muddy Paths.

As I waited out the last few minutes of an insanely busy Friday at work the weekend was enticing me with endless possibilities. The headaches that felled me on Thursday vanished as quickly as they had come so order was restored. My first thought was to go to London today. I'm overdue a trip to China Town to restock my cupboards. But with Arsenal playing at home and the trains likely to be chaos I shelved that plan.

The alternative was to go for a drive in the country and stop off for a sandwich in a pub somewhere, The White Horse, The Horns, The Plough all beckoned to be visited. But emerging late a bitter cold, heavy flurries of snow and thoughts of muddy paths led me to abandon a second plan.

Instead I ventured to town to shop briefly and to partake of Hot and Sour soup with Yang then back home into the warm. I need warmth today. Herring fillets are tonight's venture into healthy living. I will make up for it tomorrow as my friend Jo has invited me to a late Sunday lunch of roast lamb. I'm in charge of cheese and wine so will go armed with a couple of bottles of Argentinian Malbec, Stilton, Roquefort and mature Cheddar. I'm looking forward to that.

Rugby comes on later so am getting my music fix now, Haydn today. Reading on a gloomy day rather strains my eyes so will do little. Stay warm out there everyone and enjoy what you can of the weekend.

I Heard a Voice.

Guilt Ridden Angst.

As I went to bed last night there was no sign of anything amiss. It had been a busy but okay day followed by a trip to Hakalok. I had listened to The Magic Flute and been very restrained in indulgence terms. So why was it that as I woke half an hour or so before my alarm went off that I had a blinding headache? Realising it wasn't going to go away I phoned in, took some paracetamol and went back to bed.

When I emerged a few hours later there was no sign of said headache abating. Now another few hours have gone by, I'm on my second dose of paracetamol and still it hangs on to me. Needing a prescription I did venture out for a short while. It was bitterly cold, utterly grey and the air was flecked with snow. I returned pretty quickly.

I can find no explanation for this turn of events. True that at various stages of my life I have been plagued by unexplained headaches. I recall a summer holiday during my school days when I was wiped out for days at a time. When my illness struck so suddenly in 1990 one of the physical manifestations was endless headaches. At one stage I was taking 8 codeine a day to counter it but to no avail.

Migraines play a part in the lives of my sister, sometimes dad and a number of friends. That seems to me a legitimate reason to stay away from work. My office has in the last few weeks been ravaged by flu. I don't bat an eyelid at people being off for that. On the contrary I am the first to advise people only come back when well. So why can't I apply that to me?

With Prokofiev on the radio and now back in the warm I'm wracked with the guilt of not doing what I need to do. I'm being good at berating myself. Perhaps because I lost so much of my life to illness. Perhaps that those of us with mood disorders perpetually beat ourselves up except in the god like times of elevated mood and champion egotism.

Given time no doubt it will leave me. But I'm impatient...and guilty.

I Heard a Voice.

Mixing Culture, Food Wins Out.

Food can be a great leveller. Many cultures clash in our world and have throughout history. I am not qualified to make a judgement on the current state of the world but I can look back in history and see where cultures have learned from each other and melted together. And there is little that make that happen more than in food. The influence of the spice trails is obvious in many parts of the world. Malaysia, Thailand, Vietnam, India, China, Eastern Europe, the English, Spain. Without traders the fiery food of South East Asia would still have its kick from pepper rather than chilli. Think of all that has been brought to my country by waves of immigrants settling here. We are the better for it.

The history of Spain and its relationship with North Africa, the Arabs and the Moors has been recorded and debated for centuries. It is a story of mix, tolerance, tyranny, ethnic cleansing and at times hatred. Yet the food of Spain today owes so much to its Moorish culture and today I'm touching on it.

To give it its Spanish title is pollo al ajillo con pinones y pasas, in my language chicken braised with pinenuts, raisins and saffron. And it is those last three ingredients that unmistakably say North Africa. In past years I would not have touched it. Never been a fan of nuts and disdained fruit with meat. But in my middle age it appeals a little more. There is a marvellous smell as it braises.

Oh that the wider world would more accept sharing food and culture as a way forward and for humanity rather than emphasise the terrible divisions that stalk our world. I am at peace when I eat with others, may that continue.

The weekend away was good although the classic Super Bowl we witnessed did not bring good cheer to the team I cheered. Back at work the day was okay. I am calm and relatively upbeat. Not much higher than plus 1 but better than minus anything. Shortening the week by a day is good every now and again. People say to me why don't you go part time to manage stress better? Tempting but not really practical given the huge cost of living in leafy Hertfordshire.

Hope you all have a good week out there.

I Heard a Voice.

Green Leafy Things.

Can handfuls of herbs be considered as a vegetable in a meal? Some years ago during a conversation with my splendid GP Clare in Kent she told me that what I really needed to eat healthily was green leafy things. Lettuce that I'm not very partial to in any of its guises. Spinach, yuck, mum cooked it to a mush and I was put off for life. Watercress which for years I didn't eat, now like but struggle to get hold of. Cabbage, I can do that but it doesn't go with everything. So in my life the green leafy things did not feature very heavily. I probably eat more fruit and vegetables than many people in this unhealthy country of ours but apparently the wrong things.

So as I move forward into trialling healthier food I'm in a quandary. Today I did a beautiful beef pho with handfuls of coriander, mint and basil and I'm really hoping that counts a my ration of green leafy things for the day.

The initial taste was singularly unsuccessful as for some inexplicable reason I had forgotten to add the fish sauce. Once remedied it was splendid. Thrift, simplicity and health. That must be a good combination.

The lack of salt comes on a day of forgetfulness. Things kept slipping my mind all day. When I shopped I forgot a lot of what I wanted. Tomorrow I must go back not only to buy what I forgot but also to take back an oriental bowl I bought for my soup that had a crack in it. What a nuisance.

But that can come tomorrow. For now I have the last part of Britten on Composer of the Week on Radio 3 followed by a choice of more music, a film or perhaps more Morse. Music is tilting heavily in my thoughts but we will see.

On Sunday I'm away to Miriam's. Super Bowl on Sunday, screaming on the Atlanta Falcons on what I suspect will be a forlorn chase for their first NFL title.

I Heard a Voice.

A Spanish Interlude.

That the Spanish have a love and passion for hake is an understatement. I'm told for some years hake caught of the western tips of the UK was often shipped off to Spain. No market here I suppose. Maybe things are changing. I don't ever recall eating hake but given my new found and occasionally successful ventures into slightly less decadent and healthier food and my own passion for Spain and its wonderful cuisine it was only a matter of time before I tried it out.

Having found some packeted-not my usual choice-hake I set about my Spanish books to find a good recipe. Much to my surprise in the three books I consulted I only found a single hake recipe that did not involve deep frying which I don't do on safety grounds and is hardly what one should eat if trying to cut cholesterol.

Slightly disappointed at limited options I drove home through heavy traffic and got home late and I had pretty much talked myself out of it and retiring to Hakalok. But with iron discipline I resisted and took the plunge. So simple and so quick the result was stunning, hake in a tomato, garlic, parsley and Pimeton sauce. Oh how good was that? So pleased I stayed in.

Now as is my wont it is music time. After Britten on the radio it is now to Offenbach. I do so love Orpheus in the Underworld. Back to reading shortly and round off a long day.

The flu continues to ravage our staff at work. I'm okay and kind of hoping it is what I had at New Year and not some new virus coming to attack me again. As you can imagine it is hard fitting everything in but I can only see one person at a time and I only have so many hours in the day. Tomorrow is Time to Talk Day. We will not repeat last year's triumph but maybe we will speak to a few people. Time to Change which organises the day has really cut back on promotional materials, we have merely been given some little cards. I don't find such days easy as there is pressure to make a triumph but little chance to plan, organise or have the power to make things happen. Let's hope it goes well.

See you later in the week.

I Heard a Voice.