Mozart, Always Mozart.

A day on from my unexpected slump in mood I think I have bounced back okay. So I didn't sleep well and was tired. Actually I haven't for a few days owing to violent and work dreams. But despite that today has been okay.

Coming to the end of a decade was once momentous. 30 years ago my life was flying and I knew nothing of the calamity that lay over the short horizon. 20 years ago I was with friends for the for the end of the century and once again calamity was about to strike. That that calamity would bring me to salvation was not on my mind. I'm no longer friends with our host that evening, he turned out to be a charlatan. Ten years ago I have been here a little over two years and I was flying with the prospect of Cambridge looming on the horizon. It didn't work out and I slumped. And today? I'm struggling with work but I'm back on an even keel.

The decadence of my life needed a fitting end to the decade. So it was medium rare duck breast pan fried then oven baked along with roasted dice potatoes and vegetables. And a glass of Chianti. What else could I see out this year to? Of course it has to be Mozart.

So as The Marriage of Figaro plays a fitting accompaniment to this New Year's Eve I wish you well. Happy New Year and may you all prosper in 2020. I intend to enjoy myself despite the cold, grey and wet day outside. Have fun everyone.

I Heard a Voice.

Lonely Melancholia.

Perhaps it was waking up in fear? Maybe parking on campus? Or having nothing to do? Worries about money? Whatever it was as I sat eating my lunch today I was overwhelmed by a sense of loneliness, melancholia and despair. A junior doctor some years ago wrote on my notes dysthymia. An all pervasive low mood chronic in its nature but not as bad as it might have been.

Come June it will be 30 years since my life descended suddenly and decisively into mental illness. The labels I've attracted are not kind, true or helpful. That I survived against odds every doctor bet for is something of a miracle. Yes I fought back, got out and tried to lead a normal life.

Yet still I'm cursed with this sudden descent into depression and despair. In truth I always wake up terrified. The bad dreams are not frequent as they once were but they still come most mornings.

A week today I will be back in the thick of it at the university. The waiting list we left behind at the end of term will have grown. In three weeks time one of our immediate colleagues is changing job. That prospect is also terrifying. Often I wonder what on earth I'm doing. But I have to work.

Tomorrow is New Year's Eve. It will dawn when it dawns and it takes me closer to the coming fear. New Year's Day will be spent with Sarah and her family. I'm blessed with extraordinary friends yet still the loneliness creeps back every once in a while.

With luck I will snap out of it soon. I cannot afford to have another relapse. Each day comes and I get older. Sometimes wiser but always flawed.

I Heard a Voice.

Moving on From Catastrophe.

It was two years ago today that I stepped out from this very flat into the winter cold to do a little shopping, drop round to dad's surgery and to meet Beth and her then new boyfriend. Little did I know that a few hours later catastrophe would strike and our lives could have been diminished forever.

Dad had been ill all over the holiday. Who would think that the common cold could kill an almost healthy old man? After asking for a home visit from the GP, doing the shopping and meeting Beth I returned to the flat to find dad had fallen. I waited for an ambulance for two hours. It was the longest two hours of my life. Driving to the hospital an hour later I saw dad in bed hooked up to a drip and fighting for his life. After they decided he was well enough to go home I pleaded with them to keep him in. He couldn't stand up or dress himself. He was incoherent and looking terrible. Eventually they agreed to let him stay in.

Having driven 60 miles to and from the hospital in freezing conditions I eventually made it to bed gone 4 am. I slept little. The next day I collected him and stayed on to look after him. Terror was my only emotion. Sprinkle in a mountain of anxiety and you get the picture.

When I finally got home I thought we could just bide our time, take it a day at a time and he would get better. Little did I know my useless landlord who had scammed me for nine years was about to turf me out of my flat. That is what happened.

My relapse of 2018 was worse than I could have ever imagined. I was off work for nearly 6 months, I lost all my confidence and the belief that I had beaten mental illness was shattered.

Reflecting two years on, dad is well, I'm well, I live in a much nicer flat, the agents look after me, I'm back at work and I've hit 50. How does one avoid catastrophe in that way? Dad would say God. I do not know.

But I do know that we survived. And we thrived. It is my last day in Kent. Tomorrow I return home. I'm relieved I have no work until the 6th. When I get home I will live, thrive and relish both. We survived. Now I will leave you with the note that we can celebrate out of catastrophe, thrive on adversity and know that the apocalypse can be averted.

Take care.

I Heard a Voice.

Thunderous Waves and Fierce Wind.

As the sun set after a glorious Christmas Day we walked to the beach and took photos. A day of excess was a great success. Roast goose, Christmas pudding, wine and good cheer. I was so tired I was in bed before 11 pm and slept for twelve hours.

Waking late I walked to beach in a fierce wind and was confronted by what my mum would have called riotous seas. She would not have swum today. There is beauty in calm and beauty in chaos here at the coast. The sea is what I missed no longer living here.

Miriam and Nigel are just about to drive home. I'm sticking around until Saturday before the drive I dread begins. I'm not much of a driver but that long slow post Christmas journey is not what I like. Will be relieved when I get there.

My holiday has a way to run though. All of next week I will tarry away from the university. I certainly need more time to recharge.

I will post again before New Year! Have fun.

I Heard a Voice.

Sunny Beaches and Christmas Cheer!

Christmas greetings from sunny Kent! After an uninterrupted drive down on Sunday I have basked in glorious winter sunshine since I got here. There have been some hiccups, no food, left key at my flat and a goose that was too big for the tin. But we're doing okay. I did my wrapping, I detest wrapping. A key has been secured along with an bigger roasting tin. Miriam and Nigel got down this morning also to uninterrupted traffic. I escaped to the pub for a couple of pints this afternoon. The ham has been studded with cloves and smeared with a mix of brown sugar and whole grain mustard ready for tonight. Even Waitrose was comparatively straightforward.

So now to the celebration. A year that has at times been brutal is now over. I have no thoughts of work other than a dream in which my colleague was pregnant. Shows how jumbled up thoughts can be in the subconscious, she's actually covering someone else's maternity leave.

As I reflect I'm surprised I'm so optimistic. The strange thing is that all my predictions re work have come true. I know what works and what doesn't. 30 years as a lunatic teaches us many things. These cannot be learned by books and essays. Bitter failure is what teaches us.

Who knows what the New Year will bring but I made it through dark days to another celebration. I hated Christmas before Risperidone. It was not always great with mum especially as her anxiety got so much worse at the end of her life. But we now take our time, consume a lot of wine and have a great event.

For any of you who follow regularly it is that time when I wish you a very Merry Christmas. I may come on to say hello tomorrow. I did try to post a picture of my glorious walk along the beach yesterday but sadly the technology got the better of me.

Take care and have fun!

I Heard a Voice.

The Last Train for the Coast.

A light drizzle was beginning to fall as I walked back to my car this afternoon following a brief foray into town. Finally managed to collect my contact lenses, restrained my spending and had a lunch with Yan.

Back in the warm of my flat I'm reflecting on what has been a brutal term. Yes I've finally come to rest. Chaos until the end the scourge of misinformation on the internet threatens to undermine all our work. As predicted the new way of doing things has not stopped the did not attend notes on our recording system. We now have a waiting list which we will struggle to get through. Is change good? Not from where I'm standing. It can all wait though until 2020. It's has only just dawned on me that a new decade is looming. Feeling utterly distinguished at 50 life seems as complex as ever. Yet I have my friends, my family, my flat, my kitchen and my opera. Not forgetting the books. In fact I have so much that is good the wasteland of mental illness is not knocking on the door today.

Last night I went out to dinner with Sarah. Misya a Turkish Cypriot restaurant opened earlier this year but thus far I haven't made it there. I did last night and it was stunning. Moist chicken, succulent lamb, not had food that good since the glory days of Gardinia in Cambridge back in the 1970s. Will definitely go back. Sarah gave me an un-feasibly large present. No idea what it will be but will have to wait until my return to find out.

Tomorrow I head for the coast. Not as Don McLean famously sang on the last train for the coast but by road. I'm not a great driver but each Christmas I drive to Kent to spend time with dad. This year we have glazed ham, roast goose and venison casserole on the menu. Yes I will see friends. Yes I will drink too much. Yes I will spend too much. But I will be at rest. Thank God for that.

Not sure if I will get to post as dad is having IT problems but if I don't may I wish good all a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.

I Heard a Voice.

Even the Beast Fell.

Two days on from what to some was an apocalyptic election the dust shows no sign of settling. My left wing friends, and I have many, who spouted forth so vociferously before the election are now ranting on how unfair it was. On an historic day the left were routed. The Beast of Bolsover so famously acerbic in the house for so many years was unseated. Tony Blair's old constituency fell to the Tories and swathes of the north voted against their natural instinct. Rightly or wrongly we now have a working government.

I relish the idea of moving on after the chaos and deadlock of the last two years. I do however fear for the poorest and most vulnerable in our society. None of us yet know what life outside the EU will look like. But of one thing I am certain we will leave for good or ill.

Excited though I have been following events it has not been plain sailing. Waking on Thursday morning to pouring rain and a miserable outlook I was full of cold. Coughed so much I hurt my neck again. Except honouring my pledge always to vote I barely moved all day. Yesterday as the world digested the political earthquake I was once again laid low.

Now at the weekend I feel better all round. On a blustery day I ventured out and finally completed my Christmas shopping. Only the wretched wrapping to do, hate that.

Back at home I'm listening to Christmas Carols on Classic FM and applauding myself for at least sorting the washing, the rubbish, and mopping the floors.

I'm looking forward to seeing Sarah later. A Venetian dish of pasta with Byzantine spices and prawns is our fare tonight. I intend to enjoy this weekend before facing the long awaited end of term. A week tomorrow I drive to the seaside. Enjoy your Saturday and I'll see you all soon.

I Heard a Voice.

Voting in the Rain.

What a foul day outside. I guess that's the price we pay for a rare December election. I woke full of cold and feeling utterly miserable. Have things caught up with me? Did I overdo it last night? Whatever it is I spent most of the morning in bed.

Knowing the huge significance of the day I braved illness and pouring rain to vote. We must get an outcome after the paralysis of the last two years. I was too young to recall the three elections in a year in the early 1970s. This though was the fourth time I have voted in the last five years including the referendum. The great strength of democracy is that there are checks and balances. The weakness that we get a mess of a government that cannot get anything done.

I have studiously avoided making public comment on here or on any other platform. But I do believe we must get Brexit done even if it is a foolish idea. That too is democracy. Please let there be some stability by this time tomorrow so we can move on.

After that effort I intend to stay in in the warm. The Varsity match is on at Twickenham so will watch that as long as I can stay awake. No motivation to do anything else though. With luck this cold will move off as swiftly as it came. Don't fancy spending days in bed.

My car is now done and although it cost more than I'd hoped at least it will allay my anxiety for a while. And it could have been worse.

Assuming I get well soon there is only a week to go. Then finally to rest. I'm looking forward to going back to the sea and setting aside all troubles that laden me even if it is only for a couple of weeks.

I Heard a Voice.

Lazily Killing Time.

The bitter wind that swept over the campus the last two days has died down. The rain has stopped. And a cold but bright day has ensued. I'm not on campus today as my car is being serviced. That my fear is not entirely under control came in the form of a dream of a huge bill I can't afford to pay. Unprocessed thoughts and fear running rife. At home in the warm I'm lazily killing time listening to Radio 3 and coming to blog for the first time this month. I'm hoping no news is good news on my car.

When I last posted on a day off I rather jumped the gun. Had I held on I would no doubt have been recording my close shave with another terrorist attack near my beloved Borough Market. Shaken up by the news my relief that I didn't visit that day as I might have done was palpable. As dad said "God was looking out for you".

The days since then have been intense and at times difficult. My work does not let up and at the weekend facing another two weeks before my break I was despairing and running on empty. Things are fraught and tense but we will make it in the end.

My attempts to prepare for Christmas have met with limited success. Some is done, some is not. I have chatted to Miriam and dad about food. No doubt there will be several trips to shop for all the forgotten bits. Fortunately Waitrose is only a short walk away, the spare bedroom looks out over the car park. I'm planning on buying the cheese. I like doing that. Why did I not get cheese for so much of my life?

Tonight I'm going out with my friend Bronwen for her birthday. Quite looking forward to that. Until then though I must wait for the call on the car. Fingers crossed it's all good.

I Heard a Voice.

A Rare Friday to Myself.

The sun finally came out today. Days of rain have left the ground saturated, everywhere the fallen leaves are slippery and wet. On this Friday I have the day off. My original plan to go to Cambridge was abandoned last night as I was so tired. Plan B was scuppered by lack of funds to go to Borough Market. So instead I ventured out in the cold but pale light and had a wander in town. My hair is now cut, I have Sarah's birthday present, I'm restocked with wine and my fridge is ready for the weekend.

I enjoyed Thanksgiving Day yesterday. A triumphant turkey thigh roasted to perfection with marvellous roast potatoes, vegetables and a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc all accompanied by an evening of NFL made it very special.

Slept okay in the main and woke up late. I feel relaxed after a difficult week at work. The only anxiety is when I went to collect my prescription it wasn't there. Despite me requesting my consultant to extend my review date for some reason the message didn't get to GP. Now they won't give me any until I have a phone consultation on Thursday. Cutting it a bit fine so suspect the anxiety will build.

That aside my weekend will be in the kitchen. I am going to Jo's grandson's 1st birthday party tomorrow. That should be fine. On the menu there is chorizo and chickpea stew tonight, Lancashire hotpot tomorrow and roast chicken on Sunday.

Back to it on Monday. Three more weeks to go. Everyone is exhausted so we need to hang on. Not sure things will improve in the new year but at least I'm meeting some interesting people. That keep things ticking over.

If you are coming to the end of your working week enjoy the weekend. I certainly will.

I Heard a Voice.

A Chink of Light.

An inky black sky hung over the campus late this afternoon. What light there had been was fading. But I could see just a chink of light. All day it was dark, gloomy and wet. November is waning and it has been a bleak one. I'm edging closer to a rest. But still there is more to do. I saw some interesting people today. Few had I seen before. I guess it was a good day.

Four days have now gone since my last post. I have been in unexpected turmoil following the news of the death. Funnily enough my long neglected blog has been lit up by the news. Not for what I posted at the weekend but for a post where I mentioned Cleobury in that dark despair of January 2018. Should I feel guilty for my post? No. Did I tell the truth? Yes. Truth of course has many angles and I'm sure the great musician that the world mourns despaired at having to deal with me all those years ago. I was vile to him and he was vile to me. At 13 generally we are vile. We do not have to be as adults.

Today is the first time I feel okay. It has been a hard journey since Saturday. A lot to talk about tomorrow when once again I get to rant and rave in therapy. Actually I don't rant and rave, well not in a loud way. Slowly though all those years of anguish and hate are coming out. Am I feeling better for it? I'm not sure but I am sure I'm pleased I went back to it.

Back at home my kitchen took me to Thailand. Pretty good. An evening of watching the Rams has been curtailed by the thumping they took from what may be a best team in the NFL in Los Angeles last night. The Super Bowl hangover. I will watch another day. For now I look forward to episode 4 of Rick Stein's new series. So far I've cooked two dishes from the book, rack of lamb with dauphinoise potatoes, and pork medallions with prunes and cognac. Didn't quite nail either of them but they tasted great. Will do better next time. See you then.

I Heard a Voice.

Another Link Severed.

We rarely speak ill of the dead. Of course that means at a time of bereavement we do not speak the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. How many funerals have I been to are a glorious celebration of life with the worst bits airbrushed out. Always. This morning I woke to the news that Stephen Cleobury had died. You may not know who he is but I have known him since 1982 when he became Director of Music at King's. I was in my last year and looking forward to a new world after the at times brutal, violent world of Philip Ledger. Brutal and violent maybe but terribly exciting. We thought we were the best in the world. The fact that I never hear recordings on the radio from those days belies another story.

I was sadly mistaken in my optimism. Cleobury took an instant dislike to me and my final year was soured by what might have been. My favourite memory of him as the world mourns a "great" man was gleefully grinning at him as he had to move aside each time I went up to receive an athletics cup during my final prize day in 1983. I almost swept the board so he moved quite a lot.

I do not wish his surviving family ill. That he betrayed his wife for a woman my age did not kill his career. I have very fond memories of Penny who was always kind to me. My thoughts too are with their daughters who will be in the mid 40s now.

Where I'm at is a state of very mixed emotion. My cousin Cedric keeps telling me to let go of the past. But on days like today the demons come out to play and I live in a strange state of wanting to berate myself for being too unkind but also remembering the scars that have marred my mental health since I was a young man.

My emergence from King's left an angry, damaged and arrogant teen. Being a teenager is horrible enough but I do not like who I was then. Foolishly when I had my breakdown I thoughts recovery was about going back to who I was. That was a mistake.

Now at 50 I'm sitting in my small but warm flat. Beethoven string trios play. I have vegetable stock bubbling away on the hob. And I'm alone with my thoughts. No doubt in good time I will cook. I will drink tonight and I will go to bed. Tomorrow is another closer to work but also to the end of term. Next week will be a short one. Friday is booked off. Vague idea to go to Cambridge and hear the choir. No longer will I get a good seat, Cleobury owed me that much and was usually graceful when I saw him. Oh how the sins of the past are glossed over.

I will not attend the funeral unlike when Ledger died in 2012. No doubt the press will trumpet a wonderful man. The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. We keep alive fond memories. I just need to bury the past.

I Heard a Voice.

Through Frosted Fields.

There is a savage beauty to the landscape in late autumn when the north wind bites and the bitter cold bedecks the fields with a sharp frost. So cold this morning I couldn't even get my car key in the lock to go to work. At my old flat I was able to keep my car undercover but at the same time I forever worried about kids sheltering from the rain and wind to smoke their spliffs and awful weed. That anxiety that they might damage it or do something malicious added to that overall sense of fear.

Driving in through those frosted fields lit up my journey. I like days like today. When I got there we only had half the team owing to leave and illness so we were up against it somewhat but by close of play we had got a lot done.

We are approaching the final bend of the track on what has been a gruelling term. I've stood up well in the main but still struggle to deal with the constant fear and expectation that I can never really match. Another person is leaving although she's an outsider who works with us. But she is my friend and I will miss her. She messaged in glowing terms yesterday recalling the day as a trainee nurse she heard me speak and give them all a real perspective that can never be gleaned from a text book. Funny that several years ago that programme twice tried to recruit me to an academic post. Oh what might have been? But we are judged on what we do not what we might have done.

Once the days was over I drove home in heavy traffic. Enough was enough. Heating went on, the kitchen hosted my efforts at making cottage pie and I am listening to Handel. A little reading after this. I feel okay. Not done my mood diary for a few weeks, should I go back to it? I see my psychiatrist in a couple of weeks. Be nice to see him after he was off sick for sometime. He too heard one of my lectures and told me it was the best and most memorable of his MSc. All those gigs have dried up now but maybe one day.

Take care out there in the cold, easy to slip over on the ice. Until I next appear, farewell.

I Heard a Voice.

The Waning Moon.

A quiet Saturday afternoon in November. Dull and grey out. But it is mild. After a cold week I will welcome that. There is not a load to report on the week that was except driving home most days to the light of a beautiful waning moon. The power of the moon always draws me. Is there anything in the full moon and my people? Some day yes, others say there is no science to prove that. But the world of mental health is anything but a science.

Sat at home in the warm I've just heard the Byrd Five Part Mass Credo. Marvellous stuff. I recorded it many years ago and recall in those days finding it all a big and not very interesting effort. Now in my middle age I marvel at the sublime music. I missed so much as a child so I guess I have to make up for it now.

My plans for the month have not worked out as I'd hoped. Disappointing but will help the austerity measures. Having booked the last Friday of the month off though I'm not going to waste it. So assuming it's not hammering it down with rain I will hop on the train and go to Cambridge. A nice lunch somewhere, a wander, a pub or two, and maybe go to King's for Evensong.

That day out will be spent alone but that is okay. Sometimes I like my own company. I will not be alone tonight, Sarah is coming for dinner. A rack of lamb and some dauphinoise potatoes, green beans and a glass of Chianti. From Rick Stein's new book which I'm very much enjoying.

The kitchen though is a little way off at this stage. Around 3 pm I'm popping out for a pint at The Waggoners. Hoping to meet some friends after their walk in the woods. Would have been nice to join them on the way but it's very muddy and I can't stay too long. Another time.

Enjoy your weekend everyone and I will see you soon.

I Heard a Voice.

Subsisting Alone.

A few days on from the mental desert that erupted on Tuesday I'm slowly recovering. I stayed home Tuesday and Wednesday. Should really have done so on Thursday and Friday too but determined not to let anyone down I ventured in. Now it is over for a couple of days.

Alone in my warm flat I have every intention of shutting the world out. My own company can be okay, tedious, fearful and all myriad of other feelings but today it feels vaguely okay. My mind is stirring back into functionality. Not there yet though. Still perplexed as to what happened but I will just be for a while.

The only task I will set myself this weekend is to cook. In a few years time I imagine young people will only know of existence of butchers' shops through Google, Wikipedia and old sepia photos. They are sadly dying. But it is amazing what one can find. My venture out this morning brought me duck eggs, cherry cake, rump steak and chicken thighs. A duck awaits roasting for Sunday lunch. A beautiful egg curry that I just made up adorned my lunch tray. And out of choice I will share with no one.

Cold air from the north is chilling the November days. Soon it will be here for the duration. But I'm in the warm so the gloom is not really a factor. Having just listened to the end of Cosi fan Tutti I have moved on to Mendelssohn's violin concerto. I have a lot of his music but it usually gets eschewed in favour of Mozart, Handel, Beethoven and Haydn. All good stuff though.

My thoughts turned briefly towards Christmas shopping when in town. Must get going on that at some point. Found something to get Sarah but not anyone else. I'm still husbanding my financial resources after last month's battering. If I stick to my plan of only buying things I need, curb the eternal urge to go out to restaurants and make my own lunch for work the savings will mount up. A very small lottery win made me smile but I won't be retiring any time soon.

Take care on this cold day. See you all soon.

I Heard a Voice. 

Watery Mess.

After yesterday's wipe out I had hoped today that I would be feeling better. In fact my mood is as flat and grey as the day outside. Deciding staying home was the best course of action I went back to bed and ended up sleeping close on ten hours. It didn't help.

The grey damp autumn contrasts with those beautiful but chilly days when the sun shines, the hue of the leaves dance around in the wind and that sharpness to the air that sometimes happens. No sign today though.

Venturing out to buy bread and milk several times I almost slipped on wet leaves and mud as the rain came gently down. Not so good for the mood.

Since getting home I've been quite reflective on what might have gone wrong. There was a death last week that stirred painful memories. A passing incident in the pub of a chance encounter with a coked up drunk idiot where no harm was really done but brought back some of the darker recesses of my mental powerlessness. Is that what is happening? I don't really know but we will see tomorrow when I go once more back to therapy.

The odd thing about today is that the anxiety and edginess have dissipated. That is good. But what I'm left with is that same sensation that usually happens when I increase my medication. That terrible emptiness of thought and emotion. A general feeling of being low and devoid but with no capacity to respond. Medication is at normal levels and hadn't crossed my mind until an hour ago that maybe I will have to do that.

My gloom is however being slightly moved by Handel's opera Orlando. A warm flat, no expectation and glorious music may go some way towards restoring my balance. See you all again soon.

I Heard a Voice.

Paying a Price?

There's no sign of the sun today. An pale light pervades a landscape of fallen leaves. After a weekend of excess I'm not doing so well. What might have been was not and England were blown away in the World Cup Final. Watching with South African friends marked a memorable day. They celebrated, we commiserated. In the melee and chaos that is starting so early in the morning Ali lost her wedding ring and I lost my poppy. The ring was found and the poppy can be replaced.

What may be harder to shift is my edgy, fearful, shaking and low mood. Looking back whilst I've not been flying I have been elevated in recent weeks. Setting aside the endless demand to deliver the un-deliverable I have none the less thrived. Is that a crash or a blip?

Sleeping poorly set it off. Bad dreams and restlessness did not make the start of the day much fun. I'm devoid of motivation although I did manage to do my shopping, get petrol and have lunch. But that has left me exhausted.

An afternoon on the sofa beckons. Currently listening to music from the Reformation on the radio I guess it is not a bad start. Whether I can summon the energy to cook later is something I will discover. Currently have no interest in eating or drinking.

The wider world continues in its vein of chaos. Another election is looming, the UK is still in the EU and we're still none the wiser. I long since lost touch with truth here. Does it really exist? I will leave that for another day. Take care out there on this grey day. See you soon.

I Heard a Voice.

Sharing a Drink They Call Loneliness.

On a grey but mild day England are victorious at rugby. Dominated the All Blacks and brought a smile to my face as I drank my morning coffee. After a tumultuous week I will settle for that.

The week was marked by long traffic jams on Monday, too much to do on Tuesday, desperate attempts to catch up on Wednesday and Thursday and utter intensity yesterday. So I was somewhat exhausted when I limped home on Friday afternoon.

What struck me more than anything was the loneliness that some experience in life. Mental illness can be a solitary place to be. Low, tired and unmotivated the darkness that envelops us in the dark despair can be shattering. The human condition encourages social activity. But for some that is near impossible.

My years following my breakdown were lonely. And when I moved here it was crippling at times. Yet all these years on as I remarked last time I am no longer alone. Well not if I choose not to be. Even then though I'm always surprised that others talk on me. I popped into Jo's niece's 21st birthday party last night and for the first time met her eldest son. And he knew who I was. Funny that people talk of me.

The rest of the weekend will be quiet. My friend Shelley is picking me up shortly and we are going to The Horns. Tonight I cook Thai prawns and tomorrow roast belly pork. The joys of being alone is that I choose. The Rams play at Wembley tomorrow so I will watch that.

Do enjoy your weekend and I'll see you all soon.

I Heard a Voice.

Welcome Home?

A light drizzle fell on a cold autumnal day. I'm tired but sated, hungry but full. After a very mixed week I was relieved to get to the weekend. Monday was a free day so I went to Borough Market. Spent more than I should but not overboard. I had a drink with my friend Julia after market then cooked roast wood pigeon on Tuesday. All went well the rest of the week then Friday came. I came home shell shocked, attacked and vulnerable. But I made it to end of the week.

The realisation that I've been here a long time came yesterday in the Two Willows. Under its previous incumbent and name of the Cork and Cask I returned to my old local from all those years ago when I moved here. My friend Marie was visiting and after splitting up for an hour or so to wander we agreed to meet in the pub. Whilst I was waiting for her a woman I did not recognise came up to me and said "I know you from years ago." I could only ascertain that we may have met in the very same pub back in the early days. Still unable to place her it seemed strange that I'm accepted here in Hertfordshire after the loneliness of those early days. I have a home but still feel itinerant. Should I have moved back to Kent a few years ago when the opportunity arose? I think I made a mistake. But I'm welcomed here, an outsider who did not go to Monk's Walk School. I do not know everyone here for my life. Yet they accept me.

As we move ever onward towards winter my life is still unsettled. Yes I go to work each day. Sometimes it goes well and sometimes it doesn't. I have a sense of fear for the morrow knowing how much catching up I have to do. Will the demands be beyond my control? Sometimes they are.

That can wait though. After roast beef for lunch with Marie, Ginger Pig bacon for supper, tomorrow is another day. I will worry about that in the morning.

Have a great week and I promise I won't be away so long next time.

I Heard a Voice.

Celebrating Us.

My real name is Mark. I live in the UK. I sang in King's College choir in Cambridge as a child. I studied at Cambridge twice. I have been unemployed and unemployable. I have a job. I live in a small flat. I have friends. I have a small family. I live alone. I've never been married. I have no children. I like cooking. I like beer. I like wine. I like opera. I like Inspector Morse. I have triumphed. I have failed. I have fought back. I have survived. And I have a mental illness.

When I started writing this blog in 2010 I wanted to promote my the forthcoming first book. I also wanted to celebrate food and cooking. The audience has waxed and waned. At the moment it feels as if hardly anyone is out there. But it doesn't matter, I like writing this tome.

There are many aspects to my life, good and bad. Yet on this World Mental Health Day I come here as brutally honest, mentally naked and utterly vulnerable. Back when I had my breakdown no one talked about mental health. We were still locked up in grand but decaying buildings that could not be seen. Now everyone is talking about mental health.

After my breakdown in the lonely despair the first people who reached out to me were the mentally ill. Yes us, the people we celebrate today. Some say I sold my soul to the devil by siding with and working with the enemy. I swore I'd never do that but when it came down to fighting back the teaching profession didn't want me. The mental health world did.

Some fifteen years later I am tired, jaded and cynical. I berate myself for being less compassionate than my colleagues or indeed I should be.

In midst of the chaos of the start of another academic year I'm ashamed to say I didn't wear yellow to celebrate this day. In truth I avoided those e mails. So much pressure has been put on me to do something over the last years that I dread the words World Mental Health Day.

Coming home though I posted on Facebook about this day. I was stunned to get a comment from a friend of twenty years openly saying she wouldn't be here today without me. It put in perspective what felt like I day I had failed and utterly let people down.

Today is our day. But to get out of there we must choose life. My 20s were defined by mental illness and my identity was purely that. Now I am many things. Many things both flawed and good.

I will take that after a tough day. Steak and chips adorned my table. Acis and Galatea accompanies me along with a glass of good Chianti. Tomorrow is another day and I go back into battle. And yes much of the time it is a battle.

Enjoy this day for this is for all or us. The mentally ill, the colleagues, the families, the friends and what I would never have said back then the professionals. Do take care out there. For once I will sign my real name.

Mark

Misplaced Optimism?

The midweek optimism that buoyed me on Wednesday had waned by late Friday. Now I'm more uncertain than before. Yes we have the usual horde of people wanting to see us. But that was to be expected. What I'm struggling with is too much change too quickly. At times my head was spinning and I was not at all sure what I was doing. In my haste I made a silly mistake on Friday. Thankfully my colleagues picked it and hopefully what might has happened may have been averted.

It's left me thinking over the weekend on things I usually banish into the corner. That there is a lot going on is expected. But twists and turns that I've not seen before are derailing me.

My session with my therapist on Wednesday was tough but helpful. In another way so too was meeting my supervisor on Thursday. How did I ever manage without that in place for all those years? No doubt I will bounce back and fight off adversity but a nasty suspicion still lurks in my mind. I may have been optimistic but my caution that I tried to ignore may have been right all along.

The weekend has been good though. Yesterday I met up with Kiwi Sarah for lunch and a trip to the Tate Modern. I'd never heard of Olafur Eliasson and modern art is not my thing but it was a special afternoon. The fog room was an astounding and unnerving experiential masterpiece. Add in some lovely walking along the south bank, seeing old haunts around Borough and just enjoying her long lost company is was a great day.

Today I'm tired but not low. I'm cooking slow roast shoulder of lamb, Mitridate, Re Di Ponto is my chosen opera and although cold I feel relatively comfortable. I was offered a ticket to the Bears and Raiders in London but too short notice. I will watch on TV instead. The solitude of the day suits me at this moment.

The week to come will unfold. There will be dramas, tears and sanctuary for some. I do some good sometimes it is just trying to blot out when I don't do any good that I struggle with. Time marches on and I go with it. Until next time.

I Heard a Voice. 

The Immediacy of the Moment.

One of the great challenges of the modern world is the immediacy of life. Phones, texts, e mails, Messenger, Instagram. Are we ever allowed to switch off? Having been caught out in the early hours of Thursday morning by a phone being on and a call I should never have received last night I switched my phone off to sleep. This morning when I turned it on I was greeted by an unexpected, unpleasant and unwanted message. The curse of immediacy and expectation was not nice on what I had hoped would be a happy day. I am not always good at getting back to people but I do try. Sometimes though I miss things but that is being human. I am buoyed by the fact that I know that particular person has significant issues with mental health but it feels unnecessary and hurtful.

After a not so good and slightly hungover start the day dawned dull but mild. Now it is chilly. Too early for heating but getting that way. I had a wander in town and lunch with Yang. I bumped into Sarah which was nice. I'd spent a couple of hours with her sons last night, another unexpected turn of events. Good fun even if I paid the price today. Back at home I settled down to watch the AFL Grand Final. And what a win for the Richmond Tigers!

You may be wondering how the start of term went. Well mainly well. There's a lot of change and it will take some getting used to but we are getting there. Thursday was fraught and tense on many fronts but I have made it to the weekend. Mainly spent on my own it will involve steamed monkfish with ginger, soy and sesame oil tonight and roast beef for lunch tomorrow. The Marriage of Figaro is on Radio 3 tonight so perhaps that and a book. I'm behind on my reading as I am watching too many NFL games.

This coming week I will see my therapist and my supervisor. Be good to get some input on both fronts. Not that I feel in need but sometimes reflection away from the day to day can be most helpful. Monday brings pay day and Tuesday October. Can this year really be going so fast? Enjoy your weekend and see you soon.

I Heard a Voice.

Awaiting the Dawn.

Greetings on this beautiful day. I'm told the rain will come tomorrow At home I'm listening to Tosco, coming to talk to you all and about to set the beef rendang going.

So on this day where am I? It's been a weird and turbulent few days. Things are very unsettled but I can feel stirrings. My mood may be about to make a leap upwards. Can I transcend the chaos that will come with the dawn on Monday? Were my mood not going up I might fear the coming tidal wave and darkness that has happened many times. But not now. Not with this mood. The dawn will come and it will be light. Not darkness and foreboding.

The challenge will be to stay calm, not irritate and alienate people. And to manage not to go over the top as I did last October in my car to the sounds of The Dead Kennedys. It has been twelve years since I started here. Yes I've made many mistakes. But I have also helped many many young people and I hope taught some of them that it is not only possible to live with mental illness but to thrive.

Whilst I've felt stuck at a crossroads for several years now, the motionless traffic does not worry me today. What my fate will be in two, or five or ten years I do not know. I do know that I can do this and sometimes do it well.

Before the dawn there is food and music and books. Never run away from the joys of your life whatever they may be. For a life without purpose, time for you and time shared is no life at all. Hiding away breeds thinking, worrying and collapsing mentally. The darkness of that hole in January 2018 is no longer where I am now. I never believed I would get back to this place. But we always do. It takes courage, will and sacrifice but it can be done.

Next time I appear on here I may have crashed, I may be flying but I know that I am me with all the faults and virtues, all the knowledge and all the frailties. That is a given. On this day though be thankful for this all, good and bad. See you in the week.

I Heard a Voice.

Sullen Skies, Smooth Ride.

The sky was sullen and grey. The air mild but damp. And the sea was very calm. Thus I set forth this morning to return home. A sharp contrast to the glorious weekend, more than a hint of autumn was about. Catching the train at midday I mused on how my journeys have been transformed by investment in the dozen years since I left Kent. The fast train has cut my travel time almost in half. The stations I use most regularly have morphed from tired, decaying, dirty chaos into shiny new and modern stations. We all moan about the price going up each January but it has certainly made my experience so much better. Off the train at St Pancras, walk across the street and straight on at King's Cross. They don't always get it right but it was a very smooth ride today.

Back at home a gentle drizzle fell as I went food shopping. A pan fried herring is on tonight's menu along with some new potatoes and watercress. Tomorrow prawns. I cooked and ate well at dad's. True yesterday's unplanned three hour lunch left me stressed and fraught but the food was good. Wood pigeon was a revelation roasted on the bone although I under-cooked dad's slightly bigger bird. The roast pork was great.

After supper I think I will watch the West Ham game. I relived the Rams win last night via a recording this afternoon. Thoughts of work are far away although I know I will wake with a jolt tomorrow and think I can't do this. We are close to chaos but I will stick to my mantra of a day at a time a task at a time.

In a couple of weeks who knows what I will be feeling but I have a greater support network now, a therapist, a psychiatrist and supervisor. In that respect I'm better equipped to return than for some years.

I will give you an update on opera night. Now I must go and cook my herring.

I Heard a Voice.

Glittering Sunlight, Shimmering Sea.

The bright sunshine reflected over a shimmering sea as I caught the bus from Folkestone down to Hythe early this afternoon. I have escaped for a long weekend in Kent by the sea. Such a beautiful day, hard to believe autumn is here. The moon will be full tomorrow I think. All troubles of work are cast aside for a few days and I'm back in my homeland relaxing.

My return to work passed without much incident this week. Yes long meetings. Yes fears of what is to come. And yes we still obsess about process when reality is not like that. The onslaught begins a week on Monday and I will be stretched to every sinew of my emotional being but I'm as ready as I will ever be.

I saw my therapist on Wednesday for the first time in a month. As ever it didn't quite go as I'd expected. I spoke of things I've rarely voiced from long ago. Back in the days after my breakdown I would have expected a gasped, sympathy laden response. All these years down the line I'm more capable of dealing with that not happening than I was then. That is the way of therapy. Maybe I wasn't ready then. Maybe I was too ill. And maybe I was still too angry. But I emerged more upbeat than I had imagined and am now a little clearer on what I must do going forward rather than the fog of suspicion, mistrust and self aggrandizement that was evident before.

For now though that can wait. Passing through St Pancras on my journey I found a bookshop and much Graham Greene. It transpires there is currently a republishing of many of his works. I found and bought a copy of The Honorary Consul which I've been after for a while. The chap in the shop also pointed out a book I'd not heard of before. I didn't take in what it was called but it is there for future reference.

I face an hour or two of nothing as dad is at the bowls club. I'm cooking bangers and mash with peas and onion gravy for supper. A shower shortly and a little reading will pass the time until I cook. Not worked out what else I will cook this weekend. Maybe more to come in the coming days. Until then, enjoy the sun.

I Heard a Voice.

Treading a Familiar Path.

Half a life time ago I used to walk up Charing Cross road perusing book shops, eating cheap Chinese food and generally escaping from life in London. I've never lived in London but from March until July 1994 I spent time in a psychiatric clinic near London Bridge. It was the elite treatment for the un-treatables that everyone else had given up on.

I met amazing people, behaved in a very juvenile way and generally struggled for that time. The treatment had a non existent impact on my illness and they abandoned me when I didn't do what I was told.

You will know what happened down the line if you have read my books or read here regularly. I did find my way, I found a career, and unlike most of those I knew I got out.

On Thursday I walked gently up Charing Cross Road and remembered those times. The shops, the restaurants, the bars. Most have gone now. Even Foyle's is no longer where it once was. My emotion was mixed but it felt good.

The purpose of me being there was to meet my lovely friend Krishna. She was once one of my students. She regards me as a wise man, her Buddha who guides here life. More than two years have passed since we last met. But as she battles serious and debilitating physical illness that at time has her in a wheelchair she has finally brought up the courage to fight back. That is the way with illness like mine, you choose to live or you choose to die. Many many that I knew all those years ago chose death, either real or metaphorical, rather than life.

A long time ago a psychiatrist told me that being mad was not a career choice. I felt terribly threatened by that back then. Now I see she was right. I don't always get it right. I fuck up. I rant. I cry. But I nearly always find a way to fight back and to live.

My holiday is at its end. On Monday I return two weeks before the tidal wave breaks. Am I ready? Who knows? Time will tell.

I Heard a Voice.

Early Rising.

Every now and again I wake early and simply can't get to back to sleep. I had set an alarm today anyway as I have a psychiatry appointment. What I didn't expect was a 6.45 am wake up and no further sleep. Not the best start to the day but felt surprisingly good. An early visit to the supermarket beckoned and on the way suddenly my tooth started to throb. Only intermittent but irritating. Is this the long feared infection that may precipitate root canal? God I hope not.

Will have to see how I go but for now I can't do anything. The fear is that it brings on insomnia tonight and that growing fear that I will become unwell again if I don't sleep. So I look forward to this day with some trepidation and fear.

For others it is an auspicious day. That day when all the mums post on Facebook photos of their kids going to school for the first time, a new school or a return to school. It fills my timeline but why shouldn't they indulge? Sometimes the mums have more tears than the kids. To all of you out there, hope the small ones have a brilliant day.

I'm thinking of going to the Galleria after my appointment. Really shouldn't spend if the tooth continues to trouble me. But a little indulgence is needed every now and again. Last night I indulged and dined with our former Dean of Students. He appointed me to the job which I started exactly 12 years ago today. Is it really that long? Time flies. Thoughts of the coming term are not greatly prevalent today but will grow as the week progresses.

Hope to catch you all again soon.

I Heard a Voice.

Hitting the Half Century.

Wow, what a weekend! As promised I said I'd post at 50 and here I am. After celebrations all day Friday with friends and family, a fine lunch, an amazing surprise cheese and wine party, presents, even more wine, a bad hangover followed by a tired day I am still simply stunned. People are so kind and generous.

Who would have thought this even possible in that fateful summer of 1991? But make it I did. My mood is buoyant, anxiety is hiding and I'm on top of the world. No I'm not too elevated, annoying or unpleasant, feeling just right.

So on this Sunday I'm relaxing with Handel's Arminio, supping red wine and making stock for pho tomorrow. The rare rib of beef this afternoon was a triumph. My friends may have been hungover but we had a splendid time.

Another week before my return so I'm putting thoughts of work away, trying firmly to live in the today, and looking forward to seeing even more of my friends in the coming days. Sarah is coming for said pho tomorrow. I must see my psychiatrist on Tuesday, well a psychiatrist not my psychiatrist. Then on Wednesday I will hit Borough Market then meet the fantastic Krishna in Chine Town after. Not see here for a couple of years so that should be fun.

For all of you have your kids starting school this week or going back I wish them well, hope the tears don't well up too much and that you can finally slow down after such a long break with the kids. They are adorable to many but utterly exhausting so I'm told.

On Thursday the NFL starts. The fourth Test beckons and there is a rugby world cup to look forward to. It could be a great autumn!

I Heard a Voice.

A Break in the Heat.

The stifling heat of recent days is finally abating with a light breeze, the coming of late summer night and a cold front on the way tomorrow. It's been tough going. Great to be on holiday although waiting for pay day on Friday is limiting my options somewhat.

In truth I was rather bored today. I went for a drive, stopped at The White Horse, did a little reading and made a lovely Moroccan salad of potatoes, orange and fennel. Tonight it was just reheated chorizo and chickpea stew. All helped pass a slow day.

The evening though has been lit up by a live performance at the Albert Hall of The Magic Flute broadcast on Radio 3. Stunning. Oh how I would love to see this fabulous opera. Maybe one day.

Plans are coming together for the big day on Friday. Dad and Beka will come up from Kent, Miriam and Nigel down from Ely. A table is booked for lunch at The Waggoners. And then the party! Not really a party merely an invitation to anyone and everyone to join me for a drink in the evening. I have no idea if anyone will come but I will have fun.

Next time I post I suspect I will be 50. Did that ever seem possible in the darkness of the 1990s. Close though I have been to that level of devastation and despair in the last years today I'm good. Mood is in the plus range. Anxiety is under control. And I have no pressure. I'll take that as summer gives way to autumn. Long may it continue.

I Heard a Voice.

Glorious Victory!

God was that tense? I have watched cricket for more than 40 years but I can recall little that can possibly match what happened this afternoon. The Ashes are still alive!

It's a stiflingly hot day here in Hertfordshire. An end of summer heat wave. In a few days autumn will arrive, we will remember this day and I'm on holiday. No work until 9th. After the buffeting of recent weeks I was curiously optimistic on my last day on Friday. I do not know how the next few weeks will pan out but for now I rest.

A pork shoulder joint is roasting away slowly. The potatoes are parboiled and about to go in the oven. The only cloud on the horizon for me is a second day of difficult sleep marred by bizarre and disturbing dreams. But I will sail serenely on a day at a time.

Tomorrow has no plan. Yes I will cook. Hopefully get out of the flat for a while. The countdown to my birthday ticks ever onward. I wonder if anyone will turn up on Friday? Dad is coming along with Miriam. A nice lunch on The Waggoners. A night over the road. And I will hit 50. I had a long awaited walk through the woods to the former yesterday with Gary and Ali. I'm expecting Sarah around 6 pm.

With time a little on my side I hope to go to Borough Market. Maybe Cambridge too. But that can wait. For now I celebrate a mighty day for English cricket. See you soon.

I Heard a Voice.

A Late Afternoon Gathering.

After a tedious day of data inputting and training on the next phase of said data imputting it was a delight to find a text from our former chaplain Allan suggesting a coffee and catch up. I knew he was going to be in town but as I hadn't heard anything before assumed he was consumed by other things. Uncertain if the cafe would still be open the back up plan might have been the pub. But I'm glad we didn't change plan as at the cafe we bumped into out former Dean of Students David. Pure chance but so nice to get part of the old trusted guard together.

How much they recognised I do not know. Time marches on quickly there. Already demands are coming in. Some reasonable, some not so reasonable and some damn right rude. Such is the modern world where people want what they want and complain if they don't get it. I can't see that getting any easier. What I do know is we are trying to make our working practice easier. I only follow orders and my doubts will no doubt be greeted by groans of negativity but I've been in this business a long time and know what works and what doesn't. The autumn will show who is right.

Talking of autumn the leaves are beginning to fall, the corn is ready for harvesting and the nights are drawing in and getting cooler. I have only two more days of work before my break.

On opera night I'm graced by Don Giovanni after a fine Keema Muttar curry. So simple but so good. I will return to Anais Nin when I've completed my post. Not typing well tonight. Some days it's like that. Back when I wrote my two books there were some days I couldn't string two sentences together. On others I careered ahead. The books have more of less sunk without trace but never mind. They served their purpose.

Mentally I'm in plus territory. If all goes to plan I will see my consultant on 3rd. That is assuming he's back at work. Will be eleven months since we last met if it happens.

More to come at the weekend.

I Heard a Voice.

Dido's Lament Before Bed.

Some nights when it's very busy in the pub I don't always feel at home. Yes last night there were many people I knew as ever but there was little space to sit down, people were in their own little huddles and I was hidden away in the corner. It made a slightly uncomfortable end to a more settled but cold afflicted week.

It was a miserable day yesterday so not much cheer going out. When I got home I did something that is rare for me, took out my lenses and set aside my glasses and in my myopic state listened to Dido and Aeneas with the incomparable Janet Baker. In a weird way I have history with her as she sang on our recording of Durufle's Requiem. At the time I didn't know who she was.

Sat in my empty flat, without guests and the opera on I marvelled at Dido's lament and contemplated what has been going on in the last few weeks. Looking back on here I have been quite unsettled for a while. Today I feel calm but lacking emotion. I'll take that over troubled waters of late.

My Saturday is quite quiet. Yes I went to the butcher, wandered in town and did the washing. But that's as far as it goes. I have the Test match on and it is intriguing. Odds on it's going to be a draw given how much rain there has been. Good to watch though.

Back in my kitchen I'm planning fire, a very hot Thai red chicken curry. For reasons best known to anyone but me I have put myself in the culinary firing line and invited guests for dinner tomorrow. Let us hope than anxiety doesn't come for me in the morning. Roast chicken with a pearl barley stuffing is the plan. Never made stuffing before.

With that I'm going back to the cricket. I'm not entirely sure why I'm writing this. The readership has vanished over recent weeks. Still getting some stupid machine pretending to read every other day in Italy but I don't know how to stop that.

Not sure when I'll be back.

I Heard a Voice.

Rain Stopped Play.

The rain has well and truly come. Not far away on the edge of Regent's Park the cricket at the hallowed turf of Lord's has been delayed. I don't hold out much hope for play until much later if at all. In mid August autumn has arrived. Well at least for a few days.

I too have been stopped in my tracks. Waking with sore throat, cough and streaming nose I gave up today's work plan and stayed home. I did venture out briefly to buy some food but suspect I'm now settled for the duration. After calling in to work I descended into a couple of hours of half sleep half wake and weirdest of disturbing dreams. Viral dreaming if that is what it is is rarely nice, often weird and sometimes horrific. The last two of those proved the case today.

With no cricket to watch I'm listening to the American soprano Amber Wagner on the radio at the Edinburgh Festival. She is exceptionally good. Ros has been up there in the last week or so and ventured to some shows. Despite the rain it sounds like she had a good time.

Although felled and not at my best today mentally stability seems more in sight. Last week was bad but after a few days of fear and unsettling times my mood is more neutral without being empty, my anxiety a little less prominent and my outlook is a little brighter.

I will endeavour to keep cooking though. Last night's effort at Hunan beef was a little disappointing. Lacked fire. I have a little beef left over for tonight so maybe a Thai curry. Or some other stir fried dish from China. Tomorrow I take a break from cooking and will join Jo for dinner at Hakalok. Let's hope I feel better than today.

Assuming I make it in tomorrow I will have what I hope is my final session of physio. Neck and shoulder certainly much better although the disturbed sleep has aggravated it a little.

Take care out there in the rain. May it disappear soon and cricket commence. See you all soon.

I Heard a Voice.

Prophesying the Future.

This weekend there will be four minds whirring away, aflame with thought, what if, why and how will it help? Five years ago I completed my MSc. In it I prophesied what should happen but it was ignored. Well not really ignored. Drip by drip, piece by piece it is coming true. But I don't think it will help me much. Fear stalks my mind and what looks like an untenable future. There are few possible outcomes that do me well. The not options are not at all palatable. The bright option is so unlikely that I'm more likely to have the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse arriving for tea in dinner jackets and bearing sweet pastries.

The week has been pretty brutal. I did not switch off from it for all of my waking day throughout the week. It has left me despondent and black. Can things pick up? Given I have no one to talk to until September I fear that the darkness will abide and spoil things.

On learning news this week I turned to the melancholia of Michael Head's song cycle Over the Rim of the Moon. So beautiful but so sad. Does that reflect a life gone wrong? A life marred by mental illness? A life of what might have been. All these thoughts crowd in on me today.

Being woken early by some cretin strimming the bushes right outside my bedroom window at 8 am did not help. My mood is flat and lonely. Yes I have a BBQ to prepare for tomorrow. But where do I find the motivation to do all the preparation? Each hour will tick by in inertia. If I leave things I know tomorrow I will awake in further fear.

My safety net of the kitchen is cluttered and dirty. Food is everywhere but I can do nothing with it. Will tomorrow revive my spirits? I do hope so.

For now I will leave you. Have a good weekend.

I Heard a Voice.

Reflection on a Mixed Day.

On a day in which irritation, disinterest and uneasiness played a major role I share with you my triumph in the kitchen. So simple what can be done with a tin of chickpeas, a tin of chopped tomato, a garlic clove, an onion and some good chorizo after such a day. It was great.

So to my day, I find it irritating how some people can talk in such a condescending way to people who have been in the business since they were children. I sometimes despair but I know I have to just sit back and smile.

What it did do was make me uncertain in therapy and wondering why I was talking not about me but of those who I collide with on some days. That is what supervision is about but still fighting to get through the bureaucracy on that front.

I hope next time I see him I can speak about me not work. It will be a while, with holidays it will be more than a month until we next meet.

Back to reality as I try hard to set aside minor irritants I'm listening to The Magic Flute and about to hit my new book. Return to the Olive Farm is something I picked up a few months ago and so far have only read the first couple of pages. Distracted by Anais Nin and my interest in aviation and naval matters as well as the forthcoming NFL season my reading material has been diverse, fragmented and bitty. Must correct that. Nin is growing on me although I'm sure some would find it repugnant.

Come September my time to read will be greatly reduced as the Los Angeles Rams set forth to avoid a Super Bowl defeat slump. The season usually gets me through the chaos of term time as an outlet to view away from the chaos. It is the February end of season slump that I fear and the dog days of dark, cold, wet before spring finally comes. The cycle of life and the year. Getting older and I hope wiser and more distinguished.

Now I will leave you to return to Mozart. See you at the weekend.

I Heard a Voice.

To the End of the World.

A simple e mail on a Friday afternoon. An unexpected e mail. My fallibility on line. My lack of confidence. It set in motion a train of thought that stole my sleep, made me on edge, and thinking the end of the world was nigh. It was from my bank telling me I was being charged for something. Never had that before. Yes I spent more than planned last month and had unexpected health bills but that seemed ridiculous. Anxiety I fucking hate you!

The following Monday, today, I could take it no longer and went home early to ask them. The culprit a 59p interest charge. How the fuck can I fall apart because of that? But that is the creeping, insidious and crippling nature of anxiety.

Now with Handel playing, a fine effort in the kitchen for a very creditable Moussaka I'm more relaxed but despairing at how vulnerable I can be to something so small. Given sometimes I have to make life saving decisions this should not even register on my emotional radar. Yet still it will not lay down and give up the ghost and leave me to get on with my life.

I was supposed to see my psychiatrist today but he is still unwell. I will see my therapist on Wednesday so they are still looking after me. Also had a quite useful meeting today at which I was relieved to learn that many of more fears and irritants are shared by my immediate colleagues. They are crying out for direction. The answer is not yet another policy or process but a hard look at what we are expected to do.

Summer marches on all the same though. The relentless grind of time. It is just over three weeks until I turn 50. Now that is a milestone. Still undecided what I will do I'm hoping dad will come up, Miriam will come down and Beka if she is around. It will also mark my holiday. The final pit stop before the endless stream of demand comes back in September.

Enjoy your week.

I Heard a Voice.

A Culinary Adventure.

A little experiment with my photos. Tonight home made lamb curry. Very good.

Being a technical moron the above is something of an achievement. As indeed was the curry dreamt out using a combination of age old recipe books, a bounty of ingredients in the cupboard, accidentally buying dice lamb rather than minced lamb and the experience of many years in a kitchen.

It brought pleasure on an otherwise grey and wet day, a painful physio session and the dullness of summer holiday work. I feel very sore after physio as does my bank balance but needed to be done. I have a follow up on Thursday.

Back at home I'm listening to Mozart's Mass in C Minor and doing a little reading. Tomorrow brings little to look forward to. The physio warned me I could be very sore tomorrow. The bonus of tomorrow is that it is pay day so I can be a little indulgent. But too much indulgence recently means it's back to austerity measures. Make progress over a couple of months then it is dashed away by frivolous high living and travel, profligate waste and the fighting the eternal battle with my mood.

In theory my pay goes up next month. That's something to look forward to but I suspect the rise will not be in line with 37% increase in my parking permit. Oh well, the Lord giveth and taketh away. See you soon.

I Heard a Voice.

In the Cold Light of Day.

Inviting people for Sunday lunch always seems a brilliant idea on a Saturday in the pub with the beer flowing and frivolity in full swing. Never seems quite the same when I wake up on a Sunday morning. Fear and worry abound and interrupt my sleep. Will I wake too late? Can I get the meat up to room temperature in time? Can I be bothered to peel and parboil potatoes? Do I make Yorkshire puddings? Will I overcook it? All those fears swamp me in the cold light of day.

Today all those worries did interrupt my sleep but as usually happens I triumphed in the end. The beef was sublimely rare, the potatoes beautifully crisp, the vegetables al dente and perfect, and the most wonderful glass of Chianti.

Now on a chilly afternoon I'm listening to Cosi fan Tutte with my wine still sipped only not sunk my life is my own. After a very difficult week I'm alone again with my thoughts. My friend Marie has been visiting and my fear aside we've had a lovely weekend.

The weather broke on Friday so after the suffocating heat and humidity sense was restored. Sadly so was the rain too so no trip to St Albans as planned. But we amused ourselves and had a good time.

If I said I wasn't anxious about tomorrow I would be lying. Things are unresolved but will be at some point. My neck and shoulder problems of two years ago resurfaced on Thursday and I have a physio appointment booked for Tuesday. Hopefully need just the one. Very effective but very expensive.

May I wish you all a good Sunday. I will concentrate on Mozart and just relax. Tomorrow is yet a way off.

I Heard a Voice.

Staying Mute in the Heat.

Last night when I came home I was raging. Not because it was so hot, or the traffic was bad or anything other than it has not been an easy week. I could have ranted on here but I chose to stay mute. We will just leave it there.

Today is Wednesday so opera time. I've not seen much of today's extraordinary events at Westminster other than confirmation my country remains deeply divided. A prime minister who is elected only by his or her party members rather than the country does not bode well for anyone. This is the fourth time this has happened in my lifetime and if I recall neither Jim Callahan nor Gordon Brown went on to win the next election, and Theresa May lost her majority. How will Boris Johnson do? Given the state of our situation not well I would imagine.

Steering clear of that though other my passing comment. Instead I will focus on Mozart and my book. That is assuming I do not wilt in the intense heat and oppressive atmosphere. We Brits do not do so well in this situation. Will the thunder come again and save us from oppression? The power of my medication made me oblivious to the raging storms last night.

Looking forward though I have only one more day at work before a long weekend. I'm not looking forward to tomorrow, review days so often go horribly wrong. In all the time I've been there it has been hard not to feel isolated. That hasn't really changed despite there being more people there now.

I will have company at the weekend though as my friend Marie is coming up from Kent on Friday. Thought we might venture out for a late lunch at The White Horse in Burnham Green.

Not sure I will get to post again until next week. Stay safe and hydrated in the sun. Bye.

I Heard a Voice.

PS What a disastrous day for England at Lord's, utterly humiliated by Ireland.

Troubled Night, Off and On Day.

Being woken up by a dream that my mum was trying to section me was not quite what I wanted. Always edgy when she comes in the night it added an extra layer of doubt this morning. With sporadic heavy showers I abandoned my vague plan of going to London. Instead I went to see a festival in town dodging the rain and was hugely disappointed, no food stalls at all.

I can however rely on Yang and had some nice Singapore noodles and a couple of beers. Homeward bound early I was left with what to do this afternoon. In a mood that was neither high nor low I cooked Ragu and lazily followed TV rubbish.

Now that is done and I'm waiting for Sarah to come after work to share the Ragu I have put Handel on and will just read. The Richmond Tigers are on at 7.30 pm but I'm sure Sarah will be bored to death by that so am recording. Not sure I've ever mentioned my love of Aussie Rules but it was kindled way back in 1983 when I watched the Tigers at the MCG on my last King's tour. Until my move last year I didn't have access to watch but now can take in a couple of games a week if I so desire.

Looking back at the week it was tough at times. It really shouldn't be like this in July. In a recollection that reflects my previous post that I'm a mental health expert not a security guard or policeman it was testing. And no sign yet of a resolution. When people are ill they can do things out of the ordinary. Aggression is not as common as Joe public thinks but can come out. I hate that part of my job, but if it is down to illness as I believe I need to face it.

I'm hoping the anxiety of what may be to come next week will not mar my weekend. At the moment I'm okay. What will tomorrow bring?

Taking solace in my kitchen there is roasted belly pork on the menu. Think I will chop a fennel bulb and use that as a base. Have plenty of stock to make gravy so that should all be fine.

Wherever you are and whatever you are doing have fun, weekends go o so quickly. Until next time.

I Heard a Voice.

Saturday Wanders.

The air is very still. The sky is overcast. The heat and humidity has dissipated. And a pleasant summer's afternoon is unfolding. The women's final at Wimbledon is under way. Tomorrow we have the cricket world cup final, the men's final in the tennis and the netball world cup is taking place. What a summer of sport. Much as I love cricket I'm not really very interested in the one day game. I don't follow tennis. And know nothing about netball. But it all adds to the summer fun.

Waking early after a night of broken sleep I felt quite edgy. I was at the butcher before 10 am and back from shopping by 11.15. Not quite what I planned. With time on my hands after lunch I took a drive in the country. Stopped for a pint at The Horns and sat in the garden with a pint of ale from the Oakham brewery. Very pleasant.

If you have been reading this week you may well be wondering how my return to teaching went. Much to my surprise anxiety stayed pretty much at bay. It rose in the morning but when I went in I felt more under control than I have for a long time. And I triumphed. Yes there was a laudable but naive objection from one of the 83 delegates who were there. But with help from another academic we overcame that.

Coming away with the words, brilliant, excellent and awesome ringing in my ears the danger was mania. The objection tempered any return of mania. I dwelt too much on what went wrong but I made it through without overwhelming anxiety, without too much of a sense of failure and without a scary swing of mood either way. I guess I ought to settle for that.

In my foolishness and slightly inebriated mood last night I invited not only Sarah but also Gary and Ali to lunch tomorrow. Roast beef and Yorkshire pudding. Will I regret that in the morning? I hope I get more sleep but I'm afraid for the waking. In the end it always pans out but oh to live without that fear that invitations bring.

Enjoy your weekend.

I Heard a Voice.

Entering the Arena.

The eroding of my self confidence and huge rise in anxiety levels dated very much from 2014. A new way forward did not run smoothly. In 2015 it got a lot worse and was noticeable in many aspects of my working life.

Having spent too many angry and at times manic years extolling my own virtue and power all came crashing down in that terrible decent into darkness 18 months ago. I'm not there now but I'm still working to regain my power.

Although I am a failed teacher my lectures and training sessions since about 2008 have always been well received, at times applauded, and erroneously revered. Yet as my confidence failed and my anxiety rose it became increasingly difficult to do that. Yes feedback was always good but the terror that built up in me led me to abandon that part of my life. Once I loved teaching, now I fear it.

When I returned to work last summer they asked if I wanted to do more teaching and training. Terror filled me so we didn't do it. But I knew one day I would have to return to it.

Tomorrow is that day. Once more I enter into the arena not I hope for a gladiatorial contest but for a frank and open discussion about mental health and universities. As I have mentioned before it is a hot political issue and one that an increasing number of young people identify with. The key though is how do we fight through misinformation and lack of engagement to find a way forward?

There has been an increasing trend to classify, quantify and processize something that I do not believe can work like that. All my years of living with mental illness, all my years of working with mental illness, and all my years of talking about mental illness I've never actually seen a system that works universally. In Charon's Ferry I talk about the tripos of the system, the people and the money. That will not change, we just tinker with different systems, new trends in people and not enough money.

Given what has happened since 2015 I think I should be more scared of tomorrow than I am. I know I have done it before and I know I'm good at it. But after such a break who knows, maybe I'll report back tomorrow.

For now I have Verdi's Falstaff  and a book to keep me going. Perhaps it's also time for a beer.

I Heard a Voice.

Sadly Parting.

I'm always pleased to hear from old friends. Some are regular, some are sporadic and some only occasional. So I was delighted to hear from my friend Elin last weekend when I was down at dad's. The message simply said "are you free next Friday?". I was and after work we arranged to meet initially in The Red Lion before a late switch of venue.

Elin was one of my students. Over the course of a couple of years I taught her some things about living with mental illness. Through her own efforts she overcame the odds and got her degree last year. Back in the autumn she raved about what I had done for her on local radio. It was far more than I deserved. It was what ignited the mania switch after a five year gap and for a few days I soared. I had to hit the brakes but it was brilliant.

On a late sunny afternoon yesterday we met for a beer. I just thought it was one of our rare meetings. Sadly it was not. She is leaving the country. I'm delighted for her but walked away feeling sad. I do not think we will meet again. The nature of my life is that people come for a few years, graduate and leave. Some stay in touch and that is always nice. But eventually they move on.

The transient nature of my life and work is thus. Hard at times. I never settle in a place or relationship. Elin said something wise when we were talking about commitment, "maybe you need to commit to yourself". Perhaps I do but having had my life, career and education trashed by eminent psychiatrists it is very hard to believe in myself except when the mania comes.

On a humid Saturday afternoon Maria Callas has just come on the radio, I have done my housework and shopping and am wondering what to do next. Maybe just be, be at peace.

Later brings monkfish and some wine I think. Tomorrow roast chicken. Enjoy your weekend.

I Heard a Voice.

By the Water's Edge.

On a blazingly hot day I found a little peace and shade by the canal. Yes I've escaped to Kent. Looks like I chose the right weekend to venture to the coast. Glorious but energy sapping. I haven't made it to the beach yet but I'm hoping to venture down there tomorrow to have an ice cream with my lovely friend Beth.

The weekend looks set to be a time of reunion. Last night I saw Ali who is over from Pakistan. We will meet again today for a late lunch with other friends. Tomorrow afternoon Beth then tomorrow evening my great friend and former landlord Tom.

Booking a couple of days off was I think the right thing to do. I struggled post Glyndebourne and for a week or so floundered. Better last week but it feels like a break is needed. Dad on good form as ever. He's off for a swim in a bit.

I'm cooking a late lunch of roast lamb tomorrow for dad and Beka's mum Anne. Shame Beka isn't around but I did see her a couple of weeks ago.One day I might call all change and come back to the seaside for good. What I would do for work I do not know. That said we never quite know what opportunities might pop up at some stage. Just been waiting a long time.

By the time I get to retirement I suspect the state age will have gone up to around 70. Can I really keep doing what I do for the next twenty years? I have my doubts. At the moment though there are no alternatives on the horizon.

Time to head out into the sunshine. A late Carribean lunch awaits. I'm not a great fan but I hope to be surprised. See you soon.

I Heard a Voice.

Setting in the Western Sky.

The sun is slowly edging westward to set on a glorious summer day. We are a few days past the solstice and the days are almost imperceptibly getting shorter. After the sultry humid atmosphere of recent days it was wonderful to have dry heat. I'm told Saturday will be fierce although probably not as much as in continental Europe.

On this day you find me at rest. The lethargy, apathy and flat mood of last week is gone. I have finished work until Tuesday and will head to the seaside tomorrow. Work this week has at times been intense but came away with a sense that this week I didn't fail.

Handel graces my flat, a ferocious Thai curry has been consumed. After the mild affair that was Saturday's Rendang with a mere eight chillies in it tonight I upped the ante and went for ten. Pretty good result.

I'm looking forward to seeing dad tomorrow. Not been down since his birthday in March. The visit will also see me reunited with my friend Ali, the one from Kent, who I spent a quite lot of time with a decade ago. Yes it must be ten years since she visited me here. Since then marriage, three boys and foreign postings have been her chosen lot. The last time I saw her was a wedding a couple of years ago. Lots of catching up to do.

Nothing profound on my mind at the moment just a sense that I'm at peace. Rest is good along with a not empty but not troubled mind. I'm buoyed by hearing from the lovely Eliza who sought my advice on violin exams a few weeks ago. Well a triumphant series of messages came through tonight that she scored 146 out of 150 marks and in the parlance of the young smashed it. What an amazing achievement.

With that I leave you to your evening. I will return to Handel and a beer. See you from the seaside over the weekend.

I Heard a Voice. 

Sultry Comedown.

On a warm, sultry and overcast afternoon I set out earlier for a walk. Some time since I did my Sunday walks regularly. Well at all. My intention was to clear my head but things proved stubbornly fixed as they have for the last week. Flat, apathetic, lethargic, tired and lack of motivation. Is this the comedown that cocaine addicts talk of?

Never tried cocaine and have no intention to. Yet the analogy seems fair. The high of the opera seems long gone. For a couple of days I felt refreshed from being away. It didn't last sadly and the last week has been a real struggle.

Not sure I would describe myself as low but all the others shit that comes with living with a mood disorder is very much evident. And I hate it. Just getting out of bed has seemed mission impossible. The dreams have come back and sleep is disrupted. I woke at 7 am then slept again and until 10 am. Still I couldn't get out of bed. In the end I did but not had any motivation.

Given the circumstances doing the washing, getting out for a walk and making lunch is some achievement. My desolate outlook is not helped by the discovery that I could have sung in King's yesterday but wasn't aware anything was going on. By curious twist of fate I had been contemplating going to King's yesterday to hear the choir but wasn't certain if they were still singing or on holiday. Never been Cleobury's greatest fan-that's the polite version of the story-but suspect now I will not get an opportunity to say goodbye.

Another working week beckons tomorrow. I hope it's not as bad as last week when every hour seemed to drag and I wanted to be anywhere but there. The week is short as I'm off Friday and Monday. Will catch the train down to Kent on Friday morning and come back Monday lunchtime. Be good to escape.

As for now I've put Handel on, I'm trying to cool down and have a small joint of gammon to cook. A dash of mustard, some nice roast potatoes and fresh vegetables. After all it is Sunday. See you soon.

I Heard a Voice. 

Cutting Through the Air.

A late afternoon storm finally cut through the sultry, dense and humid atmosphere of today. And it was humid. Perhaps not as we saw a year ago but tough going all the same. For a newish building our office is not the best for weather and atmospherics. The strange noise of windows automatically do not denote the temperature levels but the oxygen concentration. Add in the occasional stench of sewage that sometimes takes over it is not a nice place to work. But I was grateful for the storm.

My working life is a little less busy but no less tense. Retake exams are on and I'm trying to coax the final year students over the line. After this life gets very real for them. Many are not prepared for that. But is any generation of students really ready for reality? I certainly wasn't, I had breakdown. Work is work and must be done, an occupational hazard of life. In my crazy dream world of mental illness I thought getting a job would be the final piece of the recovery phenomenon. All these years later I'm not sure life is any easier.

That is done for the day. I'm home, it is opera night and mood-wise I'm okay. The last few days have been marred by lethargy, apathy and a complete lack of motivation. Is that a result of Sunday's anniversary? Or overdoing things in the glories of the opera? Who knows? But I feel a little more stable.

Driving home my instinct said fuck cooking and go out. I didn't. Rather I deconstructed a pork souvlaki serving it on a bed of salad laced with yoghurt and mint, dressed with chilli sauce and oven warmed pitta bread. It was a triumph. Mum always used to oven warm bread but used to leave it in so long it was rock solid. A swift five minutes at 180 degrees was fabulous. The pittas I can buy in supermarkets are awful as indeed are most commercially produce flat breads. Our brethren from north Africa and middle east would turn their noses up in disgust. And quite rightly so. But heat through and a little crispy they are infinitely better.

What the rest of the week brings me we will see. Sarah arrives back from Mexico early tomorrow morning. I've invited her for Sunday lunch, roast gammon. Might even do a starter too. With that I will leave you. Enjoy the sultry humid night, I think we need another storm.

I Heard a Voice.

No More Letters.

No one writes letters anymore. Well at least personal ones. Banks, solicitors and service providers do but they are never very welcome. Once upon a time I was prolific letter writer. Now after nearly thirty years taking medication my writing skills are eroded to virtually non existent. But I hark back to a day when that was the norm.

On this dull June day I'm reminiscing on a letter that arrived twenty nine years ago today. As I picked it up hungover and myopic on what was a warm and guilty day I had no idea what was to come. I had spoken to the writer the day before. She gave no hint that she had written a letter. When it arrived the shock and meltdown that it instigated was only in its first day. My illness started that day. Well maybe it had been coming all along.

I still have all those letter kept in little box on my desk with some old photos. Rachel the writer is long gone from my life. I do not know where she is now and I don't really care. But on this day I always remember what might have been.

The world is celebrating fathers' day. I'm alone in my flat listening to Haydn, cooking shoulder of lamb and generally avoiding the world. It is my day to mourn. A wise woman said to me a long time ago that it is "okay to mourn for yourself". Up until then I simply saw myself as self indulgent and lazy. There are days now that I feel the same. But not today.

The catastrophic breakdown that ensued a year after that letter arrived is well documented. Not all is lost though. I have a vocation that would never have been without that letter. I survived. People think what I do is important. And I'm on the verge of turning 50. That was never on the cards on that dark day.

Some friends from those days came back into my life. Ros, Rebecca, both of whom knew Rachel well. My other former singing colleagues too. Music seemed to die that day. I no longer actively engage in music but I have rediscovered it. Tomorrow my friend's daughter Eliza will undertake her grade 7 violin. And she asked me for advice. I struggle to read music now but I still have value even if it is to a girl I barely know. I wish her well tomorrow.

Another working week begins then and I march on. Seems slow going today in my loneliness. The good days will come again though. Until then I bid you a good afternoon.

I Heard a Voice.

Rambles in Sussex.

Wet afternoons in Sussex are part of my childhood. Well adolescence really. Back in those days we played sports four afternoons a week and on the fifth afternoon, Wednesday, we did other activities. In my deluded childhood foolishness I thought that an interest in military things could translate into a military career. That I was not really cut out for that my wholly undistinguished career in the Combined Cadet Force showed the folly of my ways. I just didn't recognise that. Another option might have been for one term to join my English teacher Alan Black on what he called rambles in Sussex.

Yesterday I was reminded of those days and my loss on a wet Wednesday when once again I saw the lush but wet south downs in Sussex in all their splendour. And the purpose was even more glorious, Glyndebourne. How magnificent was that? I didn't let the long journey of cold wet outlook take away from such an amazing day. The Barber of Seville may have been confusing in places but it was sublime. And the soprano lead out of this world.

A day later I'm at home once again listening to Italian opera on a wet day as the night closes in. For all the downturns of my life I am so pleased to have rediscovered culture.

Time away from work with little anxiety and an upbeat mood has I think done me some good. I will return to work tomorrow. I do not know what I will face. Nor indeed on this Thursday night do I care. It will be dealt with tomorrow.

I enjoyed my return to my kitchen. Simple Chinese food, Hoisin glazed chicken. Took all of ten minutes from the moment I took out a knife to serving it. The Chinese know a lot about food and we should learn from them. Until next time.

I Heard a Voice.

Burnt Ragu, Wind, Rain and Finally Sun.

Well that was the week that was. Holidays are not supposed to be this tough. Perhaps I went a little too far in my last post but when under pressure many of us struggle. That was a wearying, cumbersome and in the end successful week. How much more I can cope with I'm not sure but my short break is almost upon me. Glyndebourne here we come on Wednesday.

What started as a wet windy Saturday has morphed into a brighter day and a culinary catastrophe. I enjoyed a very pleasant lunch at The Waggoners with my former colleague Rachel. All had been going well until I returned home, got back to cooking my Ragu then promptly turned the hob up to 5 instead of 2. What a disaster. I'm left with very burnt Ragu and a ruined pan. Must learn to concentrate more when I'm doing things. I ought to throw it away but can't simply waste good produce like that. Will try and rescue it.

Away from the kitchen I'm listening to Beethoven's string quartets and musing on my latest book adventure. Some years ago a very wise woman for whom I have lot of respect said a sightly disturbing thing about sex and relationships. A therapist who has spent much of her career delving into the minds of people most clinicians won't touch she knows the darkness in the souls of men. She said something on the lines of "when men go on a date they want to get sex. When women go on a date they don't want to get killed". Harsh and controversial I guess but with some of the stories I have heard an element of reality lies in that bleak statement.

Earlier in the week I started reading Anais Nin's Delta of Venus, an journey into erotica from a female perspective written I think in the 1940s. The first chapter was brutal, nasty, sordid and repulsive. I considered putting the book down and leaving it there. Come the second chapter though I realise that Nin got it. She knew of the sexuality and sensuality of women. She also knew the carnal domineering male sexuality perpetrated in a male dominated world where women to some are play things. Men want sex, women don't want to die.

I'm now gone from wanting to put the book in the bin to the intrigue of moving on. I mentioned it to Rachel today who also happens to be a therapist. Must mention it to Kym too.

The rest of the day brings more music, more fish and more switch off. A day in work on Monday will give way to the opera. I'm anxious about it but eager in my anticipation of the glories of opera. I'm not familiar with The Barber of Seville but I look forward to finding out.

I Heard a Voice.

Rain on Parched Earth.

The rains have come. Flaming June did not last more than a couple of days. But I got to feel the beautiful smell of rain on parched earth. That is a sign of summer. Not as parched as a year ago when we had that long heat wave.

Today has been quite tough. I have no doubt that when I go in tomorrow that my name will be mud. Mud for not doing what people think I can do when in reality I have no power to do it. It leaves me feeling sour and annoyed. The expectation far outstrips my capacity to do what some ask of me. What might have happened today has now been delayed until at least tomorrow. So when I do go back the same will be thrust upon me. Such is the pressure we feel under with mental health and universities. Who actually knows what the issues are? Who actually knows what we can do about it? And who actually knows what our duty of care is? None of this has ever been clear to me.

An on edge evening is being tempered by Maria Callas. Not a bad riposte I suppose. La Traviata is so well known by its drinking song and arias although I suspect much of the population have no idea what the work is called or who wrote it. With luck it will bring calm.

The reason I was not around to do what every thinks I can do is that it was a therapy day. Given that I can only make it every two to three weeks I wasn't prepared to cancel and wait another three weeks. I now know it will now be many weeks until I see my psychiatrist. I've waited since October to see him having cancelled my last appointment because of urgent things at work that didn't even happen. So no more.

This taking a stance comes with a price though. A feeling that feeds into my sometimes depressed mind that I'm lazy, self indulgent and uncaring. I do not need to have that implied by others. I beat myself up about it enough myself.

My kitchen ventures were fun, semi successful but very messy. Who could have thought a simple supper of cauliflower cheese could create such a mess? The draining board is stacked high. I had intended to do some cleaning tonight as Jess can't make it round this week but alas no. Must be tomorrow as Beka is coming to stay on Thursday.

Sulk over, see you soon. I'm going back to Verdi and Nin.

I Heard a Voice.