May Day in Town.

I guess it was a good day to be in town. By town I mean London. Given that I have never lived there barring a four month stay in a psychiatric facility in 1994 I don't suppose I should really call it town. But vestiges of English public school have bequeathed me this somewhat pompous view of the great city.

May Day hadn't really crossed my mind except to text a birthday message to my friend Michael. I was heading for Borough Market to meet by cricketing compatriot Charlie for lunch and provision shopping. The crowds were back and the sun shone. It was a beautiful day. As we moved a few yards from The Southwark Tavern to Brindisa we heard the bells and clattering of Morris Dancers and I recalled what day it was. Should have been in Padstow I suppose but Borough on May Day was great.

Wonderful lunch, bacalao, prawns with chilli and garlic, artichokes with jamon, squid and Catalan black sausage and a couple of glasses of ice cold Estrella beer. Add in the great company and it was a splendid start to the day. I bought many things in the market and spent far too much but it made me content.

Little did I realise that travel chaos awaited my journey home. There were no trains out of King's Cross and the whole of the east coast ground to a halt. Salvation came via a circuitous route of St Pancras to St Albans then a number 300 bus to my front door. Took a while but got there in the end. Miriam was not so fortunate coming home from work, it took her 4 1/2 hours.

Waking to pouring rain it seemed once again that the stubborn proclivity of winter to hang on to us had struck again. There was a purpose to today and that was my follow up appointment with the psychologist. Having felt pretty bad about myself the previous time I had a sense of dread. But it was a little better. I'm not tearing myself to pieces as I did a week ago. I'm trying to be measured and see things in a different way.

We're still only at assessment stage. Next week we will decided if there will be a plan and if there is what it shall be.

I'm still uncertain of where this will lead but I know something has to change and maybe this can help that to happen.

Back in the flat Mozart plays on opera night. I have a glass of Albarino. I'm coming to the end of Mary Wesley's The Camomile Lawn and am progressing with Chris Stewart's Driving Over Lemons. My great saviours of opera and books are working tonight. Let's hope that sense of order and calm continues tomorrow and as the week progresses.

I Heard a Voice.