The Pride of the English.

Being English has not been particularly easy this summer. We were unceremoniously dumped out of the World Cup (I saw that one coming though). We lost a first ever test series against Sri Lanka. There is wide spread interest in Scottish independence (I'm not making a call on that one). As for our food the French rubbish almost everything we do, especially the cheese. But there is one thing that brings glorious pride to the English, roast beef and Yorkshire pudding. Served beautifully rare with potatoes roasted in beef dripping it is my culinary masterpiece I plan for today.

Sadly the menu does not extend to English wine although rumour has it some of our sparkling wines are far superior to champagne. I can actually buy English wine in Waitrose from a vineyard in Tenterden near where I come from. But not today, today I go once again to Spain for my beloved rioja.

Not venturing into the kitchen yet I had a very productive day. I completed my job application and will submit it tomorrow-always good to check a day after. I did some long overdue domestic tedium then had a quick pint in the Waggoners in honour of my friend Emma and her other half Dom who have just eloped to Iceland and got married. For cultural purposes it has been Verdi today. Then finally to roast beef. There are some good things about being English and that is one of them.

Oh well, another week starts to tomorrow. Yet it will soon been over, I'm off to Prague and Vienna 3 weeks on Tuesday, better sort out some currency soon.

I Heard a Voice.

Plundering the Sea.

As I listen to "Idomeneo" and digest a fine healthy dinner I'm quite glad this week is over. It did drag on for some reason. The plan is to have an exceedingly quiet weekend.

My ventures into fish and sea food are becoming a bit of a habit. Having shunned fish for years slowly but surely I'm reaping the benefits of the sea. Smoked mackerel for lunch then some splendid swordfish marinaded in pomegranate molasses, coriander and cinnamon, it really was very good. How long I keep this up for I'm not sure. But the post smoking eternal hunger needs to be managed. Talking of which I'm on day 38.

This afternoon I wrote a CV for the first time in years. Last time I used one was in my fruitless search for a teaching job in the early 2000s. Most universities seem to want an application form but the one I'm looking at this weekend requires a CV and covering letter. I'm expecting nothing to come of this but sometimes strange things happen. Actually getting another job and moving is quite alarming in some respects. Maybe I'm getting too old for that but standing still is no longer an option.

I will finish and submit my application tomorrow before indulging in rare roast beef, Yorkshire puddings, horseradish and Rioja. I wonder how Beka and Katie are getting on at Glastonbury, hope it's not too wet for them. Soon enough they will be back to reality.

I Heard a Voice.

Recovery a Bleak Place?

Another week is almost over. It seems to have dragged and I'm feeling tired. At home I indulged in some home cooked Greek souvlaki-I'm sure the Turks dispute that authenticity-had a beer and am listening to Haydn's glorious "Nelson Mass".

Last night I dined with my old friend Alison. We used to work together until she retired about 3 years ago. I had a lot of fun and eventually we got round to talking about "Charon's Ferry". Her take was nothing like I have heard before. I regard my recovery journey as being on going and triumphant. To her she was shocked at how bleak "recovery" can be at times. More than that she was shocked as a therapist who worked with me that she had not noticed.

Looking back on the battle to get a career out of nothing it was just that at times. I fought and fought, and sadly still do sometimes. There is always someone telling me I wasted my life, or I should get a proper job, or waiting for me to fail. At times life is shit but I try as best I can to get it into perspective.

Many who hear my talks or read my books describe them as inspirational. I'm not sure I get that, to me it is just my life. And that I'm good at telling a story. Behind that is always that fear of will the madness return, will I be found out, and that terrible fear of failure? My students all seek perfection. Maybe as my dad once said I still do despite knowing it can never be attained.

Yet I keep myself grounded by repeatedly telling myself I'm only as good as the students I can help; to those who walk out I'm a waste of space.

Friday tomorrow, early finish, glass of Pimm's and job applications. My heart says it will be fruitless yet I will still try. How else have I managed to move on, without trying and taking risks?

I Heard a Voice.

Something Radical?

Way back in the early 2000s when I was still fruitlessly seeking employment as a teacher I applied to Eton for a joke. The crazy thing was they actually interviewed. Perhaps the greatest mistake I ever made in those day was not putting my old ancient history tutor down as referee. Had I done that maybe I would be there now. Well he was asked to be Headmaster unsolicited at the age of 36. Oh how foolish of me.

Now in 2014 I feel I may apply for an equally prestigious job. I have no chance of getting an interview but what have I got to lose? The top places sometimes look at what you have rather than what you have not. Maybe chance will shine on me. This time I will carefully choose referees. In fact the relevant e mail has already been sent. Given the uncertainty that hangs over my present life why not?

I'm listening to Debussy as the rain drops down outside. I thought it was a summer shower but I suspect it is somewhat more than that. Tomorrow I will see my supervisor for the first time this academic year. She has now moved offices to somewhere far more convenient for me. The good news is I can straight home from there. It is a month until I go away with dad. Not really counting down yet but I'm sure I will soon. The cricket is heading for disaster, the football is a disaster, I wonder what Wimbledon will bring? Not really a fan but I know a lot of people are. Only 2 1/2 months until the NFL returns....along with the chaos of another academic year. The question is where will I be then?

I Heard a Voice.

A North South Divide.

A little over a week has passed since my marvellous day out at Lord's. Up in Leeds the 2nd test is under way and England are on top. Young Sam Robson has scored a 100 in only his 2nd test. Watching the highlights last night I was taken by the lack of Panama hats and the sparse crowd. Lord's was packed, Headingley disappointingly empty. Perhaps Panamas are no approved of in the north, I don't know. Those who come from other countries have little idea of how different the north and south are in this country. I guess they learn if they travel.

Yesterday I ventured north although those in the know will say it was only the Midlands. Given how far south home is for me it counts as the north. After the shattering events of this week I really didn't feel up to getting up at 5.45 am to get an early train. When I got home though it had been a worthwhile day in the company of the only people who really understand what I do for a living, my fellow advisors at other universities. The issues hardly differ.

And so to a weekend. I slept well thank goodness. Stopping smoking seems to have killed the nightmares. And it helps my bank balance. What I don't yet know is the impact on my waistline.

Conscious that I do need to watch what I eat I deviated from my norm by buying a herring for my supper. Dad will be most shocked. In the main I don't eat fish, too bony. But this is on my terms. I will keep it simple, just pan fried with flour, Jersey Royal potatoes with a little parsley and some vegetables. Tomorrow it is roast gammon. I bought some bottles of Black Sheep ale to go with my supper, all sounds great.

Another day of rest then back to the fray. Let's hope is not too hectic or dramatic.

I Heard a Voice.

Figaro is the Answer.

What a week. It has all happened this week. And it is day 28 without a cigarette. Remember that old film "Airplane" where the air traffic controller repeatedly says "I picked the wrong week to give up...." as each catastrophe unfolds. The result is I came home today deflated, tired, disillusioned and feeling utterly useless. All I wanted to do is immerse myself in a large plate of ribs and slob out. Given the the risk of weight gain and the feeling of being eternally hungry having given up smoking I have to resist.

The bizarre thing is yesterday and today I did a lot of good. You may recall that is my measure when the going gets tough. We are all dealing with the fall out from Monday. I was just a small part in that young man's life. I was not his friend or relative. But it still hurts. And that sense of failure that I so fear. Will I be found out? I found myself uttering those words to 2 other people today when I was advising them. Can I advise myself? Can I fuck.

I did what I should have done a long time ago and called my supervisor. She is not my boss but in my field we all have supervisors who help and guide us. I have been so arrogant, busy, angry or ill in the last few months that I haven't seen her this year. We will meet on Tuesday.

Back in what passes for my world it was tempting to eat things that are not good. Tempting too to drink too much. The compromise though was a single glass of Pimm's and the old favourite of "The Marriage of Figaro". It is just what I need.

Tomorrow is tomorrow. What is clear after the last couple of days is nothing is going to change in the day job. I may have voiced that yesterday but those with power don't care. So I will focus on the MSc, will know more next week, keep up the no smoking, and then move on. I guess my chances will be greater with the MSc but I still feel deceived. It is a ruthless world out there. The events of this week do put that in perspective. Those is us still about still have to face tomorrow though. So be it.

I Heard a Voice.

What if?

This post is not the one I intended to write today. Nor is it the time when I was going to post. Today marks 24 years since that fateful descent into madness. It was on this day that my life changed irrevocably. And here I am today, amongst the mad and still getting it wrong.

I feel very sad and fragile today. This afternoon I received a phone call that I always dread. One of my students died. For obvious reasons I can't really elaborate on here but I can't help asking myself that awful question what if? This is my 3rd student to die in the last 7 years. It is sadly inevitable that it happens but still I wonder.

I cannot undo what was done or not done. What I have to do now is stop asking that question. For I will never get an answer and will drive myself to anxiety and despair if I persist. On days like today it puts life in perspective. Tomorrow I will awake, get up, drink coffee, then go back into the fray. It is just so sad when this happens. Such young people.

I Heard a Voice.

Day Out for Gentlemen.

Greetings! I seem to have been away from here for a while. Actually have been somewhat busier of late but not all work. Thursday took me to the home of cricket. Donning a linen suit and Panama hat I took to it like I'd been going every year for ages. What a splendid day out. Gentlemen, ladies, well behaved school kids, a proper day out. All my little anxieties that had marred the run up failed to materialise. Many thanks to my friend Charlie who got the tickets. Having been once we plan to make it an annual event. Next time I will be more prepared for a picnic. Can't believe I have never been before.

Friday took me back to reality but got through that fine. So now to a quiet weekend. I braved the cut throat razor on my first visit to the nearby Turkish barbers-very pleased with the angelic look. The rest of the afternoon has just been cricket watching-seems headed for a draw.

In the kitchen it is Muttar Paneer and Chicken Tikka on the menu. Tomorrow will be roast duck with Rioja. Oh the joys of cooking. I will watch the football at the Hedgehog. I anticipate an England defeat but no one predicted Holland to beat Spain 5-1 so miracles might happen.

Mentally I think I'm back to where I should be. Be nice if my mood was a little higher but might not please everyone else. Happy days!

I Heard a Voice.

Something for Nothing.

On election day in 2010 I spoke to a small international conference on mental health and identity to rapturous applause. I went down well that day. When I got home I walked down the hill to a local primary school to cast my vote. That night 13 years of New Labour was swept away. There was no clear cut winner and we ended up with a coalition of Conservatives and Liberal Democrats. Hardly centre right but hardly centre left either.

Whatever the right and wrongs of what happened that day it was clear that whoever won would inherit a poison chalice of deep economic woes, rising unemployment, cuts and falling living standards. The target for some of those cuts have been those who don't work and claim benefits. I was one of those for many years. I fought hard to get out and unlike the other 99 in 100 managed to get out. It was a long haul. I now am financially better off. I like working. It gives me a purpose and part of that very identity I talked about on election day.

Cuts have been controversial. Some feel attacked. Some are attacked. Some campaign. And others do nothing. The government calls it a "something for nothing culture". The public are in favour of those cuts. Many of them have not known unemployment and poverty as I have. But some who claim are not in poverty yet still the "poor me" attitude goes on.

Last night at the bar I was talking with a man who has not worked for nearly 40 years. He was complaining that no one would buy his second hand television. For the past few years this man has been disabled and unable to work. Before then he chose not to as he "tried it but didn't like it". When I mentioned that TVs are very cheap now so there was no market and that I had got a good TV for £150 I was stunned by his response. "I'm not being funny but I spent £900 on my 55" TV"!!!! Where on earth does someone get that money? That is more than I pay in rent in a month! When I suggested that I could not afford rent, tax and £900 TVs he told me I was doing it all wrong. I shouldn't work and just claim off the state. Then he told me he wasn't given that money as some are. Well, where the hell did it come from??? The tax payer.

I really don't care what people chose to do with their lives but don't complain about "bedroom tax" if you are getting everything for free anyway.

That's enough of politics. Back to reality. I'm listening to opera-Mozart for a change-had a fine rare steak and glass of Rioja and am contemplating tomorrow. For tomorrow I go to Lord's. In honour of the occasion I will wear a linen suit and have bought a Panama hat. Stopped short of a cane and monocle. That would be too decadent even for me. I can't afford a picnic from Harrods or Fortnum and Mason so will make do with M&S. And I will have a fine day!!!

I Heard a Voice.

Even Bananas!

Some years ago a friend of mine gave up smoking. He told me that everything tasted disgusting for the next 6 months. Well I'm on day 17 of not smoking and after initially only noticing that water tasted different now everything tastes really salty. Even the bananas that I love eat each day. How strange is that?

It's all got me thinking, all the cooking I have done for others over the years, has it been too salty? No one has ever complained about too much but maybe they were just being polite. Do I cut back when I cook or is it just a strange twist of giving up after so many years?

That aside it hasn't stopped me in the kitchen. I finally ate my Vietnamese beef curry that I had been infusing for 2 days last night. It was a triumph other than the salt. Tomorrow I have friends round for herbed roast chicken and in the week I will have duck as it was on offer today.

It was another curiously quiet week. My feeling now is of being flat and restless. I think I did some good things but find myself dismissive of good at the moment. Had some nice things said about my book but still sales are very slow. Perhaps if I had become a professional football player my ghost written autobiography would have done better. I guarantee it would!

On Thursday I'm going to Lord's to watch my very first test match. Knowing that it always rains on day 1 of the English test season I invested in an umbrella this afternoon. Let's hope I don't need it! In the meantime I am listening to a Poulenc opera and will get back to T E Lawrence.

I Heard a Voice.

Good Notes and Good Outcomes.

The value of an care with which psychiatric notes must be written was something I learned very early. There is no such thing as a fact, direct quotes can be wrong, and observations are critical. When I worked at CMHT I was known for writing excellent notes. I try to carry that on but given the workload and time constraints they sometimes slip. They are my reminder and my safety net.

Some years ago a somewhat challenging student made a legal request to read all my notes. She said after that I said very little and she was left with no ammunition to sue as she intended. It doesn't always work but it can be a get out of jail card.

Sadly not everyone in the field writes good notes. I have read my pages of notes dating from 1991 to 2005 and thoroughly unpleasant reading they are. That was 4 years after salvation. Perhaps the saddest part of my story is that the one person who got it right, gave me the life saving treatment never wrote her thoughts down. Then she left abruptly. In the years since I tried in vain to get 2 consultants to look at it but both sat on the fence.

So all these years later I am told I am being treated for something they say I don't have. I have a mood disorder and nothing else. But will Doctors listen? Of course not. Today I was reminded of this. I saw the GP I have seen several times this year since my whooping cough and she asked if I wanted to come off my medication. No way!!! She only took the error of the screen. A little thing perhaps but it really annoys me. The arrogance of the consultants 20 years ago still affecting me now. It seems so wrong. But that is my life.

Back at home I took a rare venture into cooking fish; devilled mackerel was splendid. And now Vietnamese beef curry is bubbling away on the hob for tomorrow as I listen to the "Marriage of Figaro" and sup a beer on this surprisingly warm night.

What will tomorrow bring I wonder?

I Heard a Voice.