Another Day in Paradise.

Under leaden skies I set out once again into the fray this morning. The evening chill too gave hint of autumn to come. Soon I will see the mists rising on the Mimram as I drive in. That chill is comforting for me in a way. In another it brings terror. There was a time when the coming of the new academic year brought about a mini mania, my buzzy times of supreme confidence that I was equal to that fray. And fray it is. But not today.

As I drove that short 10 minutes in with Simon and Garfunkel playing I reflected on yesterday. It was a glimpse of that fray to come. We were in London to risk assess. It is a busy bustling city which rarely slows down in the day. Not often I'm there in the week but walking from King's Cross to Euston I saw the detritus of a world that cares for some but not others. We may have the fifth biggest economy in the world but there are many poor and deprived. And tragically many live on the streets. We saw a young man on the corner with a begging cup in front of him crying his eyes out loudly. How could the world reject those cries? But the world did and walked along. There were others too in our short walk.

Phil Collins released the haunting Another Day in Paradise more than 20 years ago. But have we changed? I noticed last time I shopped that there was a box to put food for a nearby food bank. Next time I will buy extra for that. What to buy I don't know but I can spare a little so will do so.

In my world many are only a few short stops from the streets. The homeless population contains a large proportion of mentally ill people. As each year passes I see more and more students who go down that route when studies do not work out for them. It makes me ashamed but I'm powerless to do anything. That I guess is the real fray not whether I can cope with the next crisis, or demand, or expectation.

I suppose I have come out of the last recession relatively unscathed. I still have a job and the place to live even if I'm not happy with either at times. How different my life might have been. How different will the lives be of my old Kent friends who rely so much on kindness of friends, activists and families. I worry for some of my friends when mum or dad or both die. This world even now is not very forgiving of the mentally ill. As the press peddle myths that stark justify yourself and earn your place pervades and the most vulnerable suffer.

My influence on public policy is negligible. But I try hard with those I do support. And so on a now sunny August evening with Handel's Saul playing I am at peace. Let that continue when the storm breaks with the misty mornings, the chill and the moisture of autumn come for real.

I Heard a Voice.