At the Mid Life Crossroad.

There is an all pervading smell of pork slow roasting coming from the direction of my kitchen. And very fine it is too. The potatoes have just gone in and I'm expecting my friend Richard to arrive at 2 pm with some rioja. The Marriage of Figaro is accompanying this quiet Sunday afternoon. I guess no different from the many Sunday afternoon posts I have put in the last 2 years.

Yet today feels different. I find myself at a crossroads and I have no idea where to turn. My friend Katherine came to visit yesterday from London. We had a very good day but the best bit was spending time with someone who in no way is connected to Hertfordshire or the university. A fresh perspective but still no answers. Maybe something will come up but when? She made the interesting point of who do I talk to? I'm apparently very good at guiding others through the maze of mental illness but no one is there to guide me.

For the first time I have found myself not wanting to go work in recent weeks. More alarming is that the manic energy and mood lift that comes from the new academic year is not there now. I wonder how I will cope with the rigours of the coming weeks.

There was a plus point to last week when I did my annual lecture to the 2nd year social work students. Apparently they all thought I was inspirational. Unfortunately inspirational does not get me out of the stuck hole that seems to be engulfing me. There has to be a change but I'm buggered if I know what from and what to. Fate is in the hands of others as yet unknown to me.

But that is tomorrow, I will sate myself today with pork, rioja, good company, 2 hours of Rick stein at 3 pm, and then a night of American Football.

I Heard a Voice.

The Great Witchhunt!

In the summer of 2007 the UK government ignored all the "consultation" and banned smoking in all enclosed public spaces. At a stroke smokers like me became the great pariahs of the 21st century and the witchhunt was on. In reality the ban went much further than that. It is illegal to smoke even in the open air on railway stations. Hospitals ban smoking even in the grounds although at my local hospital that is roundly ignored by everyone. A year later than banned smoking in psychiatric hospitals-utter madness. If there is one thing that keeps the peace in such places it is chain smoking-there is little else to do.

I don't really mind smoking outdoors; even if it is raining. But there is the issue of one's own home. For those who follow the news there is also a housing crisis in the UK. I would have no hope of getting social or what some call "affordable" housing. I cannot afford to buy as I don't have a large deposit to put on a flat. So I have to accept whatever I can afford. In reality for me I am paying way over the odds, have no security, a landlord who takes my money but expects me to pay for all repairs, and an MP who would make me homeless if he had his way. And of course no one will accept a smoker.

Given my precarious circumstances I am toying with the idea of moving. But moving costs money and that means more debt. Not to be put off, I responded to an e mail about a flat last week. I admitted that I smoke but was quite happy to smoke outside. The response was a polite fuck off. What chance therefore do I have?

Away my meagre home I have already been engulfed by the whirlwind that is the new academic year. Day 1 and I was with a student having a psychiatric assessment at said same local hospital. As ever when the shit hit the fan they turned to me. But this time I was powerless. I cannot help anyone who barely speaks English and what he did say was totally unintelligible.

What on earth possesses 1000s of young men and women to pay £10,000 per year to travel half way round the world to a culture they will never understand and a language they cannot speak? The answer is work permits. Even those that succeed in their studies rarely find work. If they do it is at the minimum wage and their housing situations are usually worse than mine. The streets are not paved with gold!

There have been few redeeming features to today. I am exhausted already and at a low ebb. Let's hope tomorrow is better.

I Heard a Voice.

Cider Country.

My mum was from Somerset. For those who are looking at this from foreign lands that is a county in the west of England. The west if famous for its production of cider and Somerset is no exception. Normandy has a similar passion for cider. Now I'm not a great fan of drinking it but it is very good for cooking. And so faced today, a day away from work, with what to do with some chicken thighs I turned to Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall and decided to have a second attempt at his chicken and mushroom casserole in cider. First time was okay but not great, hope today is better. It certainly smells good.

So what of this week? Well it was back to work but only for 2 days. As you may recall from my last post I wasn't really looking forward to it but it went well. Yesterday I was teaching. As you know I'm afraid of technology but I did prepare a powerpoint for the occasion. Problem is, no one told me to bring a lap top. With no notes at all I ad libbed for an hour. Judging by the huge round of applause it was a triumph. Quite ironic considering they would not even interview me for a post to do just that all the time. Even more ironic, yesterday I had another request from them to teach in November. The world can be peculiar sometimes.

Tomorrow I'm off to London for Beka's exhibition. Added bonus is I get to see the splendid Katie whom I've not seen since March. Hopefully meet others too.

Friday I'm off again so it is long weekend for me. Then the whirlwind will engulf me from Monday. Let's hope my mood holds.

I Heard a Voice.

Tudor Spice.

If I believe the history books-and I have no particular reason not to-Tudor England was probably a dirty, noisy, smelly, and paranoid place. Not a place for the poor with all the disease and an uncertain place for the rich. A time of spies and intrigue, beheadings and religious divisions. I'm not sure I would have liked to live in those times. Yet there is something magical about the Tudors, their food. We call them English spices now although of course most came from Southeast Asia. Cinnamon, mace, nutmeg, and cloves. All wonderful. They also had a passion for mixing fruit with meat. Not my favourite things although my goose with roasted pears last Christmas was a triumph.

Well it is not Christmas now. Nor am I using fruit. Yet there is divine smell of that English spice cloves. That's right my ham in the oven is studded with cloves and perfuming my small flat as I face another quiet Sunday.

I don't really feel anything today. Not good, not bad just nothing. It is not the terrible emptiness I experienced back in the winter when I had my relapse. I'm just detached. I have no desire to go to work tomorrow after the events of last week. Fortunately I'm only in 2 days next week. But the week after the whirlwind will take over my life until April. Can I survive that onslaught as I have before? Probably but I'm not sure I want to. My motivation and belief is low and I want a new start. Who knows if or when that will come.

Think I might listen to some Offenbach after lunch. Here's to lunch lifting my mood. If not I must rely on watching my beloved St Louis Rams play on TV tonight-not seen that for nearly 2 years.

I Heard a Voice.

A Topsy Turvy Day.

The eminent psychiatrist Bernie Rosen once told me that depressed people never get angry. Bullshit. It was alleged at the time that he was also psychiatrist to Princess Diana. Well he didn't help me very much nor on the surface her either. I won't say what I really think of him but it is not very good. When I left his clinic he wrote a report on me that a later consultant described as "the most contradictory and offensive report I have ever seen."

So why am I saying this now? Well you will have seen from my last post I have been pretty angry. I have also felt very low, bewildered, and confused. All of those were at the same time. But given what has happened to me it is no surprise.

Yet today I feel neither depressed nor angry. I'm still a bit confused and at a loss as to what to do next but am okay. It is a topsy turvy day. There is blazing sunshine outside yet it is September. Actually I rather like days like this. I have confused my contact lenses so I can't see properly-must had more than I thought last night. I slept for 11 hours yet am still tired. I must have been tired and the lack of sleep in the last 2 weeks has caught up with me. And having not gone to a single BBQ all summer I am just off to help Tony at the pub with a BBQ.

So I appear away from where I was 2 days ago. Yes I still need to move on but I'm dealing with it better. I had hoped to roast shoulder of pork tomorrow but I couldn't get any. So it is roast ham-I'm very partial to ham. Have 3 days off next week and I will see Beka on Thursday then it is off to meet David one of my old tutors from Cambridge on Saturday. Let's hope this oasis of calm stays.

I Heard a Voice.

Mind Blowing.

Today started very well and then well and truly fucked up. I have been left trying to get my head round the idea that I get head-hunted and then I don't even make the short-list for the job!??! That is what happened to me today. It's tempting to tell the world to fuck off and just go home. But where is and what is home? Now therein lies an interesting question.

I posted a few weeks ago that God moved in mysterious ways. By God he fucking does! I have spent the last 22 years in the world of the mad but this might be the maddest thing ever. People may say wonderful things about my work and my books but sadly that doesn't pay the considerable bills living here.

Now there is an angry post. Hopefully next time I on here I won't be so furious!

I Heard a Voice.

Summer's End.

Well, despite the splendid weather outside summer has once again come to an end. My holiday will be over tomorrow and I will wait with baited breath for news on the jobs I have applied for. Today is the closing date for the one that might keep me in Hertfordshire-I should know something towards the end of this week.

It has been a strange holiday marred by a lack of sleep which has left me very tired. It was good to get to Kent and all the nice country pubs I have visited since my return. But as ever holidays are all too short. Not quite sure what I feel about going back tomorrow-it feels like time to call it a day on the last 5 years.

Today has been my usual quiet Sunday. I was very extravagant with roast duck and rioja for lunch. I have had a festival of Mozart encompassing the D Minor Mass, the Coronation Mass, and the Requiem. Seems a lot but I never tire of hearing Mozart. Beginning to think about tea now. Have some Rick Stein to watch at 4 pm and then an evening of ethnic football as week 1 of the new NFL season continues. I will get to see 4 games this week.

Here's to hoping my mood holds whatever the outcome of the next few weeks. More soon.

I Heard a Voice.

In the Shadows of History.

Yesterday I took a trip down memory lane. I visited Borough Market for the first time in over a year. It was very hot and humid and sadly many of the stall were not open-reminder next time not to go on a Tuesday. Actually I went on that day as Beka had suggested we meet and go to an art exhibition afterwards. As I anticipated not getting back until the evening I didn't buy anything other than lunch and a cold drink-not sure fresh produce would have survived in the heat and humidity of an Indian Summer on London.

Having done the market I retired to a tried and tested pub. Had a couple of wonderful pints of Tribute in the St Christopher's Inn. It is a place I knew well in the its former guise as the Grapes. The Grapes lies in the shadow of the hospital I spent 4 months in in 1994. As I sat there I recalled all the names of those who had been there with me-I wondered who got better, who didn't, and sadly, the inevitable deaths. That is the way in the dark world of madness. That place will forever stick in my memory.

I had a very bad night of nightmares and got up far too early. The sleeping is not going well on this holiday. The plan today was to go to St Alban's but recalling the heat of yesterday the thought of spending 2 hours on a hot bus did not appeal so I changed plans. Did some shopping and had a fry up instead. So tonight it is a lamb, potato, broad bean and pea tagine with mint from a book dad gave me for my birthday.

And now I think an afternoon of Mozart and reading is on the cards.

I Heard a Voice.

Five Years.

The first song on David Bowie's apocalyptic album Ziggy Stardust is called Five Years. It appears to predict the end of the world. It was the second of a trio of astonishing albums in 1972 and 1973 preceded by Hunky Dory and followed by Aladdin Sane. No one makes 3 classic albums of 18 months now. But then again no one these days has such talent. So other than my love of David Bowie's music why am I mentioning that today? Well it is 5 years to the day since I completely uprooted my life in Kent and moved to Hertfordshire.

Today I repeated that journey in rather quicker time. I have been with my dad since Wednesday. Had some fun, lot's of birthday presents, good food and  good friends despite the rather strange propositions I had whilst there. We went for Sunday lunch of exquisitely rare beef at the Castle Hotel http://www.castlehotel-saltwood.co.uk/ , then a race up the motorway. And continuing the theme of deja vu I went to the Fu Hao for dinner. They were my first friends I met in WGC.

I have another week off before the mayhem and hopefully change of September. Forgive my lack of contact recently-dad has had real trouble with his computer. But I'm back now and I'm hoping over the coming weeks my readers will return-the numbers took a dip last month. I still haven't worked out why the stats vary so much for no reason.

I Heard a Voice.