Humanity Restored.

Those who have followed the news in the last few years and British politics will know how divisive the issue of migration is. The last few months have seen a tidal wave of human misery pouring over the borders of Europe fleeing devastation in Syria, Libya, Iraq, Afghanistan as well as (if we believe the press) many in Africa fleeing poverty. Rarely does one see the human side of this tragedy.

Back home in my nice warm flat in leafy affluent Hertfordshire I lead a simple, self indulgent, at times decadent  but ultimately fairly safe life. For all I gripe on here that is a given. In my decadent self indulgence opera, reading and cooking play a big part especially on Sunday. And on most Sundays I like forward to the restaurant reviews of AA Gill. He can be arrogant, temperamental, acidic, acerbic, pretentious that sometimes it makes me cringe. What he does well is make a mockery of what my old English teacher called "piss elegant" restaurants. Pretension works both ways in the world of the food critic.

I was truly moved by the exerts I read from his memoir of his own alcoholism that was serialised a few weeks ago. But that was exceeded by his wondrous review of the food on offer in the refugee camp in Calais known to all as the Jungle. Humility, praise and sheer humanity as he recalled the day he spent with the most impoverished of people in the mud and squalor as ordinary people cook the most amazing food in the worst is situations. Human misery can spring out amazing stories.

Today the French police moved into and destroyed part of the Jungle. It will go down well with the right wingers of my native Kent and those campaigning on the European referendum which we are allowed to decide. Those refugees did not get to decide the fate of their lives. We do.

I sometimes feel ashamed of things I have done in my life. Yes it has been blighted by mental illness but I have never been on the street, in the mud and without food.

In my quiet world I'm listening to Beethoven's Triple Concerto and digesting another decadent food offering. AA Gill has reminded me how contented I should be with that world.

I Heard a Voice.

Luncheon Engagement.

On a day that can't make up its mind what to do the bitter wind swirled interspersed with bright sunshine I did something different. My friend Madeline picked me up for a drive in the country and beautiful Sunday lunch at The Horns. And what a civilised day we had, chewing the fat, consuming fine food and thinking away what we both face back at work tomorrow. We don't often go out but I always enjoy it when we do.

As a result of a splendid trip out I have not had fix of opera today. That happened last night instead. Now I face a choice on what to do next. I'm too full to eat. I have done enough reading. So what next? Film or opera? Decisions to make.

Whatever I end up doing so far I am successfully putting off thoughts of tomorrow. Why do weekends go so quickly? It's been good though.

Soon I will back in the demands of mid week. But at least I have another plan to look forward to then, the visit of Beka. Methinks another country pub may be on the menu then too!

I Heard a Voice.

Weekend Delights.

I like Saturdays. I don't have to get up early. It doesn't matter if I'm not at my best. Not many people are demanding my time. I get a chance to cook. And on some occasions sporting excellence beckons.

During my long battle with mental illness before Risperidone February and March were always tough months. What got me through was the 5 then 6 Nations rugby most weekends. I would escape to the Oddfellows club to watch and have a couple of beers. It was usually interrupted by my friend Chas who was forever asking to turn over to the horse racing. He is a professional gambler.

These days that same competition has become so commercialised by TV needs that games are often at a time when I'm cooking and not able to concentrate. 5 pm kickoffs or there abouts do not fit my life style. But I try. As England prepare to play Ireland in a few minutes I have arranged dinner to cook itself. A lamb shank Tagia is slowly cooking away. Dinner is likely at 7.30. So rugby it is for me.

Earlier I did my usual town visit, some shopping and a light lunch in The Waggoners. So far so good moodwise. Mental illness seems a long way off today.

I Heard a Voice.

Then They Were Gone.

The manic week is over. And I am at rest. The end has been strange, a day littered with appointments but barely anyone turned up. I suppose it saved to speaking but frustrating none the less. After all these years I am acutely aware that us mad people can be a bit unreliable.

My weekend awaits. It started with toad in the hole. For those unfamiliar with this English classic it is sausages fried then surrounded by batter and baked. Yorkshire pudding with sausage. Comfort food. And very good it was too. When I took them out of the fridge I realised that they were made of lamb not beef. Worked well though. Apart from the Moroccan masterpiece of Merguez sausages made of lamb I'm not too familiar with lamb sausage. Must try it again.

I learned tonight that Beka will come to visit next Friday. Looking forward to that. Go out to eat somewhere, a beer or two in The Hedgehog then a quiet lunch in a country pub on Saturday.

Before I jump the gun though and wish myself another week older I will relish my quiet home rugby watching weekend. A good plan.

I Heard a Voice.

And Still They Come.

What is it with this academic year? None of us can remember such a sustained wave of suicidal, vulnerable, desperate students. Well not wave after wave as we are experiencing now.

I'm in a very mixed mood. Not mixed in a mental illness way but in a I did some good but not good enough today. Yes I helped some but others I failed. Failed maybe too strong a word, some things I feared happened but not as a result of me fucking up. More that the situation cannot be saved. I do not make decisions for students. They do and the course of their lived can and does shape the future. I take no pleasure in being right. When I was good today I was very good. The not so good moments were not necessarily me being bad.

Although my mood is mixed it is better than last night. I came home angry and became angrier. This prompted yet another trip out to eat as I was too angry to cook. But I assuaged my anger over the course of the evening.

There is but one day to go and it will be a busy one. I'm tired but getting there. Can we sustain this level through to May? God I hope we don't have to.

My mood diary remains undone. But when it is done it will look rather better than a few weeks ago. For now I was let happen what happens. I plan to watch Michael Wood on China at 9 pm. I heard him speak once at Waterstones in Canterbury about the Trojan War. He was an excellent speaker.

I Heard a Voice.

Avoiding Awkward Questions.

I'm listening to Pinchas Zukerman and Marc Neikrug playing Beethoven's Violin Sonatas after another very long day. These recordings are new to me as I'm trying out the box set dad gave me for Christmas. I still love the Perlman Ashkenazy recordings as some of the finest ever but this is good.

It may be only Tuesday but it seems like one of the longest weeks in some time. Yesterday there were heart breaking tales and huge risk. Today was following on from that. Referrals are coming at the rate of 4-6 a day. Yet the bulk of my day was preparing for and enduring a long meeting.

The meeting was about a validation review of the School of Postgraduate Medicine on whose programme I studied. I was very anxious. True they wheeled me out only because I hit the tick boxes of practitioner, student, teacher and service user and that made me hot commodity. My fear was about being asked directly a difficult question about my experience. And those who look back on my posts from the autumn of 2013 until February of 2015 will recall at times my experience was a lonely, frustrating and anxious one.

Instead we were bombarded by minutiae questions on content and diversity. At times I wanted to speak but was on a strict leash. When finally those magic words service user came I launched forth and answered pretty much every question in but a few seconds. I think it went down well and brought huge relief to those on our side of the table.

Not really sure how I feel about it now. Tired is very much to the fore. But I'm doing well. I'm coping, I'm not overwhelmed and I'm in control. A long time has passed by since that happened. Am I back to where I was before? Not really as that was a bad place to go back to.

The rest of the week is full. More challenging conversations will be to come. But I have a sense of value that has been absent for a long time.

On that note I leave you and return to Beethoven. Until next time.

I Heard a Voice.

God That was Hard Work.

Of all the stock phrases trotted out by people when talking about mental illness the one that says "sometimes it's a struggle just to get out of bed" is amongst the most common. It certainly held sway back in those long dark days before Christmas when I was really struggling. For reasons I don't quite understand it all came back today.

Strange as I have been doing so much better in recent weeks. But try as I might I simply couldn't get up today. It all seemed black and pointless. But emerge I did with a great deal of effort and a huge amount of reluctance.

So what of this day that seemed so unpromising? Well it's warm and the rain has disappeared. I summoned the energy to get to the shop for a paper and with even more effort made some lunch. Puccini plays quietly in the background but none of this is anything to lift my mood. Flat and lifeless. My old boss at Social Services would have called this a duvet day-get away from reality day. Sadly such days do not exist so I will drudge on despite really wanting to go back to bed.

Let us all hope and pray that tomorrow is a better day. Until then, bye.

I Heard a Voice.

Beethoven in the Rain.

It is a very wet Saturday. The outlook is grey and the wind is blowing. Not a day to be outside. So you find me at home in the warm listening to Beethoven's 2nd symphony and enjoying a quiet afternoon. I have needed a weekend to myself. Nothing too strenuous.

I did actually venture out earlier but it was not my most successful shopping trip ever. True I got food, slow cooked Balinese pork with ginger, chilli and kecap manis on the menu later, but a couple of things I had hoped to pick up had gone and my attempts to use this rather pointless gift voucher came to nothing when I realised it wasn't accepted in the shop I had hoped to use. Oh well, it is looking increasingly like it will all go on books.

Days like this do not lighten the mood although I continue to be in a better place than of late which can only be a good thing. Work is getting alarmingly manic, not been like that since before I went off. But I'm coping well.

I learned of yet another death today. More an acquaintance than a friend it continues to be a time of loss and sadness for people in my many circles.

Sunday opera awaits tomorrow, think I might go back to Puccini. I have a ham to roast tomorrow, always look forward to ham. As for the rest of today, a little reading then maybe a film. See you all soon.

I Heard a Voice.

Solace in Music.

The first day back was okay; busy but okay. There seems a torrent of students struggling so much they are lighting the place up with spectacular visibility. I'm coping. We're coping. But getting somewhat frayed at the edges. Many have said they have never known a year like it. And we still have a few months to run until the quiet lonely summer.

I have returned to my post American football season of music and reading on a Wednesday. I'm really hoping a few nights a week can now be devoted to past times that bring me solace. The recording of Cosi Fan Tutte is not my usual one. I quite like this version. Soon I will see opera for real.

The mixed emotion of recent days following yet another death is more in check today. These events of the past 3 months have hit me hard as life was tough anyway. But now I feel a little stronger mentally it feels easier to see them as they are. Still not done my mood diary yet but I would venture on occasion into the realms of + territory and that hasn't happened very often as my struggles went along.

My medication levels are back to normal now. Yet still I sleep forever. I don't anticipate any easy early mornings for a while. I wonder when that will change as surely it will.

On a good note dad has booked our holiday. So we are off to Italy. I have been twice before both times to sing. But that was in the north. This time we go further south. My Italian is not up to much so communication could be a challenge. I wonder if I will find good food? I must confess the delights of pasta and pizza have never really grabbed me in any sort of embrace warm or otherwise. Let's hope I'm surprised.

I Heard a Voice.

And Then There Were Ten.

The overwhelming crowds that shut down St Pancras on Friday were long dissipated. On a day more akin to spring rather than late winter I travelled serenely back home without a hitch. The taxi driver made me laugh when he said "I take it you're retired"-do I really look that old? Over recent months the thought of being so wealthy I didn't have to work was most alluring but I'm sure I would get bored.

My time in Kent was very mixed. I went to bury one friend but did not expect another to die whilst I was down that way.

More than 20 years have past since I lost my first friend to suicide. She was a young nurse named Liz who I met in hospital in 1994. Diagnosed with manic depression, that's what we called it in those days, she always seemed happy to me. Then some weeks after I left to return to Kent she attended the morning therapy session on a Friday, told them all she was feeling a little bit down, then went home and hanged herself with a belt.

In the years that have past since a further 8 friends died by their own hands. And now it is 10. Tragically as we feared my friend did kill himself on Friday. The campaign running now called Spot the Signs clearly did not reach enough into his life. Every death is a tragedy, and those tragedies are rising. Only yesterday a major report came out on the chronic under funding of mental health and the politicians hit headlines lauding another £1 billion of funding. Is it enough? Of course not. Is it aimed in the right place? Only partially. We need to do so much more for young people. And we need to do better at stopping people getting so detached from meaningful emotional connections that they end their lives.

Sadly I fear it is not the end of the suicides in my life. I move in those circles most at risk so sadly it is inevitable.

I Heard a Voice.

Gathering on a Hill Top.

We gathered once again on a windswept hill top as we have done so many times before to wish our friend farewell. A bitter wind blew from the north freezing us all through. We have all aged but that is life. The mental health community here in east Kent came together in force today. Many I have known for 25 years. Without my breakdown I would never have met such a brave and lonely people. Mental illness spares no one on ground of wealth, colour, status, background, work or not. There but for the grace of God go I.

That pilgrimage to the top of that cold hill has been taken too many times in my life. And there was another death on Friday. We are fearing the worst on that one. When we are old we fear loneliness and our friends going. But what of those in middle age like me? I have seen too many. That is such a sad trait of the mad world of which I have been a part for over half my life time is that so many die young.

We visited mum's memorial while we were there. It is some time since I visited. Dad put a new plant there for her, she so loved her plants and garden. Before too long we will remember her on the 4th anniversary of her death. She still comes in my dreams. At other times in day light. I suppose that will always be.

I travel home tomorrow to restart normality on Wednesday. Mercifully short week then a rare weekend to myself. It has been pleasantly busy recently but I could do with a do nothing but cook weekend. I'm overdue some baked ham so perhaps that will adorn my menu on Sunday.

I Heard a Voice.

A Walk on the Beach.

The sun shone today. I woke late as ever, cooked a light lunch of chipolata hotdogs with rosemary and thyme. Some clearing, 37 years allows one to accummulate a lot of crap. And then a walk. It is always a trip down memory lane walking on that beach. So many memories good and bad. We've been here a long time.

Back home now via pint in The Bell the sun is showing its last, wispy clouds float past on the gentle breeze and it is time for tea.

In the oven a venison shank slowly braises in red wine with bacon, onions, rosemary, bay and thyme. Simple to do let us hope it tastes as good as it smells. Not the haunch I was promised but noteworthy anyway. I will roast some potatoes in goose fat to go with it along with some vegetables-will see what dad has.

Having carefully cleaned my boots with a view to tomorrow's funeral I now have to do them again after our muddy walk. Looking at the sodden ground it may as well have been raining for weeks. It has been a strange winter. Little snow to speak of thank goodness, but rain and mud have been the order of the season.

Another Sunday rolls by. Another week to come as we march towards Easter. Dad plans to book our holiday for the end of May or early June. We are thinking of Sorrento, Naples, Pompeii and the Amalfi coast. All new to both of us.

Take care out there and see you soon.

I Heard a Voice.

Rainy Seaside Towns.

As a young child before I went to King's we holidayed 2 years in a row in the Yorkshire fishing town on Whitby. Famed for its links with Bram Stoker's Dracula and Captain Cook it is idyllic in the summer. A couple of years later we moved to the seaside as well. When I went back to Cambridge in 1988 I discovered that Mike Sewell who taught me American history and more recently Head of Admissions at Cambridge and now Senior Tutor at Selwyn had grown up in Whitby. When I commented on what a lovely town it was Mike repsonded by saying not on a wet winter's day it isn't.

All these years later I am down by the seaside again in Kent on a wet winter's day. And Mike was right, it is utterly miserable. I've spoken before of the social deprivation of seaside towns here in Kent, or in Norfolk, or Lincolnshire or indeed Yorkshire. In winter they are all pretty gloomy. But give it a couple of months and they will come alive again.

Much as I love visiting dad this visit has a more sombre feel. Once again I'm burying my dead. Jackie's funeral is Monday. We will convene after with our ever decreasing group of friends from the crazy 1990s. Back then the ayslum was still open, we were pumped fill of drugs and the concept of recovery was so far removed none of us ever believed we would get there. I did in a manner of speaking. Yes recent months have been troubling but I'm still going, working, advising and failing. That is a good thing.

Between now and then rain or no rain dad and I will have a relaxing Sunday, he will go to church, I will read the paper then we will indulge ourselves in roast haunch of venison. Sounds marvelous. I return home on Tuesday. Right now that seems a long way off.

I Heard a Voice.

My Lenten Tradition, Music for Ash Wednesday.

Given my love of both Mozart and Requiems I play his masterpiece relatively rarely. In my not very awake state when I got up I felt it was time to rectify that and listen again in the car. I chose the latest King's recording of 2011 released in 2013. I never performed Mozart's Requiem in my time of serious singing. Many years later with confidence and voice shot I sight read it in 2 hours to perform in King's-great fun but I really am no longer good enough.

The reason I say not very awake is that had I thought about it I would have realised it is Ash Wednesday and my tradition degrees on that day as we enter Lent I always listen to Allegri's Miserere. Not once but twice as I have both the famous Roy Goodman recording in English and our very good recording in Latin of 1983. Both are sublime.

Most will have picked up from here that I am not religious. Dad is and Miriam is but I walked away. I go for the music and there are few more atmospheric days to go to King's than on Ash Wednesday and Good Friday to hear the sublime that is Allegri's offering to the world and posterity.

I'm blogging unusually early for a week day. The reason is not another day of ill health but a dreaded and anxiety provoking trip to the dentist. All fine but a relief it is over. Home early I have decided to do a Greek roast chicken with potatoes, lemon and oregano. It smells wonderful. Will have a nice glass of chilled wine with that later.

But for now I glory in the music of Renaissance and relax on what has been a pretty good day.

I Heard a Voice.

And Calm Returns.

Hello out there, how goes it? After the storms of yesterday, the downed trees, the crashing seas and the power cuts calm appears to have been restored today.

I'm doing okay too. I was a little apprehensive when I woke, for some reason at 7 am and not returning to sleep but it proved unfounded. My visit to the Single Point of Access with my governor hat on was useful and productive for both hats. I managed to catch up on a few things and narrowly avoided having a late night.

Getting home at 6 pm is slightly hampering my kitchen activities but I summoned the courage for a little pasta with bacon, shallots, garlic, pesto and pecarino. For a man with little inclination for pasta it turned out quite well.

It occurred to me at Miriam's that I am way behind on my mood diary. If I think about it I'm not in + territory but not really in - either. Sort of nothing but without that flat I don't want to know feeling. Sure that came to the fore on Friday and in a more limited way on Saturday but I'm not where I was even 3 weeks ago.

When I get weekend to myself to devote to cooking seems far off at the moment. I need to do a Saturday in St Albans soon to see my friend Thomas and I ought to get to London to catch up with Kiwi Sarah. But when? Balance seems missing at the moment. Something else to work on.

I Heard a Voice.

Wind Swept Fens.

The Fens can be pretty bleak and desolate in winter. The black unctuous earth brings up marvelous vegetables but the wind sweeping over the flat plains that run for miles out the North Sea can be a killer. Often from the east winter is bitter, long and painful at times. After all these years of writing you must all know how important East Anglia in general and Cambridge more specifically mean to me.

I have spent the weekend in the Fens. Wind swept all the time travelling home today as yet another storm hit was a precarious business. So with some trepidation I travelled back from one home to another. I made it after a couple of unexplained stoppages but it was not a journey without nerves.

Now I'm back my thoughts turn to food. Not just watching the wonderful Yotam Ottolenghi in Morocco on TV but also my great love of China. Once again the Chinese New Year is upon us and we enter the Year of the Monkey. As tradition decrees I will visit Yang at the Fu Hoa, fancy some crispy duck today.

You will all be pleased to know that as I had hoped Friday's blip was just that. I felt a little edgy on Saturday but now I feel okay. Work beckons in the morning, a visit St Albans is on the cards. Then another week. The following week will be short as I am once again heading for Kent following the death a a friend. I've lost count of the number of times I have been to Hawkinge Crematorium. When I'm there I will go to mum's memorial, it's been a while. And then we bid another goodbye to a friend from the mad world. They are certainly going with alarming regularity.

I Heard a Voice.

Too Far, Too Fast, and Too Soon.

Just as I thought I was going back to normal the malady of recent months came back to bite me today. My post yesterday was perhaps the most upbeat and joyful I have felt in some weeks not related to partying. I really did think I was back and running on all cylinders. Sadly it was not to be.

As the alarm went off this morning the body failed to move and the mind was in the grey quagmire of flat uninterested and worried outlook that makes life so unappealing. After grappling some time with the inevitable guilt I made the inevitable decision that I needed to stay at home. In the end I slept for nearly 12 hours.

My progress had clearly gone too fast. Although I remain tired and grey just like the wet world out there I feel more confident that this is a blip brought on my doing too much rather than falling to the bottom of the pit that I inhabited for so many weeks. I will bounce back.

Having little in I needed to go out for food. True I have a curry but I didn't want that so soon after getting up. Rather I had some Mezze in town and did a little shopping. Home now my energy levels are very low so not much planned from now on.

Tomorrow I get the train to Ely. Not back at work until Tuesday maybe that extra couple of days will do the trick to right the ship.

I Heard a Voice.

Get Up, Stand Up and Speak Out!

I vividly recall the day I first stood up in public and talked about my mental health. Whilst I say vivid, the event was but I'm hazy on when it actually took place. It was long before people spoke out. Time to Change hadn't even been thought about. It was the days when us and them was even more overwhelming than it is today. Us and them, them and us? Am I not both?

At a conference in Nottingham on Mental Health and Education my former tutor from South Kent College and present or soon to be boss wheeled me out in triumph. The reason I say present or soon to be is that part of me thinks it was World Mental Health Day 2000 when I was unemployed but more likely it was the spring of 2001 when I worked for Ian as a part time LSA. All I know is I stood up, told my story, and blew them all away. They were stunned and I was mobbed. Had anyone heard a real story before? Told without notes and with utter passion and conviction.

Both of those dates were prior to Risperidone. I was trying to escape to see my friend Jody who lived and still does in Nottingham.

That moment gave me power. The power to transfix as I had done in my singing days. The ability to bring tears of joy and tears of sadness at the same time. Speaking out gave me back control.

All these years later with 2 books, a career, a voice, 5 years of this blog, reviews, lectures, admiration in some quarters and criticism in others on this day the world talks about their mental health.

On campus we spoke on Time to Change #timetotalk day. And it was a triumph. Usually people don't engage. We spoke to a couple of 100. 46 students and staff shared on cards how they maintain their mental health. Twitter was aflame and we triumphed. What a far cry from the day in the early 1990s when I overcame my paranoia, fear, anxiety and depression to attend part of a conference in London. On that day I met and spoke to a commissioner. It was the first time she had ever spoken to a nutter like me.

I hope in a small way for all those who criticise me for being unprofessional what I have done to speak out in the last 15 years has done some good. Thank you all for listening.

I Heard a Voice.

Earth's Proud Empires.

I take no pleasure in other people losing out. I don't take much pleasure in being right when people miss out. I am simply a man with no power. During my studies I proposed a suitable way forward. It was theoretical but potentially real. It was held with such regard by some that it was short-listed for a University Award. Now 18 months down the line more and more of that plan is coming true. Sadly not the bit that advantages me.

The world has long seen empires. And as some fade and others rise the latter sometimes erase the former. That is what happened today. Not to me but to others. I never seem to have been very important in anyone's empire. My battles 4 years ago to advance my cause came to nothing. Simply didn't have the backing. Now another empire rises and who knows what that means for me. But I still don't feel important.

Today has made me tired. I discovered in my lack of energy that contrary to what mum and I always agreed on during our life today lamb can taste good when it's cold. A lamb salad was all I could muster but it was pleasant. My palate continues to change.

The question now is can I summon up the energy to make a curry for tomorrow? The chicken will be over it's sell by date on Thursday. There is no guarantee that tomorrow I will have more energy than I do now. So time to decide, to cook or not to cook?

I Heard a Voice.

Stuck in the Middle With You.

After today I'm very glad I didn't join the Foreign and Commonwealth Office after Cambridge, I would not have been a good diplomat. Shuttling to and fro various people with not all the answers and no power at all to do anything proved a bit of a challenge. The term "don't shoot the messenger" came to mind several times.

Today is over thank goodness. I got my fill of Rick Stein, had a very light supper, did the washing-the man repaired it today-and am now with my lovely on line friends. Another month has started. Good figures for January but a little less than for December.

I was delighted to learn today that Jayne has secured tickets for Don Giovanni for us and for Miriam and Nigel too. That will be a good thing to look forward to.

My mood seems okay, certainly better than even 2 weeks ago. The mantras are working to an extent although some days are harder than others. But I will keep going. Each day will pass and progress will or will not be made. Can I do it any other way? Probably not.

I Heard a Voice.