Listening to Bob.

The great Bob Marley once said "you can't run away from yourself". In later years the not remotely great me described my travels as "itinerant madness". The translation of both is that wherever you go, you go with you. You cannot escape from yourself.

On a surprisingly nice and relatively mild Tuesday afternoon I'm wrestling with many things in my mind. The return to work did not go well. In the face of chaos the like of which usually only faces us at the start of the academic year I was simply overwhelmed by perceived expectation, the pressure I put myself under and that feeling that has been going on for at least the last two and half years that everyone focuses on what I do not do well and get wrong, it was clear I was not really well enough to be here.

Following a candid and quite helpful conversation with my boss I went home, not quite sent but as near as damn it. The feeling at home was utter desolation and devastation. And the alarming thought that my Holy Grail, the magic bullet that got me well and in the main kept me well since 2001 has stopped working. It feels pretty close to the truth in my vulnerable state. And it worries me.

Something has to be done but I don't know what. After terrible experiences in the past I'm very reluctant undergoing any talking therapies. Do I need a referral to secondary services? Is it even ethical that I should be? My name is widely known throughout the Trust. That those that are my close colleagues treat me? Interesting conundrum. And what pray would they do even if they agree? I do not need to do CBT which is the offering to those with "mild to moderate". But am I bad enough to hit the threshold for anything more helpful?

There were flashes of the darkest thoughts last night. I did what I always used to do, listen to, look at and read things that I knew would make me feel more desolate. It's what I call "mental cutting". Foolish I know but many of us are drawn to that in the darkest times.

Although I know it will come with me I have decided to escape for a few days. The bracing air of the seaside may be a bit of a Victorian myth but it gives me time to think and feel the presence of the mighty sea. That power of the waves. Let us hope it is not too wet to spend time there.

Am I running away? Away from myself? The greatness of some generals can be judged by their ability to withdraw, consolidate and fight another day. I will win this fight but it feels like I'm losing at the moment and need that tactical withdrawal. So I will board a train tomorrow and witness the full moon in pastures further south.

I Heard a Voice.

Early Retirement?

Earlier this week it was brought to my attention that someone who looms large in my past has just announced he is to retire after 36 years in his present job. I first met the organist and music director Stephen Cleobury in 1982 when he was the surprise choice to replace the incumbent Phillip Ledger as Director of Music at King's. I was an already troubled and angry 13 year old. But come to think of it what 13 year old isn't?

After the at times terrifying experience of Ledger's violent reign I felt quite optimistic. He actually had local connections to my area, his father had been a consultant psychiatrist at the asylum of St Augustine's in nearby Chartham. Could any of us have known that less than 10 years later I would become a patient there?

Although it did not become truly apparent until Christmas of 1982 for whatever reason Cleobury took an instant dislike to me. Years later he described me as "a little shit". Maybe I was but he brought it on himself by the way he treated me. My last two terms at King's were not happy and I took every opportunity to piss him in. Neither of us cried when I left in the summer of 1983.

Much as I detested him he had a delightful wife who was always kind to me and as the years went by she continued her kindness when we met. Then one year I was there she was nowhere to be seen. Unbeknown to me Cleobury had run off with the young female chaplain of Queen's College. She was my age. The scandal hit The News of the World and how his career survived is something of a mystery to me.

Nowadays he is always nice to me. Always gets me a good seat when I visit King's. Am I mourning this change? Not really. Good luck to him I suppose. He will never be my favourite person but we all make decisions that don't always have good outcomes for everyone.

Today as I while away the hours until my return to normality tomorrow those scars are faint but there. There were plenty of signs of mental illness in my life long before that scary incarceration in that asylum. I'm trying hard to fight back from the latest setback. There will be others but I will reach some sort of equilibrium and return once again to what is normal working life. It just feels very frightening on this day, in this little flat and in this little insignificant life.

I Heard a Voice.

Too Much Time to Think.

The trouble with not having a lot to do is the mind can overthink everything. My students do it perpetually. Me too. And when we think too much we can easily mentally talk ourselves out of doing. And as I say to my students we are judged on what we do not what we might have done.

My last day at work may as well have been in another century so long has it been since I was there. Who knew on that Wednesday as I left my office for home it would be more than a month before I would return? Ill health can affect any of us but I certainly couldn't have predicted that the cold dad had had for a while could turn into something disastrous. He is very much on the mend now.

And me? The self indulgent fraud that my mood tells me or natural reaction to difficult circumstances? The truth is I have been doing a lot of thinking in the last few weeks. Mainly overthinking. I haven't come up with any solutions other than that retirement when is comes does not feel very enticing. Whilst I have needed to be away boredom and stir crazy come to mind. Bronwen had a go at me as only those who have not experienced real depression can during the week. It was unpleasant and hard to hear but true. True but impossible. That is what low mood and despair bring to me. I can see it but life is not lived on logic but rather on emotion.

That my emotion has come back is a sign that things are getting where they need to be. The emptiness of medication induced nothing passed a while ago. What happens now is self sabotage and incessant self hatred.

My intention is to go back to reality on Monday. My manager sent a kind text yesterday advising me to take my time. But the time is nearly here. She said it was quite hard going there at the moment with lots of poorly students. But I cannot stay away forever. The longer I leave it the harder it becomes.

Each night I have gone to bed I have counted down the nights of sleep that I crave but cannot get when at work. Will my stamina and resilience return? I will only know when I do go back.

Before then though there is Saturday. Dull and wet I did go for a drive and a stop at The Horns. There was a wake going on but no one minded me perched at the bar with a pint of Oakham ale. My kitchen escapades have featured squid and will later turn to tuna. Tomorrow a joint of gammon awaits me.

Do enjoy this weekend. Another day in passing time. And time is going so quickly. For now I listen to Haydn and wait. See you soon.

I Heard a Voice.

Wanders on a Wet Wednesday.

There is something quite liberating about getting out having been stuck indoors for a while. Despite the incessant rain on this wet Wednesday I was mightily pleased to escape my flat. The reason for going stir crazy other than the recent mental lapse I've had was that the boiler was being installed. Having got up on Friday for a survey, Monday for installation and Tuesday to finish it off plus the anxiety about what was to come at the weekend I was pleased to sleep and get out once I'd woken.

In all honesty it is vile out there. The rain has eased a little after the deluge of earlier. I'm now back at the flat in the warm, consistent warm, and listening to Choral Evensong on the radio.

Where this all leaves me in the grand scheme of recovery I'm not sure. I'm still taking things a day at a time and not risking rushing ahead of myself. I lowered my medication to the usual level the last two days and have not been overwhelmed. I'm buoyed slightly by the recent installation but I'm trying very hard not to overthink what is to come. As the days tick by I anticipate my anxiety will rise again.

What will await me when I go back? I don't really know but I have no doubt when I do return my guilt could once again come to attack me. Obliquely hiding in the recesses of my mind is that worry about how my immediate colleagues are managing without me. Not because I'm fantastic but more because of the volume of students coming through needing help. I doubt that has lessened in the time I have been away.

Those are hopefully thoughts for another day. And so on this wet Wednesday I leave you all to complete another day. The weekend will soon be upon us and we move a step closer to whatever is our individual destiny.

I Heard a Voice.

Melting Snow.

The snow that was falling pretty hard this morning has given way to freezing rain. What settled is rapidly turning to slush and any freeze later could lead to some pretty icy conditions. It is grim out there so for the time being I am staying put.

Am I any further on in my recovery to last Sunday? It feel very static. Anxiety battered me as I lay awake in bed and even after my morning coffee. It has abated slightly now although thoughts of the morrow lurk. Not for work as I'm off until the following week. No for the coming of the boiler man. Once it is done it will be a relief but my mind is drawing all sorts of "it will go wrong" thoughts. I also wonder how I will occupy myself here with noise around having got up very early to let him start work at 8 am.

In the here and now I'm enjoying my opera, the paper is nearly read and I just put some pork in to slow roast. My friend Alyssa is dropping round after she has finished work in the pub to have some too.

I was invited out to Hoxton by my friend Jo for her birthday today but am not really up for doing too much. Really hoping they all have a good time. My capacity for away matches has been curtailed a lot in recent years by that underlying fear that is rarely realised. Anxiety you are a cruel manipulator. I do wish it would release its vice like grip on me.

Must try and ring dad and Miriam later. Want to catch her before tomorrow's flight. Dad seems to be doing much better, back to normal really. That is such good news. Must arrange a trip down to visit him at some point.

Take care out there in these treacherous conditions if you live over here. If reading from afar, enjoy your Sunday and see you in the week.

I Heard a Voice.

Alone by the Fire.

The air outside is cold and crisp, the sun is beginning to wane and the first vestige of clouds are appearing in the soon to be night sky. It is an anniversary day, mum would have been 86 years old today. That's some age. She still comes to me in my dreams, always alone, never with dad. March will bring up the 6th anniversary of her death. 42 as I was then seems an awfully long time ago now.

Recent events have reminded me of man and woman's mortality. I'm still trying to fight back the mental tsunami that hit after dad's recent illness. He is doing well. And me? I'm not too sure.

I had to get up early this morning as the plumber wanted to carry out a survey with a view to installing a new boiler on Monday. Another early start but I hope the results will be worth it and that constant tiring low level anxiety about heat and water will recede.

Having got up I headed out for a while. Went to the Indian shop in Hatfield for chillies and curry leaves. The added bonus is he had Thai aubergines in too so a curry at some stage this weekend. By chance I discovered another Oriental store. Had a wander round and pleased to find some groundnut oil, they didn't have any on the other shop. Then home via the butcher.

At a loose end this afternoon I took a drive in the country and ended up by the fire in The Plume of Feathers. And there amid the normality of a Friday lunch time of grandads, mums, dads and kids that I felt a terrible sense of loneliness. Rarely do I yearn for "normal" things I don't have, a house, a mortgage, a partner, a family. These are not things that worry me too much. I have made peace with what has turned out to be my life.

Yet still that empty, lonely feeling. We are all famous in our own little worlds. Will posterity remember us? The great and good get gongs, and pensions. The ordinary just stumble onward. Who will remember me in 30 years time?

On most days that doesn't matter to me. But on this day I remember my mum it is hitting home. We have such a small family. And those that are we rarely see. Must make more an effort to right that wrong.

Miriam and Nigel fly out to Sri Lanka on holiday on Monday. I'm sure they need the break and wish them well. I will miss talking to her for those two weeks. But I have my friends, my many friends. And with their help I will pick up out of this recent slump.

I Heard a Voice.

Rudely Awakened.

A loud buzzing on my door in the early hours was the last thing I expected when I went to bed last night. Through the medication induced haze of that time I was able to make out two police cars and an ambulance outside, flashlights and no answer when I picked up the entry phone. Whatever they were doing I seemed able to let them in and then went back to sleep.

Next morning there was no sign of anything untoward but my hunch is once again the people of the cursed flat downstairs attracting the angry response of the law.

Given how much I have been struggling the last few weeks broken sleep was not good. I can at least feel relieved that the inclement weather that wrecked power lines and roofs across the east of England did not impact on me here. Yet still there was an emptiness when I awoke.

Silly really as I had plans for lunch with Sarah today. And what a lovely lunch we had. A cauliflower and blue cheese soup followed by pork shin on a bed of lentils. Lentils are not something I eat often but worked really well. Add in a couple of glasses of Rioja and we had a great time.

Still though the underlying you're a fraud belief keep digging away at the foundation of my confidence and very being. I don't feel much at all today. Not low, not anxious but not happy and not relaxed either.

Back at the flat I'm listening to Beethoven's String Trios and thinking of a cup of tea. Beka just rang, I will call her back after this post.

However much I wrestle with mental deluge or mental nothing time marches on. Is another week really nearly over? This was not the start to 2018 I had hoped for. Lurking bleakly in my mind is the thought of many hundreds of e mails I will find when I go back. Doubt, always doubt.

Sensible head says don't worry, that is way off. Threatening head says you can never go back. But back I must go shortly. Why does life seem such hard work? I want for nothing yet still cannot manage the mental equilibrium I need. It is the curse of the indulgent west. And I am a child of that west.

I leave you now to return to Beethoven and make some Darjeeling tea. Take care out there.

I Heard a Voice.

Sublime Elgar.

You find me indoors this afternoon. The wonderful and sublime Elgar cello concerto is playing on the radio. The sun is shining at last. And where am I? Limbo land really.

Realising with the help of friends that I needed more time to get my mind working again I booked a GP appointment for yesterday morning then worried. Worried and worried. What if? What if? My untamed mind decided all sorts of nasty things. And with that came the guilt. I am a fraud.

As with most fears and anxieties what if came to nothing. I met a very kind and considerate GP who did what we both thought sensible and signed me off. So the plan such as it is is returning on Thursday of next week.

Somewhat liberated by that I forayed away from usual pastures yesterday afternoon and blew away some cobwebs. That was good.

Waking late today I am tinged with a sense of nothing. That trap posed by increased medication has come back. Empty but not as desolate as before. It is all part of the process. In retrospect I reduced the dose too early in the hope that I would wake up for work. But with that all the fear came flooding back.

I'm supposed to be making a shepherd's pie but my motivation is decidedly absent. It's not that hard to get the blender out, mince the leftover lamb and get cooking. But I can't. I did manage to make a chicken and preserved lemon tagine yesterday that was pretty good.

So I must think of alternatives. I have some crab meat, perhaps Singapore chilli crab. Not much to do with that other than some chopping. I already have leftover rice.

Should I be out in the sun? Probably but a warm flat, good music and little to worry about staying home seems a good plan.

I Heard a Voice.

Silenced and Ashamed.

It feels very much as if I tried to reduce my medication too soon. Yesterday was a complete write off, didn't manage to do anything other than spend money to stave off my fear. The loneliness of this setback is really hard. People are reaching out to me but I'm silenced by the shame of not being able. Able to do anything in particular.

Miriam said after reading A Pillar of Impotence that she didn't realise how ashamed I was not having a job. All these years later I have been employed since 2002. Mostly I function well but when my madness comes knocking as it has in the last couple of weeks it feels impossible.

I find myself on another dull overcast winter Sunday debating what to do next. It will only take a text to buy myself some more time. I feel I need more time but without purpose and structure getting well becomes harder. And guiltier. Although my anxiety has abated somewhat compared to yesterday, the void in my mind is now filled with thoughts of letting people down. And what people will say.

Not hiding myself away in my flat is imperative but going out means seeing people. And people ask questions. Questions I'm too ashamed to answer truthfully.

On balance I'm leaning towards sending that text. It will mean trying to get a doctor appointment and they are really hard to come by. I do know that time and medication will kick in. I have upped the dose again after yesterday. If I take time now then that may reduce time later. But it leaves people in the lurch. And stores more to do when I do go back. O what to do?

By tonight I will have decided one way or the other. And have to live with the decision I make. Now I return to Don Giovanni and bid you all a happier Sunday than I am experiencing.

I Heard a Voice.

Hiding in the Darkness.

A few summers ago dad and I went on holiday to Spain. Madrid, Salamanca and Toledo. On that trip I read the wonderful book Reasons to Stay Alive by Matt Haig. On the face of it another man battling with depression. Someone close to home once wrote a very similar book; me. Unlike me Matt Haig is a successful author and his book was a bestseller. A worthy book though. In it he described adding anxiety to depression as like giving cocaine to an alcoholic. I've never tried cocaine but I get the message. It is crippling.

The recent downturn in my mental state has in large parts been without that anxiety. True when I last posted on Tuesday it had been very bad but in the main it has been conspicuous in its absence. But just as I thought I was getting better it comes and blows me away.

Waking late I was overtaken by terror. What of? I do not know. All I wanted to do was hide in the darkness under my duvet and run away from the world. It was huge fight to get up but eventually I did. To what? Another grey dank day and not much cheer.

With the exception of bumping into my old friend Michael and having tea at his house today has been a complete write off. And the prospects do not look good. The thought of an alarm going off on Monday morning, getting up, going in and ploughing through the hundreds of e mails I will find is absolutely overwhelming at this point.

It seemed so much better yesterday. What will the rest of the weekend bring? I had made it back into the kitchen but can think of little worse than doing that now. When I stop cooking I know I'm in trouble. Perhaps last night was too early to reduce my medication back to normal levels. Will I have to go to the GP next week? If I do what will I say? Mentally despite my ongoing fears I have done quite well in recent months.

Once a service user always a service user. Anyone in the business that I tell I'm on Risperidone always says "for how long?" Why is that relevant? I need it. And today I need lots of it. Go away world I don't want to see you today.

Alas I cannot just switch that off however enticing it seems. Life goes on hour by hour, day by day and week by week. I will fight back but today goodness and happiness seem a distant memory.

I Heard a Voice.

They Came in the Night.

Having spent several days enduring the desolation of nothing and emptiness my mind decided to explode back into action just as I went to bed last night. Fear and worry with a cascade of thoughts. What followed when finally I went to sleep was violent terrorising dreams. Dreams of destruction and torment.

The following morning when I woke late there seemed just ruins. The mind has slowed but the wreckage of bad sleep pervades my waking. My mood remains low, I have to force myself to cook and eat, the thought of structure and purpose is sadly lacking.

Running short of a few things I headed off to the Oriental Store in Hatfield to resupply. An over eager traffic warden tried to ticket me in the two minutes it took me to get to and from the ticket machine. They didn't have all I wanted but there was sufficient.

Back in the home town I was tempted by that old fallacy that spending will bring me happiness. I didn't and it doesn't.

At the flat Haydn plays and I recuperate from my exertions. It is cold, grey and miserable out so will be in for the duration. My mental outlook seems cold, grey and miserable. I look in the mirror and see a ghost, worn, grey, haggard, a personality and life rubbed out by the eraser of depression.

I know that given time I will get better. I just do not want any more of those terrible night time challenges. In daylight however dark it seems so pointless. How can a mindset of despair ravage a middle aged man in the privilege of the West? Why, why, why? I keep asking myself that.

An advantage of being at home though is that I can see re runs of Rick Stein's French Odyssey which are playing. Whilst French was far from my greatest skill at school I have learned to love France from afar and how food is central to their culture. I have been many times, twice to sing, once on an exchange at school-I hated it-and also for a holiday that fateful summer all those years ago when my life fell apart. There have also been many trips on ferries to buy cigarettes when I smoked. Perhaps one day I will go back. Ros speaks very highly of her trips to Brittany.

I retire now to my Haydn, my silence and my untamed mind. Please enjoy the day despite the gloom, one day the sun will come back.

I Heard a Voice.

Desolate and Empty.

The view in my world today is not good. Emptiness and desolation pervades all I view. The darkness came back in force last night. I thought I had beaten it but it was a temporary diversion from where I was. My medication is a powerful force in my life to use wisely. I have needed it the last few days.

The price to pay though is a mental knockout that leaves me with nothing. Nothing to see, nothing to hear, nothing to feel. And that is a difficult place to be.

Waking late and un-refreshed I toyed all morning with what to do on the morrow. The original plan was going back into the fray to keep going. But it was clear by mid afternoon that was just an impossible dream. And so I sent the e mail and text that keeps me in my emptiness for a few days. The response was mercifully positive. Take that time.

I don't want to speak to anyone today. I will only eat because I have to. The Magic Flute plays at its normal level but is largely unheard.

Some time was taken watching the Rams from last night. Their first playoff game since 2004 ended ingloriously with a defeat at home. I am not surprised. I never bought into the Super Bowl hype. A big learning experience and given the futility of recent years a triumph none the less.

In the morning I have to put up with another visitor, an electrician coming to do a check. It has been done twice in two years so why again? Couldn't they instead send someone to change the boiler? That would be far more helpful. So I limp on on this cold day not knowing if and when it will finally give up the ghost.

My last year promise of limiting my posts has not quite carried on. I blog more when things are amiss. And amiss they are. Thoughts are with dad and his recovery. But it makes me feel a fraud. Why does it do that to me? Conning the world with self indulgence crosses my mind many times a day. But it is real just as the last 27 years have been. Mental illness can be so callous and cruel. May it go as rapidly as it came.

I Heard a Voice.

Glimpsing Inside the Gates.

I once read somewhere that depression didn't exist in India until Western companies decided to locate call centres there and local people were exposed to the folly and arrogance of the West. Is depression indeed an invention of lazy self indulgent people who live where I live? Is it just an excuse to opt out of obligations? Given all the horrors of the world, and there are many, how can this be?

For the last two days my mood has fallen through the floor and I find myself felled once again by an old enemy. My mood is low, I have no motivation, I'm desperately tired, I'm challenged by every little problem and I feel like a big fat fraud. That's called being depressed.

That it has come now seems a little bit of a mystery. So my break did not quite go according to plan but I was away from the chaos, dad is getting better and there are no major clouds on the horizon. Yet still I feel like shit.

Bronwen told me last night I looked like shit. I certainly felt it. In dire need of sleep I maxed up my medication before bed and slept the sleep of the dead. But to no avail. It is not shifting.

As I left to go home after seeing my friends that old familiar, the one whose name we never mention started whispering again. Not the voices of my deep despair when psychosis hits but that friend who is not my real friend. My safety net. For briefly I glimpsed inside the gates of my own created hell and saw only one option.

The thought did not last long but I was reminded that I was once where many of my students are. And sometimes I'm dismissive of them. We always forget how dark the dark can be when we have emerged into the light. Even in the twilight of coming disaster that friend usually remains silent. The mind will not let me remember the darkest times.

The glimpse was just that. It moved off in the night. Lacking in any motivation I shambled around in town. I spent some of my voucher in the hope that it would lift the gloom; it didn't. My travels ended in The Waggoners where I ate little but enjoyed the company of Gary and Ali who had been out walking.

Tonight seems empty. I do not want to cook. I do not want the morrow. I want to switch off and immerse myself in nothing. Maybe the extra medication will help me with that.

I Heard a Voice.

Insomnia Wipe Out.

There are some nights when I just can't sleep. My mind goes into overdrive, flits from thought to thought, leaps into work anxiety and generally wrecks my precious sleep. I never know when it will happen but fortunately it is nowhere near as frequent as it was in the early years of my madness.

Should the average person not accustomed to powerful sedating medication take what I take they would struggle to get up before the evening. I learned that to my cost when they decided some years ago to make a change in my medication. After months of insomniac frustration I persuaded them to go back to where we were. When I went up to full dose I didn't wake up until 6 pm. Time builds tolerance though so mainly I do okay.

Last night was a complete wipe out. I got up to watch TV at 2.45 am. Went back to bed at 3.30 am and by last look at the watch it was almost 4 am when I finally slept. Fast forward to 12.20 pm and finally I woke up.

Too late to make my plan of London. Disheartened at the waste of my so needed holiday I have shambled around today in a daze. The impact of last week's crisis is playing on my mind. Am I paying the price for that terrifying fear I experienced a week before? That it would have a knock on impact should come as no surprise but I was trying not to think about that.

Of some solace is that dad reports feeling much better. That is a huge relief. That has to be the priority but I still need to look after myself.

Somewhat lost I did some food shopping and searched in vain for something to spend my vouchers on. I then retired to The Crooked Chimney, I do like a good pub with a roaring fire. Only three days left to try to recuperate. Then chaos.

I did enjoy my afternoon and evening with Sarah. The Last Jedi was fun but far too long. Gratuitous profiteering in the same light as The Hobbit trilogy setting up yet another overlong film. But can we put a price on escapism? After we were entertained by Yang for some fine crispy duck.

Now as the afternoon wanes and the darkness falls I'm taking comfort from Mozart. Perhaps it is time for tea. See you soon.

I Heard a Voice.

Wet Winter Afternoons.

If it remains the same as this I will not see the full moon tonight. Wet and overcast, a dull winter day. At least I didn't have to go into work though. Many will have gone back today but I remain free and at a loose end.

Braving the rain I set off hopeful of buying something nice in the sales. I have a couple of vouchers that I got for Christmas. My intention was to order a freezer. Sadly though the one I was after is not in stock anymore. So forlornly I wandered round the the rest of the shop but found nothing of interest. Nor indeed in any other shop. So empty handed I ventured forth in search of a late lunch.

And I found it at The Waggoners. The most beautiful tomato soup with a touch of tarragon. That was worth it. Empty handed is not entirely true as I bought a few things for the fridge to feed me in the coming days. Sprats will be a delight tomorrow before I head on out to the cinema.

Back in the warm, the heating is holding, I have put on La Clemenza di Tito and will while away a few hours with a book. I have neglected both my books in the holiday but there is time to start up again.

Later I must call dad. He didn't have a very good night so I'm told but is seeing the Doctor today. It will I suspect be a slow process to recovery. My friend Michael will go and visit at some stage this week. And Miriam is hoping to go down at the weekend.

On such a dull day it is hard to keep my mood up. I woke somewhat flat to be greeted with such a poor day. Rain is not much fun. But it will brighten up sometime so more adventures will await during this well timed week off.

I Heard a Voice.

All Things Considered, Doing Well.

The last four New Year's Days have not been kind to me. Four years ago I came down with whooping cough. The year after a heavy cold. Last year a virus and terrible hangover. And now? I feel pretty good. That is a huge relief given recent events.

I deliberately took things fairly gently last night. Had a lovely dinner with Gary and Ali. Much to my delight the loin of pork did not toughen up as it sometimes does. The Hedgehog was loud and had more than its share of idiots but I had a pretty good time. Heading home not too late I indulged in a glass of Rioja and some cooking programmes until 3 am. Then bed.

Good though I feel I remain tired. Sleep has been odd during the recent crisis with dad. Tired but often waking. You may say nothing new in that but the anxiety that has so plagued me over recent years was not in evidence. Fear yes at what will happen with dad. But that is different to the ludicrous worries that the anxious mind torments me with. Yes the worries in the flat continue, the boiler has reverted to its troublesome self. But I plough.

Gary and Ali are returning the dinner invitation tonight. Be nice to give cooking a rest. I ventured out for a bite of lunch at The White Horse. Lovely potted seafood and focaccia.

Back at home Classic FM plays and I've just made tea. Wonder what the rest of the week will bring? Hopefully better sleep.

Wherever you may be reading New Year will I hope be good to you. Take care and catch up another time.

I Heard a Voice.