An Air of Resignation.

It has been a strange few days and my mind is in a weird place. It has been a sense of utter resignation. My appeal has been postponed until 12th-I feel I have no chance. I also took the plunge and applied for a job in Cambridge. Yet I have the same feeling of resignation with that. I know I can do the job but why is it that these places think the only people who know anything about mental health are nurses, social workers and counsellors? It is bullshit and I have proven track record as an unqualified practitioner-the comments of my students speak for themselves.

Talking of my students I witnessed the ultimate outcome of my efforts yesterday. I am working with a truly lovely woman who is training to be a teacher. For 20 years or more she has battled depression. I had her from the moment I met her and her progress despite a few blips has been astonishing. But it was what she said yesterday that almost brought tears to my eyes. "I am proud of my children and proud of who I am". That is little short of a miracle for a woman whose self esteem was so low when I met her after all these years ravaged by a devastating depression. That put me in a good mood.

I had lunch with my former head of department yesterday which was also good. So I thought I would be heading into a weekend of good mood. But it didn't last. At 4.30 pm I spoke to a close colleague and discovered that a key plank of my pay appeal is being taken away from me. It would seem I will no longer be involved with supervising our mentors. Maybe that has sealed my fate, who knows?

After that today has not gone to plan. I had hoped to get the bus to St Albans, eat Moroccan food and meet a friend for some real ale. But I was too tired. So to plan B.

Several hours on I have a wonderful smelling beef rendang bubbling slowly away on the hub, I have listened to the whole of the Messiah and discovered the delights of Ernest Hemingway. "Death in the Afternoon" is of course a controversial book. I went to a bullfight in Granada in 1990. I don't recall any concern for the safety of the horses as Hemingway describes in detail in chapter 1 but I recall being mesmerised by the skill and courage of both bull and matador. I don't think I will ever go again.

Granada 1990, a life time away; a life changing experience and the happiest I have ever been. It was 2 months before my illness. For it was there that I met Kathryn. Or should I call her Rachel as I do in the book? So long ago.

I Heard a Voice.

Summer's Here-Break Out the Linen Attire.

I was 10 years old when I first went to Australia to sing. On the way we stopped to refuel at Bombay. Nothing could prepare me for the furnace that awaited me as we stepped out the plane. I walked into a wall of heat and humidity at precisely midnight local time; it was 88 degrees and close on 100% humidity.

Of course we don't get that here. But finally I think today summer has arrived. We are lucky enough to have missed the showers here and had a glorious day. So much so I have broken out my summer attire of linen-another of my English traits. Not of course my famous suits but cool loose linen trousers and an equally loose shirt. I fear it could be a long night.

I have achieved more than I thought I would today. I struggle to get motivated when I don't have a queue of students running to my door. Paperwork bores me. But today I got some done.

I also had nice surprise when a lovely card arrived from an outgoing student union sabbatical officer thanking me for my help over the last 2 years. I'm not sure I helped much but it is nice to be appreciated. Tomorrow I am meeting my former head of department for lunch-nice to step away for a while.

And tonight? I will griddle a chop marinaded in spices a la Ken Hom-I've mentioned that before on here. Then I will settle down with Pimm's and catch up on some TV. See you soon.

I Heard a Voice.

And Our Little World is Rounded with a Sleep.

So spoke the words of Shakespeare. I think the quote comes from the Tempest although since reading it for A Level 24 years ago my mind is a little hazy on that one. But that song that was set to music by Vaughan Williams was known to me long before then. I sang them as a child. "We are such stuff as dreams are made of, and our little world is rounded with a sleep".

Maybe Shakespeare understood dreams better than me. But whatever they are about I finally slept well last night. There were of course dreams but I was only woken twice rather than the 4 times a night of the previous 4 nights. It has made me feel somewhat better though.

It has been a quiet day of Beethoven and newspaper reading. Maybe I will watch the football later. For now I am par boiling potatoes to go with roasted chicken thighs later.

I promised last night to report back on my Thai curry. The answer, simply stunning. Powerful heat and wonderful cornucopia of flavours-perhaps the best one I have ever done. Beka-whom I taught to cook Thai curry and who now cooks it better than me-would be somewhat proud.

Tomorrow it is back to reality. I have one final chance to resolve my pay dispute-I will have to write the letter of my life just to get a chance. All will be known on 10th July at the latest. If it fails I will be looking to move on in my life. Who knows where that will take me. For now though I just enjoy a quiet Sunday and contemplate that great passion of mine, food.

I Heard a Voice.

Fire From the East!

It has been a strange weekend. I have not been at my best and I had a dramatic mood swing downward out of the blue last night. I had my fourth bad night of nightmares in a row-if this continues life does not look quite so good. Maybe there is a relapse on the cards.

But it hasn't all been wasted. I finished proofing Izzi's PhD and she seemed to think it had helped quite a lot. Not quite what I had planned for the last 2 days of my holiday but it kept me out of the pub for a while.

And so to today. I feel very little but tiredness. I went shopping and did a whole heap of domestic stuff-you know the boring nitty gritty stuff that we are all lumbered with. But for the last hour I have had more fun.

There are few things as therapeutic as making Thai curry pastes from scratch. Today I made two. I am planning a jungle curry from the renowned Australia chef David Thompson who has spent most of his life researching the history of Thai food. He is in many ways revered for his expertise.

I've not done this one before and I'm not sure I have ever used so many chillies in a dish and I reduced the specified number. Joey would be proud of me if I can get through this. I couldn't get any fresh pepper corns but I will improvise.

Assuming I survive the chilli onslaught I will try to report back tomorrow. In the meantime, here is to an undisturbed sleep free from the perils of my night time demons.

I Heard a Voice.

The Dream Catcher.

Why have certain cultures throughout history revered dreams? Native American Indians, Aboriginals in Australia and various tribes in South America have incorporated the dream world into their culture. I have no doubts others have too but I am by no means an expert. I remember the first time I was shown a dream Catcher by my friend Helen. It left me with one over riding question, why?

My life has been plagued by bad dreams for years. No doubt the psychotherapist Jung would have had something to say about that but I have always considered psychotherapy a lot of old shit. I don't know why I am plagued by dreams. The last 3 nights have been dreadful with me woken several times in the night. I can understand that some dreams are about our anxieties in waking life. But at the moment I have little on my mind. I wish they would go away. It leads me to feel as if I haven't slept in the morning.

So what of the waking hours? I am back home in Hertfordshire. The dinner with Beka and Anne went well as did the funeral on Tuesday. There is but one thing that is good about funerals-catching up with those I haven't seen for a while. I had very good journey back and had a a couple of days on complete relaxation lined up.

But it was not be. My fellow blogger Izzi phoned on Wednesday evening asking if I could proof read her PhD which she has to submit on Monday. So all afternoon yesterday I stared at my computer screen and read. 2 files down and 3 to go. Why does the world never go to plan?

On another note I am finally getting some thoughts on "Charon's Ferry". My friend Marie came to visit at the weekend and spent nearly 7 hours solidly reading on Saturday. She had finished by Tuesday and described it as "bloody brilliant". Another friend Jacqueline is hooked and promises to comment as soon as she can. I guess that is all good news.

So back to now, the next file beckons. I will start now and only stop for Singapore noodles for lunch. I will let you know when I come up for air on another cold, dank and wet day. Whatever happened to summer?

I Heard a Voice.

The Garden of England.

For those of you who read my blog abroad you may not know that Kent where my family has lived for the last 33 years is known as the Garden of England. Famous for growing so many things as apples, cobnuts and hops, produce that has driven the fading British food culture for centuries. Actually cobnuts have more or less died out recently but they are still to be found in these parts. And of course the hops, the staple of ale. It seems very strange to me that I have only really started drinking real ale since last year. Kent boasts the oldest brewery in Britain, Shepherd Neame at Faversham.

So why mention Kent today? Well I'm down visiting my dad. I haven't seen him since mum's funeral. Sadly it is another funeral that draws us together at this time, that of an old friend known to both of us. Yes the deaths keep happening. In total since my last descent into my madness at the end of February I have lost 6 people.

But it is not all bad. It is great to see people and we're having friends round for dinner. My mum invited people around occasionally but her overwhelming anxiety she experienced in her last years often made these events rather traumatic for her. Today has been more relaxed than that.

I'm using local belly pork although done in a Spanish way, local cabbage and carrots for a magnificent Middle Eastern version of coleslaw flavoured with cumin and lemon, and then local strawberries after. To start I bought some top quality Spanish jamon and chorizo along with some olives and hummous-a true Mediterranean theme here in the outer recesses of East Kent. I very much hope Beka and her mum enjoy themselves. And of course my dad.

I'm off for now, more soon.

I Heard a Voice.

Saying Goodbye.

It is 4.34 pm British Summer Time on 16th June 2012. It is a day of memories. I had planned to blog last night but it was too late, I was too tired and it had been too long a day. The day had been spent in Cambridge with my Malaysian friend Joey and 2 others. But my mind was not entirely on that day. It was back 22 years before in the very same place. Cambridge my home.

When I got home last night my mind was still on the past. On that day I had been at a Cambridge May Ball with 4 women. 3 I knew well, the other, the girl from Alabama was new to me. As we emerged into glorious sunlight the next day, the girl from Alabama and me, neither of us knew the cataclysmic earthquake that was about to engulf my life. For it was that morning that my madness struck in all its brutality on an unsuspecting fool. That fool was me. She was an unwitting witness.

That was the day my long journey started. Today that journey is over, the book is written and raved about and the new book, the what happened next book is currently captivating my friend on this quiet Saturday afternoon. Yesterday was a day to say goodbye, goodbye to Joey, and goodbye to those demons. Will they ever leave me completely? I doubt.

Joey flies home to Malaysia for good tomorrow. I doubt we shall meet again but she has enriched my life for the last 2 years. I am lucky to have such good friends.

Back in the reality of my life, England are being thumped in the rugby, my curry is marinading and I'm thinking of going to Kent tomorrow. I have not bee since my mum's funeral. Sadly I have to go to another one on Tuesday; another goodbye to my past.

Time for Tea.

Greetings to you who are left in my blogland. After 3 record breaking months of viewing, everyone seems to have disappeared. It is very strange that when the shit hits the fan as it did for me a few months ago, viewing figures increase enormously. Now I'm well people have vanished. My fellow blogger Izzi finds the same thing. But never mind.

It has been a quiet dull day after a not so good week. I came home yesterday exhausted, disillusioned and incredibly flat. Not depressed but utterly uninspired. The days of rain continue although I am pleased some cricket is being played at Edgebaston after 2 days of washout.

I have turned to domestic things today, shopping, washing, and of course cooking. When my mum was alive we differed radically in how we cooked. She could never work out why I didn't measure anything. She always went to the letter. She was also of  the generation that thought we would all die unless everything was cooked to death. The last Christmas I spent with her in 2010 she cooked a crown of turkey for 11 hours-not my way. She would have shivers at how rare my beef is. But that is how I like it.

She was very good at some things. For a woman who hated mince she did a mean Shepherd's pie. It is that that made me think of her today. I have spent the last 40 minutes or so constructing a Shepherd's pie. It will cook for another 40 minutes later but I can guarantee it won't be as good as hers.

Tonight I still plan to replenish with precious sleep. This week was marred by the deaths of 2 friends. It will lead me back to Kent the week after next. I have seen way too many people die for a 42 year old. But that is the darkest side of the dark world of madness on whose boundaries I still tarry. I will never be free from that.

For now though I rest and drink Darjeeling tea-another of those curious English habits. It is a very good one.

I Heard a Voice.

All at Sea Today.

Well, it's 5 pm and I'm utterly fed up of today already. I have been cold, tired, and irritable ever since I got up but I don't know why. My mood is around 0 maybe a little lower. The plan I thought we had for today has been changed by someone who didn't bother to tell me. Not exactly happy!

Looking out of the window there is nothing to cheer the mind or the soul. It is wet, grey, and cold. With life in limbo I can't settle on a course of action. I would like to cook but I have nothing to cook as I was supposed to be going out tonight.

Perhaps it would have been better had I been at work. At least then I would not have the jubilee rammed down my throat for 4 consecutive days. Surely something else is going on in the world? I do actually quite like the queen but I'm getting very bored of it now.

Let's hope tomorrow picks up. I have to run a training course which is usually quite fun but I don't really feel up for at the moment. But for now I sit, wait, and smoulder on the arrogance of someone else's mind and desire-I'm not good at letting other dictate my life-had too many years of that in the Psychiatric System.

I Heard a Voice.

It Is Possible to BBQ in the Rain!

God what an awful day! Cold, wet and horrible, it must be a Bank Holiday. We are after all English so it has to piss down on our parade. I was supposed to be BBQing at the Hedgehog today.

After a very bad night of nightmares full of people from my past I woke up feeling tired and shitty. Then I looked out the window-it looked terrible. But not one to shy away from cooking I went to the pub for the aforementioned BBQ. For the first hour and a half we cooked one burger. We of course kept ourselves full with the odd kebab. But then something strange happened. People started coming out for food. Kebabs went well in the end especially the chicken tikka ones. Almost sold out when I left.

I am now home. Had a bath and now watching news rerun on the events in London today. Who cares about the rain-we got through! Now for beer.

I Heard a Voice.

The Award That Wasn't!

Well, it's the morning after the night before. I didn't win the award I was shortlisted for. It left a room of rather surprised people but perhaps not me. I didn't really know if I had a chance not. But the comments of others were interesting with the university placing more credence on a Lab Technician that someone who works with the most vulnerable students doing what is at times a life and death job.

That may all sound very arrogant but it is more reference to another failed award attempt. I was delighted that our out of hours housing team were nominated. They are in the main students who volunteer and work right through the night. It is not me that gets the calls at 3 am when a mental health crisis hits. I just pick up the pieces the next day. They are the ones who do the difficult stuff and respond to emergencies. Very pissed off they didn't win, losing out to an academic bureaucrat.

But enough of that, it is a long weekend. Sadly the sun appears to have gone elsewhere but maybe it will reappear. Now that I have finished writing the book I have way too much time on my hands. There is only really cooking left. Having fought my way through the crowds in Waitrose-there was nowhere to park either-I was most pleased to find some strips of belly pork. Cheap and easy I will turn them into a Thai curry tonight and doing the rest on Monday in the form of the legendary Twice Cooked Szechuan pork. If you have never had it you must try it!

Tomorrow I am cooking kebabs on a BBQ at the Hedgehog. Forecast is awful but let's hope for the best. I have to head over there in a bit to chop and marinade the chicken. 3 different types, Chinese ones with black beans and chilli, Moroccan ones like I did for work last week and some chicken tikka for the rest. If you believe my friends in the pub my chicken tikki far outstrips that of any restaurant-high but undeserved praise!