Shoaling Sprats.

Some days in late summer and early autumn when mum was alive and enjoying her sea swimming the shoals of sprats came so close the shore chased by mackerel and other predators she could literally scoop them out of the surf onto the beach and take them home. Those were always good days for her, the freshest sprats for breakfast taking her back to her childhood growing up in a fishing town.

Mum never tired of her love of fish. I got fed up with it and eschewed it for years. Now in middle age I'm rediscovering some of the good things that she loved and slowly realising that beyond her difficult anger she knew and admired many things.

The reason I mention this today is that my travels took me into the centre of town on market day and the fish man had a barrel load of sprats. First I have seen them this season. Would have so liked to buy some but not really practical going back to work and leaving them all afternoon. Last winter I bought them from time to time in the supermarket. Now they are back I hope to again.

My reason for being in town was delivering my annual lecture to the social work students by telling my story. I almost cancelled. This was partly due to anxiety, partly that I'm fed up of telling my story and partly as I'm somewhat disillusioned by the increasing lack of engagement that such important students show. It is the lack of interesting questions that puts me off. It makes me very uneasy that people as young as 18 can train to be social workers.

Of course many have lived experience and want to change the world. We all go in as dreamers and believe we will do it. We never achieve that. The lack of interesting questions makes me question myself. Am I that tired, cynical and jaded that that change the world mentality is ridiculous after years of buffeting on the wave of mental health? I wish all well but I find myself increasingly getting into bad dismissive habits.

Some of this is down to the fluctuations of my mood. As I was the other week I am prone to dismissive arrogance. When it is elsewhere and I'm stressed I can look at people as a problem rather than working with them to find a way forward.

Being as I am I do not like getting things wrong. And wrong I get them frequently. Why I dwell so much on my failure?

With luck I will see my friends Kym and Peter on Saturday. Whilst I have my issues with therapists they are two whose advice I often seek. It is time for a restorative lunch and sensible words.

That said I'm not in a bad place. We have so far had no disasters. I have spent too much time on bureaucracy and not enough with students. But we are all still standing. Day 3 of week 1, God there is a long way to go.

But on we go, Ken Hom, Mozart and Ernest Hemingway are my companions on tonight's switch off. Tomorrow is another day.

I Heard a Voice.