The Luncheon Interval.

For all of you who read this from countries not playing or familiar with cricket it may seem strange that a sporting contest can last for five days and each day is stopped for the luncheon and tea intervals. So quaintly English. We do indeed do that and we are famous for afternoon tea.

Today's luncheon interval was just what I needed to pick me up. Both days this weekend have been marred by chronic anxiety over such stupid things as freezers and hoovers. I kid you not but that is what my brain bequeathed me on waking. More and more I am understanding what life was like for mum in the last years of her life.

This is utterly ridiculous but all too real. Beka keeps telling me to talk to someone about it. But having been one of the original guinea pigs in the wave of CBT that pervades our services I'm certainly not going back there. My "psychotherapy" was an unmitigated disaster and has made me suspicious of therapists ever since.

Sometimes people erroneously think that I provide counselling. I do not, I just have conversations with people, tell them what I think, share my rich tapestry of experience and for many that is helpful. I'm not in therapy as some therapists are. True I seek wise counsel for wise people. But I do not leave people with their own thoughts.

On this day the luncheon interval came to my rescue. Hass picked me up from home and we had a beautiful lunch at The Waggoners. It was so good to see him and hear of his new post university life. He is loving it. We talked of past and future and it made me think once again that to move on I must shape my destiny. Just feels so desperately hard knowing which way to turn.

Back at home in the warm I'm listening to Handel with a cup of Darjeeling tea and a good book. I feel very full on this damp day. Full moon will appear later but the clouds will obscure my view. I wonder what it will do to the asylum that is my life. If we believe in old wives' tales it could be busy. I'm less anxious now than earlier. Looming on the horizon I have my annual lecture to the 1st year clinical psychology doctorate students on Thursday. Each year it has been a triumph so why am I so scared? It lurks already in my clouded mind. I'm thinking more and more about giving up the teaching and public speaking. But that will be admitting defeat. I must face my fear and triumph.

Take it easy back in the land of work next week and I will speak again soon.

I Heard a Voice.