A Comic Alternative.

For all my love of Mozart and serious opera I am but a novice in the genre. Miriam is far more knowledgeable than me in the field. In fact she and Nigel go to Glynbourne every year. My friend Gary from the pub knows far more of opera too. Much more familiar to me are the comic operas of Gilbert and Sullivan and the French composer Jacques Offenbach. I have played in the orchetra for both; not very well mind you. They are always fun so on a warm and humid June day I turned to "HMS Pinafore" and "The Pirates of Penzance". And splendid they were too. That said I can't do a Sunday without Mozart so I now have on the violin sonatas.

I have felt rather flat all day. I think it is because I'm tired. How much longer can I keep working at this pace? It is verging on the ridiculous at the moment. Tomorrow we start July and still the carnage goes on. When will it stop?

But there is still some of Sunday left. The chicken is roasting away and smelling great. The white Burgundy is chilling-I'm looking forward to that. And then the cherries; a healthy pudding, mum would approve.

Tomorrow it is back to the chaos. Not sure when I will blog again, will have to see how the mood takes me. For now goodbye.

I Heard a Voice.

PS Happy birthday to Miriam, off at the Bowie exhibition today.

Figaro, Jerome K Jerome, and Pimm's.

I'm in good company this afternoon. The cherry season is upon us, I've been paid and my cupboards are overflowing with fine produce. Shopping out of the way I have chosen the company of Figaro, Jerome K Jerome, and a glass of Pimm's. Civilised isn't it?

You may recall that Mozart is my normal Sunday afternoon jaunt but I decided on this warm humid day to go back there and just relax. It has been another long week. I came home exhausted; this is just too much for almost July. Why is it happening this year? Maybe the students are all staying on to avoid going home. So I have to look after them. But they can wait until Monday, it is my weekend for cooking.

In my kitchen I have 6 boiled eggs cooling. They will me curried later. My mum used to make a wonderful egg and prawn curry. It sounds an odd combination but it really works. These eggs will be in a coconut masala. One of the great triumph of yesterday's shopping expedition was getting coconut milk without bankrupting myself. For reasons I do not understand its cost has doubled in the last couple of years. The town where I work is ugly and unpleasant but the wonderful mix of cultures mainly down to our students means I can get all sorts of goodies at good prices. I came way with jaggary yesterday too, can't wait to try it.

Tomorrow it is roast chicken. I even bought a white Burgundy to go with it. It was on offer so I couldn't resist. For once I will not roast potatoes but rather boil some Jersey Royals, probably the finest potato on the planet. That will be worth it too.

So with my life so unsettled and my mind doing cartwheels I will stick to my relaxing Saturday afternoon and continue my venture into "3 Men in a Boat". And Mozart will be my partner.

I Heard a Voice.

Herons and Dragonflies.

The long, cold, dark days of January seem a long time ago now. The lake by my office was at times surrounded by snow and covered in ice. It was savage in its beauty. Well at least that was on the days when I made it off the ice rink that was the carpark by my flat to make it to work. January was the last time I managed to see my Doctor. He likes to see me 2-4 times a year to monitor me. Is it wise to keep a track on my mood disorder in the absence of enough madness to warrant the attentions of a shrink? Of course. Yet it never happens; we are both too busy. When I left him I had the form for my annual blood test linked to the consumption of risperidone.

It is now late June. The snow and ice has gone but cold overcast days prevail at times. In the last few days the heron and the dragonflies have returned to the lake. It has a different beauty now. Today I finally managed to set aside enough time to go and get the bloodtest as well as remembering the form. I went early to try to get to work. Big mistake. 1 hour 45 minutes later I emerged with a plaster over my vein, my blood taken and my mood surprisingly intact. It doesn't really bother me waiting. What did bother me was the plethora of pensioners moaning about how long it was taking. I wonder what was so pressing that they all had to go first? Are retired people that busy? By the time I retire I will probably be well into my 70s and have little to live on. But I can't do anything about that.

Today was boring. No students and tedious administrative things to do. It was rare respite. At the moment I am managing 3 crises-is it really summer? That was after another night of dreams; I was up 3 times. The odd thing was I had 2 different dreams involving my mum. Or should I say 1 not involving my mum. What linked them was that 1 was set prior to and 1 after she died. Dreams never ceased to amaze me.

We have 2 months to go in the summer.  I think mentally I'm okay. But my life has changed little. And by God do I need change. Where will it come from? Some will say fate, some destiny, and my dad through prayer. I'm not wise enough to know.

Viewing figures are buoyant at the moment, 2nd highest ever. Keep coming and do speak to me if you like; I don't bite!

I Heard a Voice.

A Night of Sad Film.

Hello and welcome to a breezy summer Sunday afternoon. Still glimpses of summer are rare. If I am to believe the recent press reports this may be what we can expect for the next decade. Well at least it keeps the flies and wasps at bay for a while. The forecast in Kent is even worse; force 8 gales led to the cancellation of the inaugural Folkestone Fish Festival. Dad's church are braving it for their festival although I'm not sure how wise that it.

Last night's curry was triumph but I was so hungry when I woke up that I actually ate breakfast. That is something I hardly ever do. After said curry I watched 1 of my favourite films "Girl, Interrupted". Go and watch it. Or even better buy the book of the same name. Set predominantly in the psychiatric unit it takes me back to dark former times. Yet it was there that I met such amazing people. The film truly captures the essence of being locked up and grim and childish responses we had to that.

The film also makes me think of those who did not make it. I will never forget them, those who lost the fight I won in the end. Part of the lot of being mentally ill is going to many funerals. We die younger. Indeed risperidone gave me back my life but it probably will shorten that life. But at least I hae a life now.
For now I listen to the "Messiah" and read. The lamb goes in on a low heat at 2 pm and I'm then off to a country pub with some friends.

Enjoy your Sunday all for Monday will come in but the twinkling of an eye. And so starts another week in this long journey.

I Heard a Voice.

And There was Silence.

Silence is a rather rare commodity at my flat. Most of the time I have either the TV on showing news and cooking programmes in the main or I'm listening to music, Mozart, Mozart and Mozart. Well not all the time. I can't remember the last time there was silence. When I got home from shopping on a whim I left everything turned off for a couple of hours.

During that time I was somwhat inductrious. 2 weeks ago my flat was in serious need of attention. Now after cleaning, mopping, sweeping, squirting, tidying, recycling ad rubbish it looks somewhat more respectable. Then it was time for tea. I invested today in some Twinnings Afternoon tea. Been meaning to buy some for ages. I have it when I visit dad, a legacy of the glorious tea when had the day we interred mum's ashes, but not at home. So all change.

Talking of change I'm not cooking today. I have had Burmese curry infusing for 2 days now so will heat that up. I had planned to have it yesterday but was too tired and lazy. It was a long week and I didn't wake up until 11.20-nightmares aside of course-so must have been exhausted.

I think I might watch a film after said curry. Then all to quickly it will be Sunday, roast lamb awaits. Another day closer to another week. The summer is now a third over although with the rain we have had today it looks more like autumn. Maybe one day the sun will shine!

I Heard a Voice.

No Award for Me Again.

Those who have been reading since this time last year will recall that I was shortlisted for a Vice-Chancellor's Award as Employee of the Year. You may also recall I failed to win. That stunned many people but not me, I had no idea how it was judged. Today the Vice-Chancellor's Awards came round again. For the 2nd year in a row I was shortlisted for Employee of the Year. I did not expect to win and neither did anyone else. Everyone in the know knew the most deserving winner was my close friend Geri. I am asked to do some pretty difficult and unpleasant things at times. The difference between me and Geri is that she is the one who fields those calls and responds in the middle of the night. She does far more than me. Guess what, neither of us won! I am not disappointed for me but I certainly am for Geri.

Thinking about it though how can a judging panel differentiate from such a diverse staff group nominated? I don't envy them. I'm sure the man who won is amazing at his job and highly deserving. But how do you decide between those who at times make life and death decision from those who are brilliant at helping students complete the final projects? As I say I'm glad I was not on the panel.

I'm home now and exhausted. I have a Burmese curry ready but I can't even be bothered to cook rice to go with it. So it is salt and pepper ribs with extra chilli. Then a well deserved beer session.

I Heard a Voice.

The Gentlemen's Club.

Once upon a time I thought that arrogance was a virtue. I am after all one of Thatcher's children and I went to Cambridge. Once upon a time I thought it was essential that I joined a Gentlemen's Club. As a Cambridge graduate and public school boy I'm entitled to join 2 different such clubs, the Oxford and Cambridge Club and the East India Club. Then my life came crashing down and after years of fighting to recover those amibtions and so called virtues were irrelevant to me. When my mood is too high I'm always right, I'm annoying, quick witted, judgmental and generally not nice to be around. I try to curb that.

Today as a veteran of mental illness and being practitioner I hope that I know something about it. Perhaps that is my delusion. But what people do know where I work is if the shit hits the fan I do not panic. I rarely ask for help as the response I get can be good or bad. I would rather manage my life as I can control. I give my advice, and history tells me I'm rarely wrong, and people can choose to take it or ignore it. If I pass the buck it is always with the proviso that I gave my advice-if someone chooses to fuck it up then they can take the rap if it goes wrong.

During my journey across Hertfordshire for the last 6 years I have been a character who speaks out and is as a result revered, reviled, or dismissed depending on who comes across me. Those who have met me respect my judegment. Those who do not dismiss me. I am after all not in the club; I am neither nurse, nor social worker, nor Doctor.

10 days ago when a student I know well went tits up I called for help. Everything I predicted has happened and why of earth she is not in hospital I have no idea. Today I was told that she was just playing games as she is personality disordered. Case closed, life over.

Well for those in the know PDs have some of the highest mortality rates of any group in mental health. Long ago I put forward what I called The Right Illness Theory. In short it says the treatment received is directly proportional to the label attached. Translation if you have psychosis or bipolar we might take you seriously. If you have PD we don't give a fuck. As my manager said today if someone is in danger who cares what the label is?

I am dismissed because I'm not in their club. Oh how that might change in the unlikely event that I'm elected to the Board of Governors.

Talking of unlikely events, tomorrow is the Vice-Chancellor's Awards ceremony. It is an excuse to get my linen suit out but I will not win. I'm just not important enough. So for now I stick to the fine Burmese curry that is bubbling away on my hob and the fact that most of the time I make good decisions. I cannot account for the decisions made by others

See you soon.

I Heard a Voice.

A Past Brand.

Before I moved here to Hertfordshire in 2007 I was a struggling, aspiring, and as yet unpublished author. I spent years trying to get an agent; they all rejected me. Almost all publishing houses refused to accept maunscript not via an agent unless I was prepared to pay a great deal of money; the only offer I got was £10,500! I tried to get sponsorship and turned to the makers of risperidone. They raved for months, passed it round various people, made all the right noises then rejected me through a short e mail. Back to square 1!

6 years later I have not 1 but 2 books to my name. They have not sold many but how could I without the marketing muscle of a mainstream publishing house? Yet most who read the books rave about them. Perhaps they are only humouring me.

So on a warm, muggy, overcast June day why do I mention this? Well today I went to collect my prescription and was given original Janssen Cilag risperidone. Not seen those since they came off patent. Yes they were the company that raved then rejected me. But that is all in the past. It did bring a smile.

For those who have been listening I am now feeling better. I'm going to eat properly for the first time since Saturday-getting very hungry now. So it is Sunday roast on a Tuesday.

Just before I leave and having mentioned the books in this post I think a timely remnider of where they can be bought was due. This in particular reference to the large number of hits from the USA. So here you go if you fancy a mind blowing read:

http://www.amazon.com/A-Pillar-Impotence-Mark-Edgar/dp/1849913951/ref=pd_rhf_ee_p_t_3_1FC3

More soon.

I Heard a Voice.

Feeling Under The Weather.

We have a phrase we use in England that goes "feeling under the weather". It means to feel unwell but not necessarily ill. Today has been one such day. I've barely eaten as I couldn't stomach much. I'm not sure if it is a return of my bug I had few weeks ago but whatever it is it has stopped my plans for the day. Sadly I did not feel well enough to go to London to see Beka. Great shame but I hope it all went well. Here's to feeling better tomorrow.

As I write this Sunday evening I'm on the cusp of 10,000 hits on my blog since I started in September 2010. As I have noted before the audience can be variable but has been healthy in the last few months. I guess some of you think I have something to say.

Today despite not being well I danced with my past. I listened to my music but was only mildly saddened by it. Yes 23 years have passed since that morning I walked out of C staircase in Old Court, Selwyn College, Cambridge with the girl from Alabama. That was the day my life changed. That life has brought about 2 books. Will there be another? Maybe but I have to live if first.

So I leave you not at my best. I will post again soon.

I Heard a Voice.

A Wet Saturday.

Sometimes it is hard to work out what to do on a wet Saturday. Yes the rain is coming down outside and it is so gloomy I have the lights on to read. I woke very tired today-another bad night, up 4 times-and headed for town. Had a light lunch of Singapore noodles with Yan at the Fu Hao then came home. The plan was that boring domesticity we all have to undertake but barring the bathroom I did little.

So what should I do? I could just stare at the TV until it is time to cook my Thai curry. But that would be a waste of a day. So instead I have opted for a Haydn opera and a spot of reading. I'm delving further into my Rick Stein book I bought last week. All looks really good in there-can't wait to cook some of the dishes. When I have had enough of that I will turn once again to Jerome K Jerome and increase my cultural awareness.

There will be no opera tomorrow as I'm supporting Beka in London. She has been very anxious and tired but seems to be hanging on. Her portait unveiling went well today, one task down, one to go.

I really don't know where my mood is today. No sign of mania but none either of despair. I hope it holds tomorrow when I mark 23 years of madness; that is more than half my life. On Thursday I teach and on Friday it is the awards ceremony. Last year everyone thought I would win. I'm more circumspect this year, I know I have no chance!

I Heard a Voice.

Memories of Kafka.

One of the great privileges of my life is that I was taught at Cambridge by the classicist and ancient historian Christopher Kelly. He will go down as the greatest classical scholar of his generation. I haven't seen him for a few years as he now lives in Chicago but we remain friends 23 years after we first met. During the first year he taught me he pointed me in the direction of reading Kafka. I knew of Kafka from his famous work "Metamorphosis" but Christopher pointed me in the direction of a lesser known piece called "The Great Wall of China". It is the story of a Chinese emperor who wanted to get a message to an unknown peasant in a far off corner of the empire. It graphically describes the journey of the messenger as he struggled even to make it beyond the gates of the Imperial Palace. The message never gets to the peasant but the crux of the story is that whoever we are our rulers belong to us and can converse with us. In the ancient Roman Empire all citizens could appeal to the emperor. Of course their stories rarely got that far but that enough to sustain the Imperial Cult.

At 3.15 am as I sat there sweating in my flat smoking a cigarette after yet another nightmare my thoughts turned to the Kafka story all these years later. In the dream I was in an unfamiliar pub run by familiar friends and populated by so many people I knew from my past and present. Some are mad and some are not. It was a jolly scene which turned sour as I went off to find the loo in the pub. I opened a door and then there was another door. Then another and another. It went on for ever. Odd though it might sound my mind went into terror. Am I, like the Imperial messanger following a road to nowhere and just finding more and more empty doors? In reality I woke up as I needed the loo. But why is my mind so cruel to me? It was the first of 3 nightmares before I got up this morning.

Does that mean I'm stressed? I don't feel so. Actually it has been a more sedate week. Yet still the nightmares come to my troubled mind. Disturbing though it is I would rather have that than the return to my day time psychosis of my waking nightmares.

For all the ups and downs of the last year I am still well. I looked back the other day at my blog posts since September. On reflection it has been a much tougher year than my conscious mind recalls. I recall it getting difficult in February. But the blog records chaos as starting in October. Yes another year is up, where will I be this time next year? I don't know. Let's hope it is a good place.

I Heard a Voice.

Mania Versus Mania.

The anticipated rain came rather late in the day. I was expecting a washout but instead we have an early summer evening of light drizzle. Strange to think that from next week the days get shorter. Before then though I must get through an anniversary. In years gone by I would have relapsed around now. Post risperidone that day has become a day of reflection. For on Sunday it will be the 23rd anniversary of that fateful day in the splendour of Cambridge when my life changed for ever.

If you have been reading the last few weeks you will recall I have had to keep a bit of a lid on my mood. I have no real idea why it has been elevated. I never do anything crazy when up, I just piss people off. My problems come when I go the other way.

Today I was faced with a much more dangerous mania. Yes the bright, quick, switched on mind that is me met the edge of hypomania. I know her well but as ever she won't accept what might happen. I suspect I will be busy the next few days keeping her safe. But she will make it.

And so to Wednesday evening. I made a Thai dry duck curry with my remaining duck breast. Not perfect but very good. Then I was cheered by the return to the screens of Rick Stein. Not seen him for a couple of months. I'm eagerly anticipating his new series on India which will start soon. This time without adverts removing half of it. 2 more days to go this week. Saturday is devoted to boring domesticity but Sunday I go to London. Beka is being filmed in the Sky Portrait Competition. She was shortlisted from 2000 entries. Let us hope the annniversary does not affect my mood and support too much.

I Heard a Voice.

A Day Out In Norfolk.

EasAnglia is famous for being flat and for its rich fertile soil. Much of it is also wetland, Cambridge being built on a bog and many a British holiday being taken on the Norfolk Broads. Of course I have spent 9 years of my life living in Cambridge. In truth I would go back tomorrow if I could. It lies in the south west of East Anglia. The rest is a mystery to me other than going to visit Miriam and Nigel in Ely. I have in the past been to Norwich although it was over 20 years ago and I could remember nothing of it. That changed yesterday when I went there for a meeting. One of things I discoverd in our navel gazing day a couple of weeks ago is that others are apparently envious of my mobile life at work and of the chaos I get to sort out. Perhaps they would like to hear the screams of students being taken away after I have had to get them detained? Believe me, rare though it is those events haunt my life. Perhaps also we could swap for a week. That would be on the proviso that we swap salaries too-not sure they would like that. But it is nice to get out of the office and spending a whole day, despite nearly 6 hours on various trains is always good.

Knowing it would be a long journey I took "Three Men and Boat" along to read. I managed a chapter. On a beautiful day I marvelled at such beautiful countryside, the rivers, lakes and miles of farmland. It was truly a sight to see. And from what little I saw of Norwich it is beautiful too. Must go back one day.

I was exhausted this morning-I had left my flat at 6 am and returned at 7 pm yesterday. I pottered into town comparatively early. My hair is now cut, the shopping is done, I had Tsing Tao with Yan in the Fu Hao then popped into see my old landlord Michael who very kindly shared a simple lunch of cold meat, cheese, and bread.

Back at home I quickly binned my plan of cleaning and settled instead for Handel's Coronation anthems and reading my new Rick Stein book on India. The Handel is our recording, not out best as over excitement led to some rather sharp singing. Fun though. Later I will slow cook a Balinese pork dish with shoulder, chillies, ginger, home made stock, and kecap manis. For Monday a duck to roast.

What of tomorrow? Well it will be different as I'm off out with the wonderful Dory. It should have been today but she had to look after the kids. So tomorrow it is then.

I Heard a Voice.

A Mention In A National.

If you have been reading for a while you will recall the long hard winter we endured here in the UK. Some of you might also recall me reporting a "surge" in sales-relatively speaking-of "A Pillar of Impotence". As I have no backing for marketing sales are sporadic and usually in response to me speaking or teaching. Oh that everyone who said they would buy a copy had done so-I'm certain I would have sold 10 times as many as I have. But no matter.

What I didn't understand was that at the time of the mini surge I had not spoken to anyone in public. By that stage I thought maybe that was it, a book by an unknown that sold a couple of hundred copies. Today I think I may have found the answer. Whilst playing around with my blog stats I came across something new on google. At the end of last year, someone, I do not know him mentioned the book in an article in the Guardian newspaper in their section entitled "your books of the year" back in December. All I can say is wow! How did that happen? I have sent the book to 2 national newspapers and never heard a word back. I sent a copy to perhaps the most famous bipolar person in the UK Stephen Fry, he ignored it too. Yet an unknown thought enough of it to mention it when others wouldn't.

http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2012/dec/28/your-books-of-the-year-2012

Where that leaves me I don't know but maybe one day I will make a big breakthrough.

As for me I'm okay after my strange manic/mixed weekend. I worked late yesterday and today-so much for the holidays. I'm booked out all week. So be it, at least I won't be bored.

When I did get to wind down today I kept it simple. For various reasons I have cooked little this week. But one of my famous coriander omelettes did the trick today-it is good to keep it simple. There was one stunning exception that I did cook, a Vietnamese stir fried chicken with chilli, coriander, lime and lemongrass. Never done it before but I almost made a masterpiece. And my mouth was on fire after-I like that.

I Heard a Voice.

So, What Happened Next?

Flaming June is now into its second day. It is not exactly flaming but at least the sun has re-appeared in the sky. Sunday afternoon is marching on. Some of you might have noticed that I finally managed to correct the time on the posts. Those new to the blog must think I'm a real night owl with most posts apparently coming in the early hours. Well for reasons I do not understand the clock on here was set to central Pacific time. No more.

I'm very surprised that my dad hasn't called after my odd post yesterday. He usually does on the days I struggle. Today is the day after the aberration of yesterday has gone. I'm no longer in a mixed state thank God. It was horrible. I did make it to London in the end and had a good time. That said I do hope my friend Jess is okay; last seen hugging a toilet in the Crispy Duck in Chinatown. I declined the invitation of our younger brethen to go clubbing; never was my scene even when I was younger. One has promised to find me a wife. Not sure what to make of that!

So as the time ticks on on a another weekend the pork is roasting in the oven, the potatoes are par boiled and I'm listening to Haydn's "Creation" in German for the first time. I feel okay but not wanting to face tomorrow. I have no students coming to brighten my day, only 2 meetings. The one I'm not looking forward to has been postponed twice but sooner or later I will have to face it. Trouble is I have no idea what it's about-always tricky. By this time tomorrow I will be enlightened on that. The question is will I be raging or rejoicing? I have no wayof knowing.

I Heard a Voice.

Dazed and Confused.

A few months ago I met a man named Gary in my local pub. He comes in mainly at weekend with his friend Ali. He is local and she lives up the road in Bedford. Gary is a poet and a depressive with a passion for music. Not so differnet to me although it is some years since I wrote a poem. I don't know him that well but we usually have a chat when they are in.

Last night Gary said to to me that he thought I was a bit manic. He was apologetic and not certain whether he should say it or not. I went out early yesterday so had drunk far more than I normally do. I mentioned this to him to which he responded you were like this 2 days ago. So glad he told me as I hadn't noticed. The strange thing is though that at the moment my mood is on the - side of my scale. Manic and depressed at the same. Is this the mystical mixed state that my bipolar friends Brian and Izzi describe and fear?

Today I feel confused. I don't want to go out but I don't want to stay in. I'm anxious about going to London later. I want to hide from the world. I'm all over the place. Maybe it is one of my feared depressed hangovers but I don't think so. My confusion is so great that when I woke at 9.30 am I was convinced it was actually 3.30 pm. Not good.

The conversation with Gary was not the only mental talk I had last night. I was semi confronted by an angry woman I don't know well. She comes across as angry, aggressive, loud, obnoxious and always drunk. I was trying to tell a story which she didn't like. Out came a tirade on all the diagnoses she had, most contradicting each other, and of how useless we professionals are. Of course what she didn't know is that I am one of us not one of them. I told her some of my story and her attitude changed. I hate being dismissed as the enemy. I am better than that.

Yet today I battle a sense of failure, an emptiness, and that feeling of being dazed and confused. I want to tell the world to fuck off but I can't. No one must notice. I don't know how to deal with the mixed state if that is the right term. I guess I just have to ride it out.

I Heard a Voice.