Hearing From a Past World.

Freud and my illustrious colleagues might have something to say on my choice of CD as I rushed out of my flat without any coffee this morning and raced to work. My love of Mozart is well known as is my love of requiems. At that moment in my hurry I chose to combine the two. It was only after that it dawned on me that it is my day for requiems. There was no conscious thought but maybe that is fate. For today marks five years since my mum died.

Given that day and with Mother's Day at the weekend I have felt less affected by it all this year. Perhaps it's because the hype in the shops seemed less in my face. Perhaps I'm too busy. Certainly I'm under pressure. But I have held my own today and on Sunday.

Now back at home Faure plays, my thoughts turn to hearing my past and I can reflect. Hence the post. In the background lingering memories of what came to pass and what didn't. I never solved the riddle of mum's unhappiness, anxiety and anger. I'm learning little pieces of the puzzle from Cedric. We had a long chat at dad's party. What I do know is I cannot erase the past. Only to live with it. And these years later I'm more at peace with mum than ever I thought I might be. We did make peace in the end.

I managed to catch up with dad at St Paul's yesterday. And wonderful to see Rebecca. Prior to meeting them I had a lovely lunch at Brindisa and a wander round the market. Not much was open but I saw the freshest seafood I've ever come across, there were no chaotic crowds and I was at my leisure. Other than a couple of bags of chillies I returned with little. I intend to go again during my week off.

And now it is back to my music. I will come back to speak again soon.

I Heard a Voice.

As Only We Can.

Not long after I had consumed a fine rare steak and I had just poured my second glass of Chianti the phone rang. Shortly earlier I have left a message for Jayne and anticipated it would be her returning my call. But it wasn't. Rather for the first time in a couple of years I heard the voice of my old friend Zoe. We go way back into the truly dark days of our mutual madness.

Yes Zoe and I met under the orbit of mental health services and as I did with so many made a bond that only the mad can understand. Yes we have our own language, our own perception, our own sense of loss and a fiery, intense relationship with people that can only know themselves.

What is the greatest qualification to work in my world? Many would say lived experience. That seems to be the term of the moment currently. It is true I'm held back a lot of the time not being in the "right" club. How many jobs have I lost out to because my background is from the wrong side of the fence? Will I ever join the other club? Probably not for both financial and ethical reasons. My judges are my students not anyone else. Given how widely known my name is in mental health circles around here I must be doing some good. Introduced the week before last as "the" Mark Edgar I hope that is for good reasons not bad. But I think I'm respected in many quarters. I just don't believe the hype. But my allegiance will forever be to my people however hard that can be sometimes.

A day after the voice from the past a warm sunny day is out of the window, I have the Messiah on and I'm trying to blot out thoughts of tomorrow. By rights I should be looking forward to Evensong and a half day where I will see Rebecca and possibly dad. But it is what comes before that I'm trying to avoid.

What I must hold onto more is that term is nearly over. It has been another marathon. Must try to book a week off tomorrow, fancy that break over Easter. Maybe my travels may take me to St Alban's, to Cambridge and to London. It is something to look forward to.

I Heard a Voice.

Replay on Monday.

The cold rain sodden air of recent days has given way to beautiful spring sunshine. The flowers are out and the wind has died down a little. It is the weekend. It seems churlish to be doubtful and self pitying after my last post but given what a hard week it has been my end forgive me for feeling a little jaded and anxious. That was the toughest week I have had for some time. I didn't get back until gone 7.30 last night after an emotion filled, threatening and frightening day. Sadly as I noted a few weeks ago we have only delayed the inevitable. Sometimes we simply do not have the answers. And neither do our partners in the police and in the Trust. I suspect there will be a return match on Monday but let us hope it is resolved without anyone being hurt.

Given the week it was never going to be good sleeping the sleep of the dead rather than the fearful dream driven state that so besets the difficult weeks. It came to pass that once again terrible anxiety filled dreams took away my morning lie in. I was up and dressed far too early. Given that the clocks go forward tonight and I lose an hour of precious sleep that doesn't bode well.

I must though take advantage of this fine day at home and away from it all. A rare ribeye steak awaits later with a glass of Chianti. I bought some watercress and smoked mackerel on my travels and will combine those with so new potatoes and a horseradish dressing for a light lunch tomorrow. Then in the evening Gary is coming for roast chicken.

It is hard to tell where I am mentally. My fragile sense of self certainly took a battering this week. But I do not feel too low or anxious.

A couple of tough days are coming up closer to home. The always challenging Mother's Day tomorrow and the anniversary of mum's death on Tuesday. So I must make the most of today given the anticipated bumps coming up in the road ahead.

I Heard a Voice.

Turmoil for the Innocent

On a day in which my temper was frayed, demands endless and systemic problems haunted me it seems foolish to talk of anything but the bigger picture. In my small world it has been a demanding week all round and one where people wanted answers I cannot give. But who cares on this day of tragedy?

I knew nothing of today's events in London until very late in the day. So another attack and more innocent blood shed. I'm not on anyone's side and I mourn for deaths of all innocents of any faith, creed or country in these terrible days of war that are upon us. Charon's Ferry starts on 9/11 and as I said when I wrote it the world is at war. And that war will continue as there is no negotiated settlement on a war at war with itself. Hate and victimhood are so destructive.

Those killed on the streets of London today are just as much victims as those in Paris, Brussels, Aleppo, Istambul, Sirte, Cairo. Ordinary people always pay a price for man's capacity to wage war on man. The towns and cities where victims of this war lay are too numerous to name.

I learned of the 7/7 bombing via a mysterious text from Miriam whilst walking on the beach in Kent. The rest of that day was spent searching for the safety of my London friends. Today I find my school friend Rebecca with whom I'm attending Evensong at St Paul's on Monday was about to cross Westminster Bridge at the time on her way to a meeting at the House of Lord's. That is too close for comfort.

Trying to make sense of today in all angles is vexing me on a Wednesday evening. So I will revert to type, The Magic Flute plays on and D H Lawrence awaits. Just a short respite of normality in a totally abnormal day.

I Heard a Voice

The Baker's Oven.

We don't have to go back too many years in history to the days when very few people actually had ovens at home. Long before my time but not inconceivable in the time of my grandparents. In those days a Sunday joint lasted a whole week and was cooked in the ovens of the local baker whilst everyone was at church.

Those days are gone but as everyone is at church I am playing the part of the baker back at dad's. Lovely loin of pork, on a trivet of its own bones, seasoned with salt and paper and skin lacerated by the skilled knife of my friend Mandy it roasts away as I write. It kind of explains why I'm up so early on a Sunday.

Dad's party yesterday was a triumph. Loads of friends, loads of cards and load of presents. The pub laid on a good spread, the beer flowed...quite a lot in Nigel's direction...and a radiant time had. I feel tired but fine.

These few days away have made a nice change. No worries about low mood, anxiety or the perpetual demands of the day job. A full week awaits before the next break. The week after that I'm heading for St Paul's cathedral to meet my friend Rebecca and hear Lancing College choir sing. Looking at the holiday days I have left I plan to take a week break at Easter. Not done that for a couple of years. After a slow start I'm amazed how the weeks have raced by in the always demanding and long Easter term. After that in the blink of an eye the brief summer term will come and go then the long quiet summer awaits. And with each step I move towards that milestone of a decade there. Hardly seem possible.

I Heard a Voice.

Road Madness.

The morning looked promising as I stepped out for the drive to work. The sun was shining, the air warm, my blazer was donned along with my shades. I hadn't yet opened the magic diary to ascertain what I faced today. It was morning and I'm never at my best at that time. But all seemed well.

What I didn't expect just a mile or so down the motorway was a lengthy band of fog. Bit of a surprise on a sunny day but off came the shades and on went the lights. As I arrived the University was shrouded in fog, the warm air was dampened and a kind of autumnal gloom held sway.

It did clear for what turned out to be a pretty good spring day. Thinking my caution of driving in-driving does make me anxious-could be relaxed a little I set forth home. Where the hell did all the idiot drivers come from? The traffic was chaos with people cutting me up inside and out. The roundabout at the University entrance is notorious, why stay in the inside land then cut across four lanes of traffic to turn right onto the motorway?

That there wasn't an accident is due more to luck than good judgement but all the way home the roads were packed, chaos reigned and every fuckwit in the area seemed to conspire to make life as difficult as possible. But home I made it in the end albeit 40 minutes in duration which is double the normal time.

A couple of hours later with my diet in tatters I'm back in my Wednesday cocoon of opera, tonight Pavarotti and Sutherland singing Donizetti grace my flat for the first time and my thoughts turn to reading. I do need to pack for my trip to Kent tomorrow. Yes I'm headed for the seaside again but from what I have heard it will be mightily colder later than it is now.

Since I last posted I have been unsettled. Reviewing my posts on here I realise that unease, unsettled, edgy anxious feeling has not just stemmed from the weekend's dreams but goes back to a couple of weeks. I feel more settled today despite the roads. I have to attend a meeting at the hospital tomorrow. That shouldn't really tax me but given I have never driven there since I crashed my car on the way to a meeting in 2013 that plays somewhat on my anxiety prone mind. It will be fine I know but I am my mum's son and I'm learning some of what life was like for her.

Not sure if I will post from Kent. If I don't have a good end to the week, chill at the weekend and remember we are edging closer to the Easter holiday.

I Heard a Voice.

A Poor Start to a Rainy Day.

Anxious work related dreams was not what I wanted on a Sunday morning lay in. Yet that was what I got. Often I wake anxious but not normally on a Sunday. Pulling back the curtains I was greeted with a wet day. The drizzle persisted until around half an hour ago. After a bad start I think I have recovered.

The tough last couple of weeks may well have brought about such dreams but weekends should be free. And determined to make something of the day I popped out for a short drive, a glass of local ale in The White Horse at Welwyn, and made a failed attempt to procure some fresh mint to make mint sauce later. I have a half leg of lamb to share with Gary and Ali. The whole leg was huge in the butcher and I thought spending £35 just on the meat was a little excessive. But we will have enough.

Home now I have done some tedious domestic stuff, Choral Evensong is on the radio and I'm thinking it is perhaps time for some Earl Grey tea. Tea on a dank day, maybe toast as well. Dank though it is it is still quite warm out.

Another trip to London was on my agenda yesterday. Not quite the glorious spring day of Thursday but I spent a lovely few hours with Kiwi Sarah, ate nice dim sum and came home with a bag of goodies from the Chinese supermarket. All set for my next cooking adventure.

Whilst I'm not dreading the morning I want to enjoy what I can of the last vestiges of my interrupted weekend; damn those dreams. A short week awaits as I catch the train to Kent on Thursday evening ready for dad's 80th birthday celebrations.

Have a good week out there.

I Heard a Voice.

Spring in London.

There is always merit in taking a day or a few hours away from a frenetic week. And it has been a difficult, frenetic, confusing and dramatic week. But I did not master all of the troubles of the mental health world as I took time out yesterday afternoon. And what an afternoon.

Taking leave of normality I walked to the station in glorious spring sunshine, the first outing for a blazer of any description, sunglasses on and with a sense that for a few short hours I could do as I chose. Culture was high on my agenda.

So it was that I pottered around the National Gallery admiring Titian and Holbein, contemplated how rich a vein of inspiration Greek mythology played in Renaissance art despite all the religious trouble of the age. Those Titian legends in the hands of Catholic Phillip II of Spain. What would the Inquisition have made of that?

Much as I love admiring art I can only do it in short bursts so an hour or so later I visited the church of St Martin in the Fields, a hotbed of music and culture. Many times I have walked past but never been in. It was a beautiful airy space, perfect in spring sunshine and with a small string orchestra rehearsing. I did not recognise the music but it added to a sublime sense of peace despite the chaos of the West End roaring on outside.

Then it was on to shopping. I usually go into Foyles when I'm there as it is one of the few places I know where I can buy classical music. I emerged armed with three operas, Handel's Rinaldo and Orlando, and Donizetti's Maria Stuarda. The first of those three accompanies my writings on here.

At that point more base instinct took over and to the pub I adjourned to wait for a couple of Selwyn friends. Many beers and a fine curry later I returned home exhausted but happy at taking time out to enjoy spring in our capital.

Now another weekend beckons. I did some teaching today. Went okay I think but I do find myself getting more and more anxious about those occasions. A fine dinner of cold beef has been consumed, I have a glass of red and I am back in that relaxed Friday spirit that was so lacking a week ago. A late rise tomorrow, another train journey then lunch with Kiwi Sarah in China Town. May the spring continue in this fine manner. Speak to you all again soon.

I Heard a Voice.

Unresolved Fear.

Another Sunday afternoon. It's been a day of sunshine and showers. Of sleeping late. Of a country pub. Of roast dinner. Of general laziness. And unresolved angst. It is not often that week day anxiety continues right into Sunday in my life. But this weekend I'm acutely aware that what I failed to resolve on not my best Friday will still be there on Monday. And still I can think of no solution.

And so the weekend has been edgier than normal. The pub was chaos last night, we can always count on boxing on TV to bring out the testosterone and cocaine fuelled idiots. As they drifted off to carry on their rampage I was ready to go until my Irish friend John caught me up once again in one for the ditch as he calls it. I stuck this week to only one extra pint. But still paid a price in sleeping later than I planned.

Not all has been bad. I managed to speak to three of my favourite people yesterday. I ordered the cake for dad's birthday. I made further plans with Miriam. The chorizo and chickpea stew last night was very nice. And a thick rib of beef is out waiting to be roasted nice and rare later.

Food can always win out although I continue to be amazed how hard it is to get good local produce that the supermarkets seem to both detest and overprice. Back in January the greengrocer in Hythe closed down. Now the one in Histon which Jayne frequents is following suit. And the paper decried the waste of prime cauliflowers in Kent as they are out "too early" and cannot get into the food chain. The madness of British food policy that Rick Stein highlighted back in 2002-2004 with his Food Heroes series continues now in 2017. Without food where would we be?

I will continue to indulge though, it is mark of my nature and sanity plan even if I don't always get the good diet right. But I am trying and some of the time succeeding.

I Heard a Voice.

Not My Day.

Yesterday's disturbance in my weekend calmness has reduced somewhat. I woke relatively early and much to my surprise was not overwhelmed with tiredness. I was expecting another edgy and uncomfortable day. It has not transpired like that but much of what I set out to do came to nought. So not exactly my day.

Intending to get my hair cut I found both preferred barbers shops full of kids and didn't feel like waiting a long time. I forgot things I meant to buy. But I did get a couple of things in a sale. A lunch trip to The Waggoners was also thwarted by crowds. So home I came instead a little despondent but not downhearted. Sadly my afternoon plan of applying for a job went the way of everything else, given my lack of profressional allegiance they wouldn't even let me past the first question. Oh well, it was not be.

So what now? I have Handel's Alexander's Feast playing, my book beckons and an attempt to put aside the angst of recent days and recall that it is Saturday, it's a nice day and I'm still standing upright mentally in a way I feared I wouldn't this weekend. Monday can wait until Monday.

The Sunday day of selfishness will be adorned with rare rib of beef, managed to get a beautifully aged joint at the butcher, and a glass of Portuguese red. My decadence did appear on my way home yesterday when I splashed out on some Chapel Down fizz for a special occasion. I do like fizz but it doesn't like me much, too many glasses of white still or sparkling always seems to give me heart burn.

I wish you all well for the weekend. Enjoy the sun if you can, eat fine food and award yourself the rest that you so richly deserve. 

I Heard a Voice.

Defeated and Powerless.

Rare is the occasion that I blog on a Friday. I certainly had no intention to come on here today. In truth I'm too tired and too hazy to do justice to my sometimes worthless trivia I share with you on here. The week has been exceedingly long, that's a given. But being so distracted and agitated when the week is over doesn't happen often.

All sounds quite cryptic I suppose. I'm not sure I know what I want to say tonight other than feeling powerless is one of the most soul destroying of human emotion. That is what happened today. A confusing and ever evolving story has been unfolding all week. And each step of the way as people look to me for answer I have been able to do little other than shrug my shoulders. I do not know all the answers. Well the mountain came to Mohammed not the other way round. And being completely powerless to do anything I advised a course of action that may be inadvisable but there was no alternative.

I do not know what I will go back to next week. Not often I feel out of my depth but I am now. It feels as if I have let others down. I'm full of a sense of failure that will no doubt when combined with the anxiety of uncertainly lead to a difficult weekend. It is Friday, Mozart plays, I have fine wine, I can sleep and I have a good book. But no my mind will not go to the good, only to the bad.

Reality may be different in the morning but on this Friday night when I should be at peace my mind is going over and over. These days it does stop after a while but remains an awful place to be until such time as it lets up.

I Heard a Voice.

Foolish Naivety.

Looking back there is some thought provoking conjecture and disagreement on when my mental health career began. Was it that morning of 16th June 1990 when staggering hungover and tired across Old Court at my college I picked up a letter that sent me headlong into psychiatric meltdown? That blisteringly hot day the following summer when I first saw the mental health team? Or when I heard a steel door slam shut in the Victorian Asylum where then send me for a "rest" just before my 22nd birthday? When I received a call on a cold November day asking if I wanted to attend a day hospital? The special hospital in London where they sent all the untreatables in 1994? Getting my first job at South Kent College as an overly qualified but unemployable teacher to provide learning support to students on my old programme for mentally ill people? Or going to work for Kent Social Services and the "enemy" as a Community Support Worker in the autumn of 2002?

Many starting points there and a myriad of answers depending on which side of the mental health divide you sit. What I do know is that almost a decade ago in June 2007 as I caught a train to Hatfield for an interview that changed my life I was an optimistic, arrogant and combative character ready take on the world and change it. God was I naive in my expectation. It was so much harder than I imagined.

Now I'm morphed from the rabbit caught in the headlights of that first year to an old, grizzled, at times cynical but also still getting results practitioner.

Today we interviewed a range of people for a mental health post which made me think back to that summer a decade ago that brought my life here. I wonder sometimes how on earth they gave me the job as some risk. There were certainly better qualified people than me who applied. But I had beaten the odds a few times in my career and the rest is history. The problem with history is it never sits still and it is always evolving.

Reflecting after a tiring but interesting day I have more Beethoven on the radio. It is Ash Wednesday so I will listen to the Miserere after this. And I must decide what to eat. It has been a diet free day. Big lunch and the temptation to get ribs. It is March and the year careers on. Easter will come and go and that decade mark will be marked. Have I really tarried in one place so long? That's never happened in my life before.

Have a good week, probably be on here again on Sunday.

I Heard a Voice.