Too Old for Parties.

Were it not for the blossom on the trees one might almost have mistaken yesterday for October. Cold, blustery and grey. The wind has died down today but I still have the heating on. Compared to last weekend of glorious sunshine this one is a damp squib.

You find me at home having a quiet Sunday to myself. The smell of slow roasting pork shoulder wafts around the flat and I'm getting hungry. With The Magic Flute my afternoon companion I'm contemplating last week and last night. Friday was a day of disagreement after a very quiet week. I get paid to give advice and am usually right. But others don't always listen. So they tie themselves in knots frantically referring on cases that will never get to the outcome they would like. It was ever thus.

Last night I went to Gary's 50th birthday and was once again reminded that I'm not always comfortable at parties. That I'm too old seems the obvious excuse but I recall many parties in Cambridge where I felt so out of place I wanted to run. I didn't exactly run last night but busy places full of people I do not know ushered me towards an early exit. I was home by 11.30 pm with a glass of Rioja and cooking programmes on TV.

I concluded last night that a party for my 50th might not be a good idea. Perhaps just making people aware where I'll be and see what happens may be a better ways forward.

Term starts tomorrow and the students get straight into exams. It is the season of "I need a letter". Hate that expectation. In my day yes we were anxious and we were fearful but one just had to get on and do it. Somehow I got a 2.1 from Cambridge whilst on the verge a nervous breakdown, full of despair and sunk into the depths of psychotic depression. Actually the exams kept me going. I simply had to finish. Then with nothing left I succumbed to the coming breakdown and so the history began.

Have I achieved anything since then? The emphatic answer has to be yes but perhaps not what I might have done. Who knows what history would have bequeathed me in other circumstances? But there would have been another girl, another emotional hammer blow and eventually I would have crashed anyway. Some saw it coming. But no one said anything at the time.

For now I will leave you. Must attend to dinner. Enjoy your Sunday.

I Heard a Voice.

It's a Matter of Taste.

You may recall that yesterday when I post I talked about rare rib of beef, Sarah visiting and a glass of Rioja. Against my better judgement late last night I tentatively posted a photo of said roast beef on a site called "Rate my Plate". A friend in Kent invited me to join a few months ago. What ensued was a barrage of comments, over 700 last I looked, most of which were negative, some horrible and a few praising it. What is it with people? I had hoped sites would celebrate people's achievements in the kitchen not abuse them. Sadly it is the same on the classical music and cricket sites I follow, the Rams sites and all manner of other places. Is so much of the world that unpleasant that they have to attack others?

For a long time I was a bit of barbarian when it came to consumption. I only switched from lager to ale at the age of 41. Until my mid 40s I only ever ate the mildest cheapest nastiest cheese. I didn't drink wine until my 30s. Nuts have been out most of my life. Horseradish, mustard, cranberry sauce, apple sauce. All no nos until recently. And rare beef? Forget it.

But I hope I'm now more refined. Sarah's comment on the rib of beef was sublime. I nailed it and had a superb evening celebrating things English. In the interests of European unity and burying ancient rivalries in the past we had French cheese. And Spanish wine.

I suppose each and everyone of us have different tastes. I refused to cook for my mum because she always told me I got it wrong and picked each piece apart as if I was trying to poison her. My taste as a child was different. And I hope I can respect diversity. I just hope that with my more refined tastes of middle age I can enjoy fine food and fine drink in peace. Others can do as they like.

With opera night under way I'm torn on what next, do I marinate tomorrow's ribs or do I turn to reading? Whatever I choose I'm in a good mood having survived the dentist without having to go for root canal. And as an added bonus Alyssa has turned up. So I must be off.

I Heard a Voice.

How terribly English!

Can there ever be anything more English than rare roast rib of beef? It is after all St George's day on which I'm proud to champion my roots and celebrate an identity that can be much maligned but is every bit as legitimate as others. True we are all British, and for a little while longer European. The battle to celebrate our day and our flag and rescue it from people of hate who espouse hatred and attacks on others different to themselves. The world seems full of hate. So on this day I will celebrate peace, relaxation and kindness to others by the only way I know how; through food.

Tonight Sarah is coming round. The potatoes are roasting away. I will sear the beef of both sides then roast for half an hour or so then rest. With luck a beautiful rare joint will ensue. Whilst we are gaining quite a reputation for fine white wine and fizz, red is not our forte. So I will go to my old friend Spain and drink a hearty Rioja.

Already people are lining up for what is left. My colleague Sue will be getting some. Some may go home with Sarah. And some to the pub. What's left for me will go into a Vietnamese pho.

The long weekend is over. A week of tragedy in Paris and Sri Lanka has shocked the world. There have been so many shocks over the last years I feel not as compassionate as I could be. Well perhaps not not compassionate just powerless to do anything about it.

If there are two things that mar my battle with mental health it is insomnia and powerlessness. That terrible combination. Yet today you find me more at ease, less anxious and feeling more stable than for a few weeks.

On that note I must leave you and tend to my cooking. See you soon.

I Heard a Voice.

Allegri, Lotti, and Pasta.

Greetings on this sunny Good Friday. All of you who have given up anything for Lent can be rest assured that the end is in sight. Doing roast lamb on Sunday Ros? Glass of Malbec for dad? I admire people who have the resilience to give up good things; I've never even tried as I know I have no will power.

My vague thought of going to Cambridge to hear Allegri and Lotti never got beyond the vague idea stage. Instead I listened at home, still marvel at such amazing music forty years since I first sang it in King's. Always an electric, mournful experience full of minor keys and dark harmonies it was always one of my favourite services to sing. Today is I suppose the darkest and most sombre day in the Christian calendar. Saturday night in church sees the austere stripped and covered fabric and at midnight the light of the world heralding the glorious resurrection on Easter Day.

Whatever my beliefs are, and I struggle with them, Easter is a glorious time to listen to music and enjoy a long weekend. And with all this beautiful sunshine spring is at its brilliant best.

You find me back to my comfortable best. Not low, not high, just happy after the mental buffeting of the last ten days or so. That I'm away from work helps. Poor sleep and back dreams jolted me up early again but it has not really dampened my mood. I did a little shopping then sticking with the Italian theme of my music had a light pasta lunch with a tomato, caper and mint sauce. Then off for a drive in the country. Sat in the garden of The Tilbury and enjoyed the sun and a glass of bear.

Back at home now the balcony door is open, the light is perfect and I'm listening to Mozart. Later I will cook Dover sole for the first time. Not sure yet whether to bake, grill or pan fry it. Bought some dill which I hope will go with in a little butter sauce. A glass of two of chilled Albarino will go very well I think.

Tomorrow I'm meeting my friend Naima at Borough Market. Not been since January. Not sure I will buy a lot but a good lunch, a walk along the river and a pint in one of my pub haunts around there will be great.

Hope you all enjoy this long weekend. Might return on Sunday if I'm not feeling too lethargic after Sarah's gargantuan three course Easter lunch.

I Heard a Voice.

Misty, Murky Nothing

Jolted awake around 6 am by a dream that was swiftly forgotten I peered out onto a murky misty day with not a lot of cheer. I was desperately tired, medication does that to me, and returned to bed for a couple of hours and found getting up something of a challenge. Emerging late the fog lingered as I drove to work with my lights on. Who could have expected such a dull start to emerge into such a nice day? Overdressed I suffered but it is far easier to peel off extra layers than to add those that I hadn't brought with me.

I'm now five days into my increased medication regime. As noted I'm tired. There is little sign of any emotion but the realisation that my decisions made in the face of violence and aggression last week were right and vindicated. Why should I be slated for saying no? All my life I've said yes and what is clear from therapy is that it is good thing that I'm finally taking a stand.

My session yesterday whilst not easy was helpful. Where was all this nearly 30 years ago? Nowhere in sight. Was I too ill? Yes. Were the people giving the therapy inept? Probably. Was I ready to change then? Probably not. The great difference now to use Madeline's old adage "whose need does that serve" and then it's clear that now it serves my need. I did give a first hint of the true darkness but I'm not yet ready to allow that into the light.

A long weekend awaits and a rest. I've probably set up too many things but I'm looking forward to showing my friend Naima round Borough Market, eating Sarah's roast duck and now it seems meeting my friend Shelley on Monday. Too much? Maybe. Time will tell.

Home in my flat I cooked stir fried beef with pickled mustard green for supper and am listening to Rossini. I cooked stuffed aubergine yesterday and was very pleased with the result. Tomorrow I will shop for the weekend's culinary endeavours.

See you next time.

I Heard a Voice.

Thought Without Emotion.

On a cold rather dull Sunday afternoon my mind is still working with thought but there is no emotion attached to anything. The demons have been halted in their tracks. The fiery rage has been extinguished. I'm neither happy nor sad. Such is the power of Risperidone. Mood is around zero but at least I have some thoughts. Sometimes hitting the brakes stops all thought at all. Not today.

My fear of having to take time off work if I need to take action may not have materialised but my intention to keep the medication high for a few days is likely to make it hard to wake up. Late is probably better than not at all. We will see what the morrow brings.

Having listened to Idomeneo I have now moved on to the Coronation Anthems. Yes our 1982 recording is marred by over excitement and sharp singing but is of almost mystical significance to me. My most disturbed experience of psychosis occurred in the summer of 1996 when I was singing Zadok the Priest in Chartres Cathedral and could hear Rachel's voice echoing round that vast space as the organ introduction played. So long ago. Even in the depths of my darkness yesterday there were no voices, neither her's nor that of the man that Ron Coleman once told me was the voice of my madness.

Ahead lies roast chicken, minted new potatoes, carrots, green beans, spring greens, gravy and a nice glass of Albarino. Probably some more opera to accompany that.

Who knows where I will be come therapy on Tuesday. I've been away from it a long time. Maybe too long. Despite my intention to retreat from the world this weekend very few people have tried to contact me in the short bursts of time when my phone has been on. What does that say?

Easter is next weekend. I get to listen to Allegri and Lotti on Friday. Then Sunday it is roast duck with Sarah. Might have to buy a couple of bottles of Medoc to go with that. Might see you all again soon.

I Heard a Voice.

Burning Embers.

Several days on the embers of rage are still burning. My mind is racing, I'm struggling to focus, have no motivation and feel utterly powerless. It was ever thus when things are beyond my power and the anger button switches on. It feel like the demons are about to come knocking.

For much of yesterday the fire seemed to be burning out. But as ever a breath of wind, a few more logs added and it combusts again. The silly thing is I have now idea where the the oxygen and wood came from. Sat alone in the pub last night all those thoughts of epic failure came rushing back.

The realisation was very strong that where I have failed in my career has almost always been when confronting anger and aggression. Suddenly the mirror looms large and I see a twisted, forlorn caricature of what might of been. I certainly get many accolades for what I do but can rarely award them to myself. Try as I might to judge each day on did I do some good today that seems a long way from the truth.

My plan for this weekend was always to take a step back and have some time for me. Now I don't want to see or speak to anyone. My phone is off. All I'm prepared to do is speak on here to the anonymous world that humours me by sometimes reading what I have to say but hardly ever speaks back.

Walking in town this morning after a poor might's sleep I felt like a ghost shambling silently through the world. Yes I was polite to all the people who served me in shops. But that is normal for me. I thought of visiting Yang but decided she didn't really need my morose self absorbed folly. I thought also of going to the pub but after recent weeks elevated wine consumption I would resist. Resist too the urge to spend.

Instead I came home, had a salad for lunch and ignored the lure of a glass of Albarino. Now it is gloomy outside and inside, I'm listening to Mozart arias and wondering when the fire of my rage will burn out and trying desperately to avoid a free fall slump. What I really ought to do is increase my Risperidone finally and write off the next few days. I just fear the emptiness too much to go down that route. So instead I wait.

One day the embers will die away to ash and then I must sweep them away from the hearth that is sometimes my lot.

I Heard a Voice.

That Rage.

A young and relatively new colleague said to me last week "I cannot imagine you getting angry". Had she seen me last night she would certainly have seen something that surprised her. I resisted the rage enough not to send ranting e mails or post on here precisely what I thought of the world last night. It was not good.

I have seen too much anger and rage in my life. Growing up with constant sense of menace, anger and vitriol was not all good. And yes much of that did shape my later battles with madness.

Although I'm hugely open on here and in every day life about madness there are some things born out of the darkness that I will never share. Anyone who has been on the inside of a psychiatric ward, been judged a narcissistic fake whose entire life was a delusion will know that anger. I call it the rage of madness. The darkness so deep and disturbing that one is ashamed to voice it. I voice some to the mad but we all have our secrets that we will never share.

One delusion of my mad life that was true is that I wasn't culpable for my actions because I was mad. I was wrong and my brethren were wrong most of the time too. Living with mental illness mainly does not preclude us from responsibility for our actions. We are and usually will be.

I hate anger and confrontation, most of all my own. Last night I was so angry I was seized by an all encompassing freeze of my faculties. I couldn't do anything. So I'm glad I didn't write on here. It has dissipated somewhat today but I suspect I will be targeted tomorrow for not doing what people assumed I should do. Being angry does not mean one is mad. Being violent does not make one mad. So why am I confronted by dealing with that?

Tomorrow is the last day of a bumpy week. A meeting that will take place is likely to be volatile but I'm a mental health expert not a policeman or security guard.

The danger I face is that following that rage I slip into a deep depression. It hasn't happened yet but that has always been the pattern of my illness. Already my suspicious mind is casting around and seeing plots and plans. It is not me being paranoid. If someone trust worthy without hesitation asks if those things are happening completely independent of me thinking them maybe there is something in it.

After five weeks away I return to therapy on Tuesday to pick up the thread that so unsettled me last time. Or maybe we move on and worry about it another day. Who knows? But I think it must be done sometime.

Back home a Thursday night I spent a long time on the phone to an old school friend who lives in Holland. I ate a disgustingly calorific but magnificent supper of pancakes stuffed with ham, spring greens and cheese smothered in cheese sauce then baked. And I have Offenbach. That's got to be good. See you at the weekend.

I Heard a Voice.

Donizetti on a Dull Day.

It's not very warm today. The sun made a brief appearance earlier but now seems to have gone on holiday behind a blanket of cloud. I've made it through another week with a brief blip on Wednesday. We now lie a week away from the end of term and what I hope will be a slow down.

After a foray into town I've been listening to Joan Sutherland and Luciano Pavarotti in Donizetti's opera Mary Stuart. I've done the washing, clearing, tidying and rubbish as well as preparing clean sheets. I will sleep well tonight on those. The rest of the day will be simple. Belly pork marinated with fennel seeds and garlic will go in the oven around 4 pm for a slow roast. It is perhaps my signature dish although I give credit to Sam and Sam Clark for publishing such a brilliant recipe in the first Moro cook book.

Gary will join me to eat at around 6.30 pm and to indulge in some Rioja. Ali is out on a ladies night with many of our friends. Hosted by my friend Shameze it will be a man free zone for several hours. No doubt we will see the results later when those left standing make it to The Hedgehog. 

At some point I'm going to need to spend a weekend on my own. The last few have been busy. This one too as I'm going out for a late lunch with my friend Madeline tomorrow to The North Star. Never been there before. Maybe next weekend I can shut the door and enjoy my own company.

Enjoy the weekend however grey it may be. Look after yourselves and see you again soon.

I Heard a Voice.

A Brighter Outlook.

The cold, grey, wet miserable day that was yesterday has been replaced by beautiful sunshine. I was talking to the Portuguese lady who works at the dentist yesterday and she told me she didn't mind the cold but struggled with the greyness of our winter. And it was certainly grey. So the sun must be uplifting for her as well as for me.

You may wonder how it is that I'm posting in the middle of the day in the middle of the week but unfortunately you find me unwell today. Waking at 3 am I had an intense feeling or nausea and acid heartburn. Try as I might I couldn't shift it or go back to sleep. So at 7.30 am I called in and stopped the day. A pain as it was shaping up to be a busy one. But we all get ill sometimes.

Since I last conversed with you many things have happened. The anniversary of mum's death, visits from Beka and Marie, Mother's Day, and thankfully some more stable mood. I've been cooking which is a sure sign things are more settled. Roast beef the weekend before last, roast rack of lamb last Sunday. I had a culinary disaster on Monday. Moral of the story is label what goes in the freezer.

Last night I went out with Sarah to tapas Tuesday at The White Horse. Nice though it was it certainly wasn't tapas so was left with a tinge of disappointment. Don't think I will be booking that again. Steak night yes, tapas Tuesday no.

A new Turkish place is opening next week. Mezze and grill, I'm a big fan. Actually I know that chap who owns it. Must give that a try next week.

With luck I will go back to my normal self soon. Having cancelled today I did get some needed sleep but it was marred by difficult dreams. I feel a little better but will take things gently for the time being. More soon.

I Heard a Voice.