Less Than Happy Endings.

Is it really nearly over? Will the turbulence continue? Will I find a way forward? All vexing questions as I type my last post of 2020. Could any of us really known what was to come as we launched forth into a new decade and a new year exactly a year ago? Given that has been a century since a world wide pandemic we were all floundering in the dark of an optimism which now seems so misplaced.

Now I face New Year alone. I've been alone much of this year. I cannot see my friends. I cannot see my family. And I cannot see a clear way forward. My life is in turmoil at times, I cannot stop sleeping, and anxiety and guilt are riding roughshod over my world right now. I'm also in pain as my on going neck problem has decided to flare up again during the holiday.

So what to do on this lonely New Year's Eve? Well be decadent of course. The champagne is in the fridge. The comfort food of cottage pie is on the menu. The opera is on the radio. And I have all I need. All that is except the people.

Most years I ask myself where I will be come year's end. Now that seems so remote other than more anxiety, unhappiness and uncertainty. For reasons I singularly fail to understand many people look up to me, respect me and think I'm wise. The messages over the holiday bear testament to that. I'm always in demand when others are in trouble. Much to my surprise when I do reach out when I struggle people respond. But no one has a plan to get me out of where I am now. Least of all me.

Maybe come 2022 my world will be radically different. Brave decisions to be made but at this point I'm neither brave enough nor strong enough for radical shifts. We have to get through 2021 first.

Most will say tonight good riddance and swear it can't get any worse to and than 2020. Time will tell but I don't feel very optimistic.

However as I close out the year I wish you all the best, say Happy New Year, and may you all prosper and thrive in 2021.

I Heard a Voice.

Storm a Coming.

Well here we are on a grey but mild Boxing Day. My Christmas Day alone was mainly a triumph. A post lunch blip failed to mar a splendid solo effort. It is hard to see no one but in these chastened times I did okay. Spoke to loads of people during the course of the day and night. I consumed far too much food and way too much wine. But it is Christmas so why not?

Getting up this morning was a much harder effort. There seemed so little point with nothing to do, everywhere shut and still the restrictions. Bereft of motivation and energy it was supreme effort to get up. But get up I did, had coffee, a late lunch and walk.

Now home in the warm I'm listening to The Marriage of Figaro drinking the rest of my fizz. The air is still outside and it is mild. But driving in from the west a great Atlantic storm is approaching. For once it is going to unleash its fury on my part of the world. Most hit further north but it is our turn.

Certainly won't be going out again when it strikes. I have vague fears for the cladding on my balcony and for the tree by my car but what will be will be.

Before it hits though I must once again sate my hunger with a Thai curry. Bad planning really on my part, should really have given myself some cooking to do rather than just reheating from the freezer. Tomorrow I will cook though. Sunday roast has to be done. Two roasts in three days is so decadent but so what? It is the holidays.

I hope you all enjoyed Christmas and that in time we will have better life post virus. That still hangs over us. I doubt anything will open up again until February or March time so a long way to go. Stay safe in this troubled world.

I Heard a Voice 

Glimpsing the Sun and the Moon.

The last two Christmas Days I have watched the sun set over the sea with my family. Today as the sun wanes in the western sky I am alone, in my flat and listening to Beethoven. Just back from a walk I saw the sun and the moon. The year of tribulation, pestilence and death is nearing its close. That many like me are alone on this glorious day is testament to the destruction brought on by a little known virus. A year ago we heard whisperings of it from China. Now nothing from China but the world is crying out in the first world pandemic since 1918.

Back in March I wrote of not seeing the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse and I have yet to see them. But we are all pretty battered and bruised.

The loneliness did not strike until I messed up my photo of the epic Christmas lunch I made. I post a lot of food porn and I was disappointed to let everyone down with an epic fuck up. Switch from video to photo might help. So a sub par picture went out and I'm a little despondent.

That said though lunch was delicious. I boxed some up for my neighbour Richard to collect and he seemed to appreciate it all.

Now as the light fades I reflect on what was, what might have been and what may be to come. The truth is none of us are certain of the immediate future. True vaccines are being rolled out, dad had his on Thursday, but we are all in the dark.

With little choice but to carry on I wish you a merry Christmas from my humble flat, good cheer for the New Year and enjoy all that indulgence. A glass of Chianti awaits now. And after my bath, cheese and Barolo. Still too fat to eat it yet.

I Heard a Voice.  

On the Cheap

People in my world have long suspected that doctors and the NHS too often make decisions on the basis of cost rather than need. How long did it take for SSRIs to the place of tricyclics? Why is venlafaxine prescribed as a weapon of last resort? And did the advent of atypical antipsychotics really need to be delayed so long to the many rather than the few?

During my MSc in Mental Health Practice I learned of the complex mathematical equations used to evaluate cost effectiveness and efficacy of drugs right across the piste. But I had never until last week been knowingly affected by this flawed and baseless practice.

Last Friday I spoke to my GP for the first time in nearly three years. Yes that is how hard it is to get an appointment. He wanted to talk to me about medication despite my consultant reviewing things every three months. Apparently the pharmacist who has caused me so many problems in the last few months has now suggested that I be switched to a cheaper alternative to my Trimipramine. Since when did a pharmacist make decisions about my care? Especially as they have never actually talked to me about what I take and why. I have long doubted the effectiveness of antidepressants but the key indicator for me of relapse is insomnia. And having tried everything on the market with little effect it is the only pill that gives me consistent sleep. I certainly wouldn't change that for the world. Maybe I shouldn't take it for sedation but I done really care.

I'm speaking to my consultant on 5th January and it will be an emphatic no on my part to any spurious suggestion of change on cost grounds.

This aside I'm doing okay. True I'm utterly alone and cannot see anyone for Christmas. I am a little anxious but my mood is holding. Nearly everything is ready for the subdued big day. I'm not at work. I spoke to my therapist today. And my lovely friend Karen. In these uncertain times I cannot ask for more than that. What is is.

Normally at this time and date I would be sat at the bar of The Butt of Sherry talking to dad and old friends. But it is not to be this year. I will make the most of what I have, cook up a multitude of feasts, consume wine and listen to opera. The odd walk is welcome, I'm just back from a rather dark and damp wander. And there is always our new found lockdown ways of communication. The Selwyn crew on Christmas Eve. Dad and Miriam on Christmas Day. And who knows who else.

I will be on here on the day to wish you all a merry Christmas. Until then take care.

I Heard a Voice.

Carols, Rainbows and Chianti.

The glorious sunlit morning I woke to gave way to sporadic clouds, broken drizzle and a rainbow as I ventured out into the world this afternoon. This December has been marred by the rapid spread of the pestilence, virtual house arrest and the cancellation of Christmas for many. Life looks bleak.

I cannot however succumb to the darkness. The term is finally over, I ate a wonderful slow roast lamb shank for lunch, I listened to Mozart and Puccini, and I drank Chianti. I walked in the glorious open air and saw a pale crescent moon. Now as the light fades I'm listening to Christmas carols and finishing the wine.

So what will become of me moving forward? In truth life seems even more uncertain than when I wrote a year ago. True change has come but it has not been good change. Who I am in 2021 may be defined by a tumultuous 2020. That I made it to the end of the year seems a miracle. Much did not feel good about the last year.

It is easy to say it can't get any worse but who knows? I have no plans moving forward other than trying to relax in the holiday, indulge, reflect, consume and take it a day at a time.

Opera, books, and culinary adventures will ensue. My therapy will continue. My friendships will flourish I hope. It will just be from a distance for the moment. Much hope is being placed in the various vaccines, I will certainly have them when my time is right. My dad I suspect will get his pretty quickly. Nigel too. When I get there I do not know. I may be many things but a fool is not one of them so why would I decline?

The rest of today will be passed with carols, NFL and a few beers. Stay safe in these uncertain times.

I Heard a Voice. 

Asking Too Much.

There is a week to go before I get a break. Then and only then will I be able to switch off. A short but very difficult week has left me tired and on edge. I struggled to get out of bed despite waking up very late. Everything has been an effort today. But at almost 4 pm on a cold, wet and miserable day here in Hertfordshire I'm still standing.

My strange route into my line of work is well documented. Once upon a time it was just like talking to friends. Now nearly twenty years later at times I feel old and jaded. I hope I do it for the right reasons. True I long ago acknowledged that I cannot change the world. I am not always compassion enough. And I find it extremely hard when people are hostile. Through that though I must persevere.

This week I was faced with hostility and blame for failure. I do not study for students. I cannot do their placements for them. I cannot magic away their problems. Sometimes too much is asked of me and that hurts.

Tomorrow I will pick up further hostility and blame and it makes me feel shit about myself. I'm acutely aware that the mental health system is flawed. Be it in the NHS or the world of universities we can never always get it right. Or deliver what people want. Not getting the answer one wants does not necessarily equate to not being supported.

Back in the 1990s when my illness was at its height and I was angry and broken young man I expected far too much of those around me. It felt as if the world was against me and nothing went right. Years of exasperation started to change when I realised I had to change my life. And changing my life was fucking hard. The battle of the last thirty years of my life has been exactly that at times. A battle. 

The way I feel today I do not want to go into battle tomorrow. An alarm going off in the morning will immediately stimulate a sharp spike in my anxiety. That will hurt. But I've been there before and coped. So I can do it again.

Now I will leave you with thoughts of Puccini opera, roast beef and an evening of NFL action. See you all soon.

I Heard a Voice.

Washed Away in the Rain.

The rain has been pouring down here all day. It is cold, it is dark and it is miserable. The week for me has been washed away in a deluge of exhaustion, stress and worry. I do not know what is wrong with my but since Monday I have felt completely drained of any energy, any motivation and any drive. I've been home all week.

There has occasionally been a venture out into the cold wet world. Today I was out for a while but the return left me empty and tired.

Some good news though that my medication has finally been sorted out. That was an experience I never want to go through again. It made me angry at times but that anger has been assuaged now. It passes into history although no doubt the anxiety will rise next time. I have managed to secure a telephone appointment with my GP in a couple of weeks. Not spoken to him for nearly three years.

As ever when I'm off guilt lurks in my mind. That I'm a fake, a fraud and a bullshitter. That I'm letting my colleagues down. That is probably just me, some have been in touch and wished me well. Not long remains to this term, the university closes two weeks tomorrow.

Given current circumstances I very much doubt I will get to Kent for Christmas. There is no travel there at present and even if a review lowers the tier I really don't think it will be in time to travel. The travel itself is likely to be horrendous, blocked roads and packed trains. I learned today that King's Cross the station through which I travel is closing for Christmas. Not sure on the dates but I'm more or less resigned to spending Christmas on my own.

I doubt I will do much for the rest of today. Better to stay in the warm. If you are out and about please stay safe.

I Heard a Voice. 

Gratuitous Blows.

In the many years I have battled mental illness both in myself and those I support it has become abundantly clear that whatever the label one is given (and I've had many) what makes it far worse is associated anxiety. Matt Haig put it brilliantly in his book Reasons to Stay Alive "adding anxiety to depression is like giving cocaine to an alcoholic". It devastates lives.

Like my mum before me the older I get the more anxiety comes at the drop of a hat. Such tiny things can destroy the day, take away precious sleep and make me vulnerable to a slump in mood.

Of course no one can completely take anxiety and stress out of his or her life. Some thrive on it. My reputation as a practitioner is universally of someone who always stays calm. All the GPs, psychiatrists and other colleagues at HPFT say the same thing but it is so much easier to do when dealing with others than with myself. Calm though I may be at work, I am not calm at home.

Having had a beautiful long weekend where I was relaxed and refreshed I woke on Monday morning feeling absolutely wiped out. No idea what is happening with me. The physical symptoms are hard to define other than a sense of being worn out and wanting to sleep all day. Sure I have taken a couple of days off and no doubt will feel better in time. What I didn't need was the type of gratuitous hammer blow of running out of medication.

My faith in the pharmacy by my flat was dented in August when I was going away and a bank holiday was looming. Not wanting to run out I placed my order early. They simply refused to do it and we ran really close to running out.

Now I'm not allowed to put it in early I left it until the Friday before last. Last Friday I went in to collect but no medication. As so often happens the pharmacy blames the GP and the GP blames the pharmacist. A late flurry of calls and I was promised a prescription that day.

Yesterday no medication either. Each blamed the other again. Well in a news flash I don't really care whose fault it is I just want my medication. More calls and I have been promised medication today.

I acknowledge mistakes happen. God I make enough myself. But when feeling vulnerable and shit I really don't need this shit.

At 5.30 I will go back and see if the promise is fulfilled. If not then for the first time in nearly 30 years I will have run out of medication. I hate to think what that will look like.

Take care out there and don't allow anxiety to shake your self belief, shatter your confidence and precipitate something out of control.

I Heard a Voice. 

A Rare Calm.

Hello on a Saturday night. You will not often find me on here then but here I am. It has been a dank, cold and overcast day here but I'm in good spirits. That's what taking a few days off does for the soul. And for once I have felt serenely calm during my time away. That has to be a good thing.

With all the lockdown stuff I had some left over holiday for last academic year so as it was Thanksgiving on Thursday I decided to take a two day break from reality. And it has really worked. Sublime roast turkey and the NFL, fine wine and lots of sleep have really righted the ship.

Of course it has gone much more quickly than I would have hoped but any break from the mental chaos is a good thing.

My kitchen has been busy. From Thanksgiving turkey to Turkish liver wraps seasoned with cumin, Aleppo pepper and oregano, pan fried mackerel fillet dusted in gram flour, sumac and cumin with pomegranate seeds and molasses dressing to beef bourguignon. I have mainly triumphed. Tomorrow my old friend roast belly pork. It is great to celebrate freedom.

As Handel opera plays I'm supping some very ordinary French red wine and doing some reading. Not had a lot of chance recently given the NFL commitments.

Away from my little world we come out of lockdown on Wednesday to a very changed freedom. In fact many will have none at all including dad. As things stand I will not be driving down for my annual Christmas break. The restrictions are too great. So I must prepare for my first Christmas at home for nine years. Of course I can triumph but I will miss dad and all my friends. Will this vaccine save the day next year? We can but hope so.

That is all beyond my control though. So I will leave you to your evening and return to my wine. Stay safe everyone.

I Heard a Voice.

Release From Prison.

A little under a week has now gone by since I was released into an autumn night. Never before have I valued freedom as much as this. Being shut in for nine days created a mental downturn different to any of my many hell holes I've been in. Not depressed just desolate. On some days I could barely drag myself out of bed. I figured though that it is better to have something rather than nothing. True my work capacity was impaired but I got through those days.

When freedom came at midnight last Thursday I walked out into the night simply because I could. There was no one on the street. A couple of police cars drove past, and a pair of civilian cars. Nothing stirred beside that. And it was wondrous.

On Saturday as the rain poured down I went out and embraced the day. I got wet and muddy but somehow to be enveloped in rain gave an amazing sense of wellbeing and freedom. Not all people in this world are free. I learned a lot of what the world must be like for many. And it wasn't pretty.

Now it is opera night and I reflect. Mozart plays, I cook and I read. My kitchen adventures have had mixed results. I overcooked the extremely expensive rib of beef I bought to celebrate my freedom. Yet it tasted wonderful. To Thailand and China I have been and today to Turkey. A dish called Kapuska, a revelation! Spiced cabbage with minced lamb and tomato topped with Aleppo pepper and parsley served with warmed pitta.

Thus far the working week has gone mainly to plan. No confrontation. No arguments, No aggression. Long may that last.

Tomorrow I go to campus and Jess will do her thing, blitzing through my flat like a whirling Dervish and order will be restored. The weekend is not far off. I have a short week after that as I'm taking a couple of days off for Thanksgiving. Roast turkey, roast potatoes, sprouts, carrots, cabbage, gravy and cranberry sauce. For all my American friends on here not sure how genuine my attempt will be but I will enjoy it.

Maybe see you all at the weekend.

I Heard a Voice.

Inglorious Isolation and Devastating Loneliness.

Is there anything so bleak as being locked in with no visitors, nowhere to walk and only one's own thoughts? There probably is, I've never been in a war zone, lost a child or been the victim of a serious crime. Yet seven days into this enforced incarceration I'm not doing great. My therapist said this afternoon it must be like solitary confinement. And that is exactly right. So lonely.

My thoughts have drifted to people in prison, to those forced for months to stay indoors for health reasons and the many of my own people who have been locked up in psychiatric hospitals. And I too have been there as you will recall. The devastating loneliness, the despair and tragedy of my loss at leaving Cambridge in 1991 is what led me to that dark place. And now it feels like that again.

I cannot fault the many who have come to me in the last week. From the zoom call with my friend Harsarup on Saturday to the endless calls. The messages of support on social media to Francois and Bronwen bringing me some Rioja. My neighbour Richard buying coffee to my other neighbour Vanessa arriving with kitchen towel and cheese. Cheese so wonderous to behold. And my kind friend Kevin sending me a lovely card and present...thanks Kevin, I will buy the finest bottle of wine I can find!

Somehow some way I have made it to just over 24 hours to go before the prison gate is flung open and I can breathe the air, feel the cold and get wrapped in the rain. Any real sensation after this will be welcome. Assuming I can get out of bed in the morning, I almost didn't today, I will try to work. People from there have also been terribly kind. It reminds me that when the bullets are flying and everyone is panicking that we would all feel much better if we are kind to each other.

Adversity can bring out the best in people. I'm not sure you have seen my best but I will get there. For now though it is Puccini, a glass of Picpoul de Pinet and a book. It all helps.

When I next speak to you I will be free. And I will value that freedom far more than I ever have before.

I Heard a Voice. 

Locked In.

Four years ago I penned a post on here to mark the victory of Mr Trump in the US election. Not because I particularly like him. Nor do I like to make political comment on here. No more to plead for unity in that great country. He had a lot of healing to do in such a divided place.

Now on a gloomy November Sunday afternoon we have another president elect. The years of chaos, disruption, arrogance and world shaking egotistical politics will have finally come to an end. USA, you have a lot of healing to do but please remember democracy is not the right of every man and woman in this fractious world. We are privileged enough to have that right. And Mr Trump says he has been cheated. Maybe he knows something I don't but that is the result and much of the world has breathed a huge sigh of relief. Mr Biden has a huge task but good luck to him and to the American people.

Back here in my small part of the world not all is going to plan. True I had a week without incident or conflict. However as I was coming home from the pub on Wednesday just as the country was shutting down again my covid app bleeped and ordered me to stay indoors until next Friday.

Here on day four of my house arrest I'm really feeling it. My outlook is as bleak and grey as the sky outside. The instructions on the app tell me I'm only allowed to exercise in my garden. Sadly I have no garden and the balcony is small. So nowhere to go.

As ever though my friends have been extraordinary. People calling, messaging, texting and zooming. And they have shopped for me. There should be a delivery of Rioja this afternoon.

The last time I was locked up like this was in an old asylum in the summer of 1991 after my breakdown. Shit though my world looks today it is nowhere near as terrifying at that desolate summer all those years ago.

I have my opera, I have my books, I have my kitchen. And I have wine. Day by day I will crawl towards salvation on Friday. It seems a long way off today. But I will get there intact.

Until next time.

I Heard a Voice.

A Halloween Full Moon.

The rain has been hammering down all day. It is gloomy, desolate and not enticing. A shame as I was looking forward to seeing the first Halloween full moon in 76 years. In a way it is our day. Many have said to be over the years that their mental illness is at its worst on full moon. There is no scientific reason why this might be but the world of mental health is not one of science, more one of anecdote.

My apologies for my recent silence. Many times I have wanted to write. Usually on the hard and angry days. But that is not wise. Better to let anger dissipate. I've learned that through bitter experience.

The days where I want to give up, walk away and tell the world to fuck off keep coming. Usually just a day in duration they nevertheless affect my sleep and my anxiety rises. The older I get the more I realise anxiety has been there most of my life. With each passing day I'm beginning to make sense of mum's last tormented years before her sudden death in 2012. That my life was unstable then is a memory. Well it should be but it keeps coming back. Why worry about small things?

The last two weekends I've had visitors. Great but what worry I experienced. It came into sharp focus how out of control I feel in my life. My cooking is so important but I need to concentrate and not be distracted. I need a cup of tea. I want a bath. These requests are little but to my delicate sense of self they sky rocket my anxiety. I certainly struggled with patience earlier in my life. Seems others do still.

My little life is insignificant in the grand scheme of things. I give it two weeks max before we are shut in our homes. I've watched from half way round the world what lockdown has done to my friend Georgia in Melbourne. They are finally allowed outside but what price have they paid with their minds? I think that will come to us.

So I must focus on what I can do. And on this wet day Handel lightens up my life. I have a chilled glass of wine. I'm nice and warm. And I have lamb to cook. Flavoured with rosemary, thyme, fennel, bay and cooked on a bed of onions and steamed in white wine. Never tried it before but pretty much everything  from Sam and Sam Clark's Moro books comes out brilliantly.

Take care out there in the rain, marvel at the full moon if you see it and remember my friends, madness is not constant. I have a mental illness but a lot of the time I cope. Just letting go of the bad days, the powerlessness, the fear and the anger, that is the key to surviving mental illness.

I Heard a Voice.  

A Pint in the Autumn Sun.

That glorious golden light of autumn pervades this still and quiet October afternoon. On carpets of russet leaves I ventured forth for a little drive. Stopping at The White Horse at Burnham Green I sat alone in the garden, pleasantly warm and contented in my mental stillness. Not often that happens in term time. But I'm not there today. After a long weekend what better than a lonely contemplative pint in my favourite season?

Being away from work even for just a couple of days was what I needed. I plod on each day seeing all I have achieved slip away as with an hour glass. My time feels over. What next I do not know. I need a job but all that comes with it feels scary, empty and isolating. I have my supporters but none are in position to help me. In my own self derision I used to say I'm only as good as the students I can help. If I can't help I'm a waste of space.

The plaudits, the comments, the cards and the history count for little now. There is a new world, one I do not understand and I suspect to the detriment of future generations. All will be seen in time.

What I do hope moving forward is that I get clarity. Support means many things to different people but it is very hard to define. On Wednesday I go back to therapy. Peter will tell me what might help and I will be dragged kicking and screaming away from my way. For my way is no more.

Yet on this quiet afternoon I'm trying not to think about that. The morning will come soon enough. A day at a time and a task at a time.

Away from my small world I suspect it will not be long before I'm locked down again. My friend Ros is already headed that way as she lives in Wales. My area has rising infections but is okay at present. My friend Marie came for the weekend to beat any shutdown. I do like visitors but I also like the solitude of the afternoon after departure. She got home okay.

For me my kitchen beckons. Thai prawns with chilli and basil will adorn my metaphorical table tonight. Not sure about tomorrow.

Enjoy this sunny day before the rains come. For they will come. Until next time.

I Heard a Voice. 

Still Standing, Still Fighting.

Cast your mind back to late winter 1994. My life had been ravaged by mental illness for four years. Fred and Rose West has just been discovered and some of the most heinous crimes in British history were unfolding in the glare of the tabloid press. John Major was our Prime Minister. And Donald Trump was already a clown...a very rich clown. Mental illness was not talked about. And I was desperately lonely.

Back then I was waiting for admission to a specialist psychiatric facility in London. They took the untouchables. The ones who no one wanted to work with. The angry. The damned. The ones everyone else had given up on as too damaged and too toxic. I entered that ward in March.

When I emerged in the summer of that year my last hope was gone. Well it wasn't gone, I had simply not done what I was told and was thus forward too much for the NHS to deal with. Bernie Rosen once told me that I would never find a medication that would work for me.

Going back to my small world was soul destroying. There was no hope. Yet I was determined to do something and that was to read my medical notes. A few weeks later I did so. And it was like they were talking about an alien completely detached from my life, my experience, my emotion and my compassion. It told my GP that my prognosis was to kill myself within six months.

All these years later on World Mental Health Day I can say I'm still standing, I'm alive, I'm kicking, and I'm fighting. It takes a lot of courage to fight mental illness. I did find a medication  and it worked.

I have a life. I have a career. I have friends. And mental illness is now just a part of my life. Covid aside the last few months have been tough. All the doubt has come back. I feel all I have achieved is being swept away. And my legacy is crumbling.

Yet I must recall the words, the cards, the nominations and the kindness of my friends who have helped me, the students I have helped, the sun shining, having my own place, having opera and books. Having my kitchen. And having life.

Many of my friends from those days are dead. So on our day I bear testimony for both the living and the dead. I have no doubt that the few people who read my musings fight their demons day to day. I certainly do. If that is you please stand up and congratulate yourself for surviving. Keep fighting for that way we will prevail over our demons.

Take care out there.

I Heard a Voice. 

Splitting Apart at the Seams.

Way back in March when I was sent home from work and the world shut down for the first few weeks it felt to me that people were pulling together and being kinder to each other. Early in lockdown I read a piece in the Sunday Times by the former Tory minister Liam Fox about the book he was writing on the history of pandemics which illustrated that much social good comes from these disasters.

Sat at home on a cold gloomy September day six months on I'm losing the will to see human kindness. The central part of my community here in my small part of Hertfordshire is the pub over the road. Having been shut down for 15 weeks, opened again and now restricted again friends are turning on friends and it is all falling apart.

I despair the political bloodletting, the division and the hatred. Nothing like this has happened since 1918/19 so how did any government know how to respond? We are all in this, if we fight each other we are in trouble.

On a much more important level the deep racial divisions in my society and across the Atlantic have been starkly exposed. I do not know about Black Lives Matter apart from what the press tells me but I do know that peace and reconciliation must be a way forward. I'm lucky in my life that I have so many friends from all races, creeds, beliefs, gender orientation and sexuality. I'm lucky enough to see that diversity in my work place. Please let us fight together not fight each other.

In my small and insignificant part of the world I too have been struggling. I had an awful week. I haven't switched off all weekend and I'm heading for a showdown that will be brutal whatever the outcome. My future is clearer but more foggy. I'm delighted for friends but have a sense of doom in my own career and future.

After a tough weekend I will try to highlight the good. I had fun with Gary and Ali last night despite their inebriated state. I have listened to Mozart. I cooked fantastic roast shoulder of lamb. I have chatted to friends. And I get to watch the Rams at 6 pm. It is not all bad.

Take care everyone.

I Heard a Voice.

Sunlit Autumn Day.

Greetings from a beautiful Hertfordshire. Two weeks has gone by since I wrote. In truth there could have been several posts but they never came.

So on this sunlit autumn day I'm back. Careful as ever in what I have to say but that makes it clear life is not easy. All my travails of before are still there. I'm facing what may be a game changing decision. At best good will come. At worst I will have a lot more money but an even more uncertain future.

Terms starts on Monday. Is there about to be another lockdown? What chaos that would bring I do not know. What I do know is that my return to campus on Thursday was a bewildering and overwhelming experience. Got almost nothing done and anxiety was very high. Yesterday all our systems were down so could get little done then either.

Facing next week I live in fear but time stops for no man. But I have the weekend first though. Tonight there will be a southern Thai duck curry and tomorrow roast beef awaits.

The rest of this afternoon is devoted  to Handel and reading. Maybe I'll be back on here soon. Sorry I didn't have much to say today.

I Heard a Voice. 

A Passage in Time.

On this day in 2007 I moved away from all I knew and undertook this crazy venture here in Hertfordshire. Who could have known I would be in this position all these years later? Never all together happy I feel more uncertain at this stage than at any time during those years. Work however can wait. I'm on holiday.

The cold and rain has given way to mild autumn of sunshine and beautiful hues of leaves. Not sure what to do with myself this morning after waking early again I watched the first half of the Richmond Tigers then ventured forth for a fry up. All a bit of a come down from yesterday.

Then I ventured to town to go to Borough Market and meet my friend Krishna. She tells me we have known each other ten years now and we have both had our share of low times. She calls me her Buddha as I have always given her good advice. By her own admission she probably wouldn't have been alive today without my interventions. For all my doubt I know that for every Krishna there are a few more. People say kind things about me. I'm just not very good at being kind to myself.

I was very restrained at market only buying spices and some balsamic vinegar for Sarah. The birthday lunch on Sunday with Sarah, Jess, Miriam and Nigel was fabulous. Some of the finest roast beef I've had. How long until I go there again?

Ahead of me lies uncertainty. Yes I will enjoy my last few days of freedom. What the start of term brings I do not know. That I'm anxious is a given; it was ever thus. A colleague at another university who I met early on all those years ago later described me as like "a rabbit caught in the headlights". It was pretty terrifying back then. And all done alone.

Now I have immediate colleagues and though we all face uncertainty as Robin put it "we will face it together". A big contrast to the loneliness of 2007 to 2015.

Back here at the flat I'm listening to Haydn and wondering what to do. Maybe some reading. A roast chicken awaits later. For the the clock keeps ticking in a passage of time.

I Heard a Voice.

The Leaves, the Blackberries and the Chill.

An all together fresher outlook has descended on the land. A few leaves have already fallen. The blackberries are ripening. The chill. And the night drawing in. Autumn that beautiful season is almost upon us. The strange world we inhabit mid pandemic has seen a lightning summer, a lot rain and a nation still reeling from the extraordinary events of the last six months. Can summer almost be over already? Yes indeed. On Sunday we once again celebrate my birthday. On Wednesday it will mark 13 years since I moved here. Thursday 13 years in my job. I would never have imagined this outcome all those years ago.

Once again I find myself at a crossroads with direction signs torn down. Is there a storm coming the likes of which I have not seen since my breakdown in 1991? Or am I just being too anxious and paranoid? That I'm unsettled is clear. That I need change is also clear. But how and why? And will I be in control of events? A decision that I needed to make by midnight has been made. It will advance me no further and the recriminations may be deeply unpleasant. But the parameters of my life are not being kind to me at the moment. That they have been artificially set against me became clear last week. My response may lead to trouble but needed to be sent.

For now though I focus on my holiday. Had a great time in Kent with dad. Today I did a little shopping and remained steadfast in resistance to the desire to buy yet another coat and two more pairs of boots. Maybe after pay day on Friday.

Tonight's opera is Cosi fan Tutti and I'm having a beer. Been reading Rick Stein's Secret France book as I listen. Tomorrow I hope to go to Cambridge but that depends on when I wake up. As ever I slept poorly at dad's so am quite tired.

Not sure when I will return on here, maybe next week. Enjoy the rest of summer and let us hope as we move into autumn the world becomes a little better for all of us.

I Heard a Voice.

The Gulls, the Sun and the Cloud.

A rare Sunday morning venture on to here. The sea beckons this afternoon. For now I listen to the gulls, admire the sporadic sunshine and curse the low cloud coming into play. I have finally arrived at my holiday.

You may wonder where I have been. Normally I write most weekends. But not for two weeks. In truth I have had a lot on my mind, been finding life tough going and not at all happy. Maybe things are in motion that will spiral out of control. My little world seems shaky at this point. Escaping to the seaside has not stopped my mind wandering back to things I'm rather not think about.

Trying to find peace down here is proving elusive. It is certainly great to see dad again. And I've seen a few friends. A week today I will turn 51, maturing more? Or becoming more troubled and petulant? Time will tell I fear.

For now though I must take each day as it comes, enjoy seeing my friends, travel safely on Tuesday and hang on to not having to do and live up to the expectations of others.

Must go now as I'm cooking roast beef for our lunch. All prepared, just need to switch the oven on and get the potatoes in.

See you all soon.

I Heard a Voice.

Storm Breaks, Thunder in Your Ears.

After days of 33 degrees and intense humidity the storm we all wanted finally broke this afternoon. For a good two hours the thunder rumbled and the lightning flashed and the rain came down. Finally relief from sweating, intense discomfort. My friend Francois is South African and despite working for years in Botswana where temperatures regularly break 40 degrees even he was struggling in this. It's the humidity that kills us.

A few hours later having eaten ribs and chicken satay once again the heat is on the rise and the air is oppressive. Opera night is underway with Handel. The balcony door is open and I'm away from the chaos of the days. My reality at present is better than it has been. No sign of low mood or anxiety for ten days or so. Long may it continue.

The reality of winning that award is fading into the distance but I'm still proving helpful to my young and troubled charges. The pace has slowed certainly but there is still a lot to do before September comes. I have fears for then but I'm holding my own.

The value of team work has been to the fore this week. Something that has been sorely lacking at times. Seeking one's own betterment seldom makes for good working environments. We are I'm pleased to say getting better at that.

Not long to go until my holiday. It has been confirmed that I will travel to the seaside on Saturday week. Can't wait to see dad and walk along the beach. Who knows if the sun will shine but no matter. I will be back on familiar territory.

See you all next time.

I Heard a Voice.

Deceived by the Morning.

When I left my flat this morning to get my Sunday Times it looked like we were in for a cooler day. After the recent stifling heat and humidity I felt a little fresher. But not a bit of it. As I left the flat again in the early afternoon for a walk the temperature was soaring to 33 degrees. A short walk and a pint then returned to to comparative cool of my flat.

My recent instability seems to have righted itself for the time being at least. My week was highlighted by being shocked to win an award from our Student Union. So much of what we do goes un-noticed by many. The ringing anger of people saying mental health services are shit and no one cares occupies my thoughts more than the many I have helped over the years. Yes some years ago I was twice shortlisted for a Vice Chancellor's award as Employee of the Year. But that is unusual. Much of the time feels pretty bleak. The important thing is that the two near misses and this recent success were at the recommendation of students rather than my friends nominating me.

Another week is now down and I have two weeks until my holiday. Small matter of root canal before then though so I anticipate rising anxiety coming up. But after the week I have had a glorious weekend.

The sun shone, the cricket ended in glory as England beat the odds to come from a long way back to beat Pakistan, and I did a BBQ at Jo's last night. Thai red curry prawn kebabs, lamb kofte, Korean beef kebabs and Thai BBQ pork skewers. The beef went a little wrong but triumphed with the rest. And Jo's piri piri sardines were a revelation.

So I'm set up for another week. I'm listening to Handel with a glass of wine. Gammon goes in to roast shortly. There was an interesting piece on Matt Haig in the Sunday Times magazine; if you haven't read his Reasons to Stay Alive you must. A bottle of Rioja will accompany my dinner.

Until next time have a good week everyone.

I Heard a Voice.

Missing the Moon.

The thought crossed my mind in the week that I hadn't seen the moon in ages. Not the merest of glimpses. Then two nights ago I saw it. Not quite full but a beautiful sight to see.

You may be wondering how I am after the recent turbulence. Mainly I've been doing better. That said today I feel flat and lethargic. I must have been tired, didn't wake up until very late. I visited my butcher, had a fry up in town and had my hair cut. Then home to nothing. I do not feel like cooking tonight although I have some lovely local lamb. Maybe I can summon up the energy later to cook a Javanese curry. With no motivation that doesn't seem possible at this point. Can I power on though? Or just give up the ghost and eat crap?

In three weeks I will be on holiday. I'm hoping to go to the seaside and see dad but there are still restrictions at his flats so it may not come off. Missing the sea as much as I missed the moon. The country seems more volatile as signs of the virus are emerging again. I feel for those being shut down again.

The future does not look fabulous. I can't see how we can survive another lockdown. How many will lose their jobs? Will there still be pubs to go to? Will I be able to have a fry up or ribs? We don't know at this point.

As you can see I'm not feeling very optimistic today. Let us hope tomorrow is a better day.

I Heard a Voice.

Masked and Restrained.

On a wet Saturday afternoon in July I'm musing on the divisions and uncertainty of the world. My title is not a reference to sexual practice kinky or otherwise. More it reflects that my country is now required to be masked to shop and that despite my mask I was restrained in my profligate spending before the rains came as I cautiously went to town.

Who knows where we are at with the pandemic. Whilst I have followed instructions for months now it does seem odd that at this point I am required to be masked rather than when fear stalked the land, the death toll was rising and our lives were as uncertain as I'd ever known. A lot of conspiracy views, political views and down right stupid views are littering social media. Are we being metaphorically and physically gagged?

In truth this post has gone through many different versions and false dawns since midweek. I could have posted several times but that would have been foolish. That it was tough going was an understatement. At times when we need to heal wounds adding salt is not the solution. But I think it is time for my long held silence, a silence that I turn in on myself and that impacts on my mental health, to end. It will be measured not angry. It will not be well received. And I don't think it will be listened to. But if we do not stand up bad things follow.

I regularly joke about being old. To my students I'm ancient. But until this week I had never felt old. Until this week. Feeling dated, obsolete and cast off I did not respond well. Thank goodness I had a therapy session which was extremely helpful. So too the wisdom of many kind friends who gave up their time to talk to me in the latter part of this week.

My future looks bleak and cloudy. However, the advice and realisation that I need to control what I can control has steadied the ship somewhat. True bad dreams woke me this morning and my mood is flat but I am not defeated.

As the rain comes down outside I must acknowledge the good, the cricket is on, I have wine, I'm writing on here, I have roast beef tomorrow, and I have the certain knowledge that whilst some quite rightly should be treated with suspicion not everyone is bad. My friends have proved that this week.

Take care.

I Heard a Voice.

More Emotion, Less Haste.

It wasn't until later this week when I thought about it I realised just how low I was on Tuesday. One of the odd things about my life is that in my work I'm at my best when the proverbial bullets are flying and chaos is all around yet on simple daily tasks I fall apart. The crippling anxiety of uncertainty paralysed me that day.

Now a few days later I'm on a more even keel, the big fear is sorted and I'm okay for having cancelled things. In the end it was Sarah rather than me who cancelled Borough Market on Wednesday. The relief coupled with my car being fixed made the terror melt away.

I've not been completely idle. I had a lovely walk through the woods to The Waggoners on Thursday with Gary. Then yesterday I drove to Sandridge for lunch with my friends Kym and Peter at The Rose and Crown. They're rather special in that both are wise and both get my world. I'm not always a lover of therapists but they are wise and share rather than the self righteousness of many I have met who make it all about themselves playing a game of their own making, own refereeing and own rules. Sadly they are very bad at explaining those rules. The other Peter who I consult every three weeks is like them. Human.

Of course this week flew by. It always does when we're away from work. I do not know what I will face come Monday morning but on this Saturday evening as I listen to Handel's Saul I don't really care. That it has been an expensive week was to be expected given that I needed my car fixed and I had a sight and contact lens test today. But I think I'm okay.

Tomorrow brings my friend Jo to join me for slow roast shoulder of pork, some opera and lots of laughs. Jo is big hearted, has a big voice and a big and somewhat dirty laugh. I like her company. She will try roasted fennel for the first time tomorrow. I like to educate as well as entertain.

I will return now to Handel. Take care out there and enjoy the weekend. See you all soon.

I Heard a Voice.

Emptiness and Nothingness.

I should have known today would not be good from waking after a bad dream and feeling starving hungry. The seeds were sown last night when dinner did not go to plan. Sometimes if I drink too much I have these terrible hungry hangovers. A burning desire to eat but feeling nauseous at the same time. But I didn't drink much so why did I feel so shit today? A chain reaction, starving, anxiety, nausea and a feeling of being lost all combined to bring on that terrible emptiness of nothing.

Without motivation it is hard to achieve anything. Yes I went out in my car, yes I window shopped, yes I put the washing on, yes I hoovered but still that nothingness, no mood either way. I suppose I feel marginally better for eating. I'm drinking water which always helps.

The thought of going to Borough Market as planned tomorrow fills me with dread. But I don't want to let Sarah down. I have plans every day this week except today. London tomorrow. Naima on Thursday. And Kym on Friday. At some point I need to get a new tyre for my car and defrost the freezer. Each brings its own terrors.

Living in fear of nothing and everything seems a curse bequeathed to me as I advance in years. What have I got to be frightened of? Nothing out of the ordinary. Yet still it devours me on days like today.

Holidays should be a time without fear. Yet without structure and purpose it is so easy to slip into that state. What I do to get out of it is unclear. I'm thinking I ought to go for a walk. It's grey and dull out but mild. Maybe into the woods? Or maybe just ride it out. Tomorrow is another day. And it could be better.

Will let you all know when I'm in a better place. I'm not sure why I'm writing this today. But here it is, my thoughts on an empty nothing day. Take care.

I Heard a Voice.

Dreaming of What Might Once Have Been.

The rain has been falling much of the day. Grey but mild, typical England on the first day of the First Test of a much delayed cricket season. I have my balcony door open to cool off a little. Rain like this doesn't annoy me except when it interferes with the cricket.

In its stead I'm listening to Don Giovanni and reflecting on an odd few days in what should be high summer. My terrible inadequacies at living independently and the anxiety that brings me have very much been to the fore. Problems with my car and my flat have kind of been resolved. I do need to go and get a tyre change but I'm hoping that can be resolved in my week off next week.

With the anxiety comes low mood but it hasn't been constant, I'm not rapid cycling and on this Wednesday night I'm fairly content. My hair is finally cut, I've mainly eaten well and I have all I need. Work has been quiet but mainly going well.

So what to say on this wet evening? Well to be honest it was a dream that was most memorable. You may recall how I am at times plagued by terrible nightmares. At best my dreams are weird and disturbing. Certainly it has improved since I stopped smoking in 2014. But still they haunt me. I do not get sweet dreams.

The shock of waking up at 4 am, sitting bolt upright in bed yesterday morning after a glorious dream was worth noticing. If you have read my books you will recall my breakdown and subsequent three decade battle with mental illness was overshadowed by a girl I call Rachel. That is actually her middle name, I do not use her first name publicly. What might have been but was not haunted me through hallucinations, mainly aural but sometimes I saw a terrifying image of a faceless young woman I knew to be her. Who can forget the chapter entitled Psychotic Zadok in A Pillar of Impotence in which a whole cathedral was taken over by a voice only I could hear? Her voice.

Almost twenty years since she last contacted me and with the help of Risperidone I'm no longer haunted in that way. I rarely think of her and the flashbacks and dissociation have largely receded. But she came in the early hours of yesterday morning. And it was so glorious. A wondrous dream which mainly faded but did not leave me terrified and sweating.

What might have been thirty years ago is not what turned out in the present. We take paths in life, some chosen, some enforced. But others also take paths in the same way and much of our lives paths can collide and intersect.

People sometimes ask me if I had my life again would it be without mental illness? A troubling question that is both superfluous, worthless and impossible to answer in a single word. What I do know though is that was what happened. I'm rarely bored. I've met amazing people. And I've helped a lot of those people. So good can come out of despair.

Until next time.

I Heard a Voice.

First in the Door...of Course!

Hurrah!!!!! That day has arrived! Not for my friends on the other side of the Atlantic although I do wish you all a very happy independence day. No for us. After 15 weeks pubs and restaurants are finally open! And guess who was first in The Hedgehog? Me of course. So marvellous to be able to go out again. I only had two pints but it was worth it.

Later I will walk into town to see Yan and Lin at The Fu Hao, order salt and pepper ribs and crispy duck. On the first day I moved here I visited there and now after all this time I'm allowed back.

In the main I'm good. Been unsettled by a flat tyre on my car and a problem with my smoke alarm in the flat. The anxiety was intense at times but feel fairly relaxed now. There isn't much to watch at the moment so have some dull football match on. Glorious though this day may be I did not fancy sitting in the pub until I couldn't stand so for now I'm in my flat.

Beka rang earlier which was nice. I have few calls to make myself this afternoon, never really stop working.

I will return to my kitchen tomorrow. Roast chicken and a glass or two of Muscadet, some new potatoes, asparagus, carrots and purple sprouting broccoli. Sunday lunch is almost as glorious an institution as a pub.

Please enjoy this weekend as much as I will. See you all soon.

I Heard a Voice.

Inky Skies and Fading Light

The last vestiges of daylight have just disappeared into an inky western sky. On a day when the fierce heat and humidity diminished on an altogether cooler and wetter day I was relieved by the break. Another working week is done and almost un-noticed the shortening of the days has begun.

My week was quieter, more stable and I guess better. I am on the plus side of the scale with occasional hints of the soaring faux brilliance that was in evidence last Friday. Where my mood will go I do not know but I'm no longer in trouble. This Tuesday I will speak to my psychiatrist. And on Wednesday my therapist.

In the wider world the lockdown is easing. I went to a BBQ on Thursday and had a wonderful time. Tomorrow I will entertain for the first time since this all happened. Sarah will join me for rare roast topside of beef, roast potatoes, carrots, purple sprouting broccoli, Savoy cabbage and green beans. I will partake of freshly grated horseradish cream and she will decline. The thorny issue of Yorkshire puddings will be decided in the morning depending on a) what time I wake up, and b) if I'm hungover. Fingers crossed.

My holidays are now booked. I'm not going away of course but will visit Kent at the end of August to see dad and my friends. Two weeks time I'm also off and my old friend Marie will visit from Kent. And by next weekend the pubs will be open...hurrah!!!!!!!

So until then we wait, eat, drink, listen to opera, read, and try to be cultured. Now I return to Cosi fan Tutti and bid you all good night and happy Sunday. Sleep well.

I Heard a Voice.

Deep Ravines and Jagged Peaks

From the depths of despair to sublime brilliance. Low to high. Hell to heaven. The peaks and troughs of a mood disorder were given their full range this week. When I last spoke to you I was deep in the mire. A ravine so deep it felt as if I would never climb out. I did all the things I shouldn't have done on Tuesday, read, listened, looked and got immerse in what at the time seemed the darkest pit of a life. Breakdowns are like that. But I reached out in a way that I never could back then and they came in their droves. My friends came through for me.

Expecting a slow recovery what happened next was completely surprising. I went on a wild upswing in mood and found myself of Friday evening wanting to yell out about my greatness, to phone people on the other side of the world and wake them up, party like no tomorrow and to just be on top of the world.

I have managed to calm down and hopefully didn't offend anyone. Now on Sunday afternoon I feel okay but no soaring mood which is what I want.

Contented in the purgatory of the present I'm turning to opera and my kitchen once again. I did go for a little adventure in the woods via Sarah's house. Saw several people in a sign that after all these weeks the shackles are off. Took some food over to Bronwen in the pub yesterday and was rewarded with a pint in the garden. That certainly felt good. Back to today and Offenbach's La Belle Helene plays, the belly pork is prepared and ready for the oven. Perhaps it is time for a glass of wine.

The coming week will be, hopefully it will go well. Last week certainly did despite the terrifying mental journey I was on. Tomorrow will come tomorrow and I'm okay with that.

Take care everyone and have good week.

I Heard a Voice.

The Tears Will Flow.

Is there a greater battle than that with mental illness? I've never been in combat. I'm never battled cancer or any other physical illness. But what I do know is that all who face the terrible tragedies of life also battle their mental demons.

This day marks the day where it all began. The Ball. The letter. The girl from Alabama. The girl. The descent. The devastation. The loss. Branded a narcissist at 24 leads to further demons. It feels self indulgent to mourn myself. Yet that was sound advice from the Buddhist healer I met in the 1990s. Yes that decade of desolation for me.

That my life was utterly flawed and build on foundations of sand is abundantly clear today three decades on. I was vain, I was arrogant, and I was foolish. But what young Cambridge student wasn't in those days or these? I only knew the world I knew.

On this day I was catapulted into the world that has been my life for these past 30 years. My own life. My working life. My friends' lives. And those of my students. Some say I'm good at it. Some say inspirational. Some say a wasted life.

The cataclysmic change that happened in 1990 has left me scarred, frightened, but wise. Many come for my wisdom for what it's worth. I only have to see the messages of those who reached out to me today to know that my tragedy has brought good to many people.

Waking late I abandoned my plans and decided that the solitude of silence was what I needed for a while. Since Friday I have contemplated what to do, what to say, or to stay silent. Passus et sepultus est. That was an epitaph for that old foolish life. Et resurrexit surely marks my life now. Died and was buried. And rose again.

I am certainly not divine. I have no pretension to greatness. I hurt, I scream, I cry but I survive. The scores of funerals I've attended in those 30 years bear witness to the devastation that is mental illness.

Tonight I will look, listen and read. And I will mourn. Yes I must burn the past but not until I'm ready to do so. Today I'm not. The tears will come as they have yet to do despite Dido's Lament and Kathy's Song. The memories haunt me to this day. But I will fight back and I will win.

For now I leave you. Tosca plays, the sun is shining and tomorrow is another day. Please take care in your vulnerability in a world that can sometimes be hostile. We are all human. And utterly flawed.

I Heard a Voice

The Perilous Road.

Some days we just have to put down to experience. I have known a crash was coming for some time. I talked to my therapist at length about the upcoming anniversary on Tuesday and what that will bring for me on Wednesday. He was very helpful but it still doesn't cushion the blow when it comes. The surprise is that it came last night.

My Friday night catch up with the Selwyn crew has become a ritual for me during shutdown. I came to the party late owing to my fear of technology. Once I got going though it is now a valued part of my life. Yesterday came the old photos day. I don't have many photos of those days here. They may be at dad's although they may have been thrown out when he moved.

The shock was a hitherto unknown photo of graduation day. Tinged with fear and bad memories I had mainly expunged that day from my memory. Standing outside out house at 21, West Road, Cambridge in our youthful finery were my housemate Matt and me. It should have been a glorious day. In fact I had decided two nights before that suicide was the only answer. I was so close to breakdown yet nothing showed on that photo. Six weeks later I would be in hospital and in the grips of a full on psychotic breakdown.

Looking back I had already been in deep psychotic depression for a shade over a year. Some might say how on earth could I get a degree in that state? I do not know. But it was the end of a cherished era and looking forward all I could see was darkness and loneliness. Suicide was the only possible option that day.

Against my better judgement I posted it on Facebook. Not because I was looking for likes but because I knew it would make people smile. Later when the crash happened as it was inevitably going to do I wanted to take it down. Yet there it remains a monument to a terrifying day 29 years ago.

Today was always going to be difficult after that. And true to expectation that happened. All my plans fell through. With the exception of soy sauce which I failed to get last week my shopping expedition came back empty handed. My washing lays unkempt and undone. My cleaning didn't happen. And lunch was a supreme effort.

Wine has helped as had Handel. My natural instinct when like this is the shut down from the world. But my friend Ellie reached out and that helped. She too is in the grip of a devastating anniversary.

You may hear from me on Tuesday. I'm not going to work and will not communicate with the world except possibly on here. If you are reading and worried don't be. I just need a break from reality for a little while.

I Heard a Voice.

Rain and Bad Light Stopped Play.

To use the parlance of cricket rain and bad light have stopped play today. Not too many outdoor adventures today although might try and sneak in a quick walk at some point.

Sat in my gloomy flat with the lights on mid afternoon, nevertheless I'm listening to opera, supping Chianti and digesting my lunch. Rare roast beef, roast potatoes, carrots, Savoy cabbage, broccoli and freshly grated horseradish cream. I triumphed today although I couldn't be bothered to make Yorkshire puddings.

Don Giovanni and Arminio are today's chosen operas. I think I listen to Mozart and Handel more than anything else. My consumption of popular music has gone down considerably during lockdown as I'm not driving much. However I did listen to David Bowie's Hunky Dory on my travels yesterday. With the Farm Shop at Smallford finally reopened I ventured down yesterday morning. Saw my young friend who works there. I don't know her name but I always have a chat with her. Home via the Chinese and Indian shops in Hatfield so the fridge is groaning. Foolishly bought mushroom dark soy by mistake. No doubt someone will take it off my hands but means I'll have to do another trip next weekend.

If all goes to plan many more shops will open Monday week. Whether the feared second wave comes I do not know. Are we closer to working out what the world will look like? Or still floundering and confused?

For my part I'm still enjoying working from home and hope to do some of that still when we finally get back to campus. The weeks are unusually busy for June. The nice things is that students are getting their results now and we get to see the many triumphs. Given my own history of mental illness I have some idea quite how much many of my students have to overcome to get to that victorious moment. That moment when walking down the knave of St Alban's Abbey they can say fuck you to mental illness, today I won! That will be delayed for this year's graduands.

In the real world of mental health we don't often see an end game in the way I do at the university. Yes we talk of recovery but that has been tempered by describing it as a journey not a destination. I'm not recovered, I'm in recovery. We can learn a lot from the ethos of AA.

To dream that one day I will be cured and no longer have to take Risperidone is fantasy and quite frankly not worth the risk. I have what I have and it is part of me. But not all of me as it once was.

Have a great week everyone and see you soon.

I Heard a Voice.

Violence and Bigotry.

Thunder, lightning, rain and hail pervade my little corner of Hertfordshire. A prophetic epitaph? Nature taking its vengeance? In a world where plague, pestilence, violence and discrimination have come to the fore recently it is hard not to believe there is some power, divine or otherwise, that I do not understand that has come to punish our arrogant humanity. Nearly two weeks have gone by since I last spoke to you. And so much has happened.

As a white, male, middle class, straight guy I'm not really at risk. Yes I sometimes drink too much. I take my life in my hands with my love of a pub. When manic I say things that alienate people. My arrogance sometimes gets me into trouble. It is true as some have pointed out that all lives matter but not all lives are a great risk of violence. Why should a black person, a woman, a trans person, a gay person, a religious person, a disabled person be at risk more than me? Yes I have a disability and yes there is an argument that my mental illness has cost me jobs in the past but am I at risk? No.

The appalling killing of black man in Minneapolis by a white policeman has brought many onto the streets. I won't use the word tragedy as that somehow exonerates the guilty. I prefer the word catastrophe. Whilst we may look at American society and have questions, but that bigotry exists here too. The great strength of the University of Hertfordshire is its diversity. It is truly multi cultural in image and ethos. Also half of our students are from BAME communities. It is deeply saddening to me that overwhelmingly when I have to pull the trigger and call a Mental Health Act assessment or am told of it after the students are BAME. That is not just true with us but in the mental health world outside.

Although I am loath to make political comment on here and frankly feel unequipped and unworthy of making judgement from my privileged life I am human and I am compassionate. I detest bigotry. So here very quietly on the great complex world of the internet I pledge my support.

There is no need to comment on my life today, it feels small and insignificant. Another day calls for my culinary adventures, my opera, my wine and my books. So with that I leave you. Take care in this dangerous world.

I Heard a Voice.

Thunder Clouds and Sultry Air.

Dark and threatening clouds fill the sky. The air is warm and sultry. And it is very still. After an unpromising and rather cold morning in my flat listening to Maria Callas I decided to go for my walk with Sarah this after afternoon despite the threat of a downpour, thunder and lightning. And what a beautiful walk it was. Suggesting a walk in the woods I assumed we'd be heading for the semi closed Waggoners. But she took me on a route I didn't even know was there. What fun that was.

Unscathed we returned to our Sunday lives. For me it is Offenbach, a glass of Chilean red and the wondrous smell of belly pork slow roasting seasoned with salt, pepper, rosemary and thyme. With a myriad of vegetables in my fridge I have some decisions to make. Do I roast the somewhat elderly fennel root? Broccoli, carrots and beans? Savoy cabbage, carrots and asparagus? Or do I go with peas as a substitute? With nothing else to spend my money on I'm spoilt for choice.

Whatever goes on with it though it feels a better Sunday than the previous bank holiday a couple of weeks ago when nearly two months of isolation really got to me. There has been good and bad since then but today I'm good.

The views of my short mental health films keep building up. I doubt I can wish for more but it is important what was said. Mental illness has no friends or enemies. It can strike anyone. As a reviewer of Charon's Ferry a few years ago so astutely pointed out we are all one job loss, one bereavement, one financial problem away from going from us to them. Yes nearly 30 years on the mental health world has changed. But there is still a propensity for the providers of services such as mine to pressure us to choose their side rather than ours. My great skill is I speak the language of the mentally ill. My experience is my qualification. And yes one does get extra points if one has been a patient on a psychiatric ward. Extra too for being detained under the Mental Health Act. With luck I will never rise to the top on those grounds.

A sincere hope of mine is that we do not forget after all the chaos of pandemic has calmed. Who knows what the world will look like? But I know many who might otherwise have never known my world have been touch by it in recent weeks. Feeling this does not necessarily make people mentally ill if indeed that is useful term but it does make us feel. Maybe that is why counsellors seem to hold such sway? But I would say that you are not the only ones to know of feelings and how to manage them. Sometimes it feels like I should run a clinic in The Hedgehog. But also I must do more to protect myself and not take on all and sundry because some people seem to think I know something about life.

I will enjoy my lie in tomorrow. And to all my Muslim friends have a very happy Eid.

I Heard a Voice.

Speaking Out.

A swirling, blustery wind is dancing across the air outside. The trees sway and bend, the sun is struggling and the occasional squall of rain is unleashed from time to time. Must be a May bank holiday. Yes another long weekend. And we know what happened last time. I hit a mental wall.

This time though I'm in more buoyant mood. Last week was good. It was Mental Health Awareness Week and awareness came to me from an unexpected source. I've been meaning to message my school friend Nick who lives in New York for a while. Remembering on Thursday evening I did just that. Almost as soon as I sent my message a response came from Nick. He had been writing a message at precisely the same time half way across the globe. He described it as spooky, clearly he's live in the USA too long. Not a word I hear often over here.

Relieved to hear he is okay despite the virus savaging the city. What surprised me was that he told me he had seen me on YouTube talking about mental health. He had kindly shared this mystery piece with his team as part of Mental Health Awareness Week.

Not even knowing what he had seen I searched and came up with three short films that had been recorded 18 months ago by some students interested in mental health. I had forgotten about it. After much deliberation I decided to put my head above the parapet and share on Facebook. 

The response was astonishing. Not quite viral but so many watched, shared and replied. I guess I did some good that day.

Really the idea that I shouldn't share in my position is ludicrous. I am my story and I'm told it is inspirational. On the dark low days I feel anything but inspirational. But others disagree.

Posting made me feel good. Not because it is self publicity, once upon a time I would have done to sell more books, but because it made a difference to people. If I do not speak out who will?

In my working world it is frowned upon to do so. But I do not simply inhabit that world. I inhabit the world of the other side of the fence that allegedly no longer exists. I am me and my story is worthwhile.

A few days on it is a quiet weekend. I did the shopping, took a while today, did some cleaning and am now all prepared for my long weekend. Slow roast belly pork will adorn my "table" tomorrow. Not sure whether tonight I will use my leftover Mussaman curry or cook a northern Thai curry with chicken and lemongrass. Depends on my motivation.

Do please enjoy this holiday weekend. And despite the partial relaxation of restrictions please take care.

I Heard a Voice.

Coffee and Croissants.

Eating first thing in the morning is not my thing. Well in fact mornings are not my thing. Made even harder by nearly 30 years on sedating medication. As a child mum would always cook something lovely for breakfast. Except of course in winter when she made porridge which I've detested all my life. Going away to boarding school at the age of nine I was forced to eat cereal every day for five years. That put me off for life. Post illness I simply cannot eat first thing in the morning. A great lover of a full English every now and again I have a fry up but not cooked by the English. My friends at Cafe Trio where I indulge my naughtiness occasionally are Turkish. They still do a mean fry up though.

Not sure why but this morning I wanted to eat. And I wanted to eat croissant. Something I didn't like growing up I now eat them occasionally. I've grudgingly learned to appreciate French culture as I get older. The shop by my flat does have a bakery but in these strange times there weren't any. The packet ones were a little like cardboard but with my strong black coffee I could pretend to be pseudo French with my paper.

After such a brutal week getting to the weekend was a relief. Cooking has played its part as ever, roast chicken yesterday, Spanish tapas for lunch today, garlic prawns with chilli, sherry and parsley, Padron peppers with sea salt and serrano ham. Then an indulgent rare roast loin of venison tonight  with a port jus. The Medoc was especially good with it.

Finally today it warmed up. Going for an afternoon walk with Sarah, finally allowed to do that, I was somewhat warm but we had fun. Probably broke the code by not being as socially distant as we should be. Nevertheless I'm not too worried about plague and pestilence. As you recall from my tome I've never really been worried about it. Just the loneliness which hit last Sunday.

Tomorrow I go back into the fray. I made progress last week but I anticipate some resistance coming up from people next week. Taking difficult decisions and being in the firing line is never easy but that's what I get paid to do.

For now though I have Beethoven's violin sonatas, the rest of the Medoc and the knowledge that however hard last week was I survived, I enjoyed the weekend and the sun is set to shine. Good luck back in the world of reality to tomorrow.

I Heard a Voice.

The Sword of Damocles.

A cold wind swept across an otherwise sun drenched afternoon when I went for a walk. I'm glad I had a coat. It has been unseasonably cold the last few days. Even had the heating on at times which should never happen in May.

So much has happened since I was last on here. I can only make coded reference on here but the legend of the Sword of Damocles came into my thinking. The brutality that mental illness can bestow on me and the young people I work with. In truth I have struggled. The enormity of eight weeks alone hit with great savagery on Sunday. Monday was okay but many of the age old anxieties and stresses of work really came back after that. Who are we? And what are we trying to do?

Time would inevitably bring me torment. The funny thing is I lasted far longer in my serene first few weeks of lockdown than I ever imagined possible. The high has gone; would so love it to come back. But I haven't reached the depths. My friends rallied round on Sunday. And they remain with me.

Moving as we are on to another weekend I will be relieved when I get to 4 pm tomorrow. I will shop, I will walk, I will zoom and I will laugh. Drink, yes of course. And a culinary adventure that has not yet formulated in my mind yet.

Take care everyone and take time to rest. See you soon.

I Heard a Voice.

What Day Is It?

Whilst many of my friends are struggling to keep track on the days of the week I'm keeping track by the lie ins I get and by my culinary adventures. I can see for some it must be hard. They all merge into one if like so many you have had the structure and purpose taken away. Much as work can cause me stress at times it gives me a reason to get up, sometimes I do some good, I'm being paid and there is a routine of sorts. Without those I suspect I might be coping less well with being shut in than I have done.

An odd Friday Bank Holiday must for some have made it even more odd. I value my days off but miss my ventures to country pubs. My annual leave is quietly sitting there. There seems little point in taking it as I have nothing to do, nowhere to go and nothing to spend my money on. Well apart from stocks of food, wine and beer. Yesterday I threw in some domestic supplies and finally got hold of some hand wash. Not that I was running out but having not seen it in any shop for several weeks it was helpful just to sort it for future reference.

Aware that it is Sunday of course there was a roast lunch. Today it was rare roast beef, Yorkshire pudding and freshly grated horseradish cream. Not forgetting wine, a pleasing Medoc that I found on offer on Thursday. It all came out pretty well. People seem to be enjoying my food porn on social media. Hopefully it is keeping up people's spirits.

Now I'm not sure what to do. A grey sunless day pervades outside along with a strong wind. Not as cold as I expected with northerly air sweeping down nevertheless it is not terribly inviting. True I have my opera, today I listened to Haydn and now it is Mozart, but my mood is a little flat. Not up not down, anyone in the know will know this is dull territory.

Dampening my spirits has in part been brought about by a weekend passing too quickly. Seeing hardly anyone does sometimes add to that. There is the phone and all manner of technological methods of getting outside these four walls but today I crave company. Anyone and no one, they would all be a welcome break.

Loneliness has surprisingly not reared its ugly head too much since being confined. Today I think it has come like an uninvited guest. Oh to cook Sunday lunch for my friends. To visit the pub after. To think of how I should be more restrained than that before work starts again. That sadly is not to be.

So as a parting shot on this mixed Sunday I will offer the thought that one day I will cook for others. Will drink with others. And will laugh with others. When that day comes is to be decided by science, politicians and doctors. And the small matter of the virus. Until then take care.

I Heard a Voice.

Reflections on a Different Mirror.

Two decades ago I spent every penny I had and got into debt to the tune of £4000 training to be a teacher. In those days there seemed no other option. Education had played its part in my mental health recovery. Everyone said it was as simple as going back to Cambridge and studying for a year. Going back to Cambridge had always been the aim. And everyone thought I'd become a great teacher.

Looking back over that time I certainly wasn't ready for that. Too crazy, too reckless, too enamoured of getting off my face, too arrogant, too scared. And utterly foolish. I did shock the doctors though, all of whom neglected to tell me they thought I would fail I did pass despite not yet having the great salvation of Risperidone. Failure though came about over the next two years. I never got a job, I never did my NQT year and everyone thought I was lying about being a teacher. 150 applications, 18 interviews and no job.

All these years later I would certainly be better in a classroom now. The proof after my most recent relapse two years ago came when I took a room full of 83 programme leads, veterans of academia, by storm and blew them away last summer.

Since then I have forged quite a relationship with the School of Education. I have spoken before of what I call the mirror test. I get that for mental health but not teaching. Until yesterday.

Faced with a zoom conversation with the lead for secondary PGCE programme I did not expect to stir those feelings. The truth is though that I know how hard it is to overcome mental illness to forge a career. We have to be better. To force people to overlook our perceived flaws. To overcome the bigotry. To prove we are worthy.

The man on the other side of mirror like me did a history PGCE although he was in Oxford. And it made me look at both my failures and my triumphs. Teaching may not have wanted me but mental health did.

At the end of the day I was reflective but content that maybe I did some good.

A day on the sun shone, I walked in the woods, I indulged in fine food and fine wine. And I remembered the sacrifices of those who went before us. The risk of being jingoistic and waving the union jack on VE day is tempting but remember everyone on every side suffered during that terrible war. True Germany was rebuilt and is now the strongest power in Europe. But we must remember we defeated the evils of fascism not the saddened lives of ordinary impoverished people who happened to be on the losing side. On this day we must remember all of those afflicted by war.

Being Friday I would ordinarily be headed to The Hedgehog shortly but these are not ordinary times. Instead I have tuned into The Hedgehog Drinkers watch party. And it's great fun.

See you next time.

I Heard a Voice.

The Beckoning of Nature.

Over the last few days I've noticed a lot of things beyond the four walls of my small flat here in Hertfordshire. In my life time I have seen, witnessed and heard many things. How many British kids had seen Australia twice by the age of 13? Have met the future heirs to both the British Royal throne and the Japanese Imperial throne by 13? To have sung in Sydney Opera House, many of the great cathedrals of Europe and many of the other concert halls at that age? To be taught by the great and the good at Cambridge University by 21? And to have seen the inside of an old asylum locked in with no hope of escape a mere few months later?

Despite that I never really took much notice of nature. Partly because that was my mum's thing and I rejected all she espoused in the dark clash of my life with her and mental illness but also because I was so wrapped up in other things that I was too lazy to look.

When my devastating relapse occurred in January 2018 I first started to notice. With nothing to do my friends Gary and Ali took me through the woods week by week in that five month lay off. I saw the seasons change, heard the birds sing and witnessed the great power beyond my comprehension that is mother nature.

Now locked down like much of the rest of the planet I can't go out much. But when I do I notice. And as glorious reminder that nature is greater than us yesterday I saw a bird of prey serenely gliding through the sky just over the road through my open balcony doors. Given its red markings and knowing they are nearby I think it was a red kite. It was glorious.

Venturing out later on my walk I was overcome by the song of the birds, the sounds of the woodpecker and the emotional feeling that for all we do to nature it will overcome our arrogance.

Back in the day time life it has been a busy day. And a better day. For a little over a week I was back in what causes my anxiety, powerlessness and the political wrangling of my working life. It was like going back in time. My sincere wish is that when we are back on campus, the students are away from fear and we can go out at will we will learn our lessons. I did get a lot done today and I think I did some good.

As it is Wednesday opera night ensued. Double opera in fact. The Magic Flute and Dido and Aeneas. I ate pasta and ragu, had a glass of Rioja and enjoyed the late spring sunshine.

Unable to sit still though I finally managed to reach out to a vulnerable friend who is really struggling. Like me she is a musician and she battles mental illness. Unlike me she has no support or understanding. She is alone. I hope after tonight she feels a little less alone.

Tomorrow I have courgette and feta fritters lined up for lunch. Prepared this evening I need to go and tidy up after this. There will be work of course but also classical music, culture of a culinary kind and another day to get through closer to when this will be over. I hope you all thrive tomorrow. I will try to.

I Heard a Voice

Looking Forward to What?

A haircut? A pint? A fry up? A country pub? Whitebait? Tsing Tao? Salt and pepper ribs? Buying a book? New opera? Borough Market? There are so many things that we are missing right now. It is wonderful to fantasise about these marvellous things in my life. Well in the previous life. How many will still be there when we are freer? I don't know the answer to that. But I can dream.

On a cold grey May afternoon I'm seeing the hours tick by and the move inexorably on to a new working week. Monday comes too fast. Somehow the message about the changed Bank Holiday didn't register with me. Thank goodness one of my students told me it is on Friday not tomorrow.

The shoulder of pork roasts away slowly in the oven. Seasoned with sage, thyme, salt and pepper the smell is heart warming. Mozart's Great Mass plays, I'm off the phone, the paper is read and I'm just enjoying the moment.

Coming on here is a moment of self indulgent play for me. In a way it doesn't really matter how many people actually read. The number of hits exceeded 100,000 this week although I take that with a salt mine of salt as I'm still being watched more by an Italian robot that allegedly reads my stories than by real people. But those who do read and speak to me do seem to enjoy it.

Talking to Jayne on the phone yesterday she asked if I was going to write another book. I suppose in a way this is my third book. Others repeatedly ask when I will write and publish a cook book. I'm more guarded on that as so much of my cooking originates in other people's ideas from my many cook books. It is cheering people up the amount of food porn as a colleague said yesterday I put on the social media sites.

Perhaps it is time for original ideas in the kitchen. There was a time when I drank far more than I do now when I was regularly invited back to friends' houses, shown the fridge and told "cook"! My invitations these days are somewhat more sedate. I miss the days of the Chapel Street Brothel but I'm older, less reckless and find it harder to recover now.

So I suppose many of the things I miss I'm still doing but on a lesser and cheaper scale. One thing I can't get done myself is taming the wild hair. They used to say I had stoned hair back in those days. Now my monthly indulgence of the Turkish barber is no more. I think I miss that most as it is out of my hands. I can cook. I can drink. I can listen to music. I can read a book. But I won't be trying cutting my hair.

Have a good week everyone.

I Heard a Voice.

An Act of Kindness.

There is a very beautiful young woman who works in the shop by my flat. Not in a striking or classical way. She is very quiet and doesn't show much emotion, neither smiling nor frowning. Always immaculately presented and made up with lipstick. I suspect by her demeanour she is older than she looks. I don't know why I notice her other than how polite and efficient she is but I do notice her. My assumption is that she mainly works evening shifts as I often see her going in when it was easier to shop. I do not know her name or story but I like being served by her.

Venturing in in the week I bought a few things including a light bulb. When I got home I realised I hadn't packed said bulb. It was getting on and I had no receipt so I gave it up to experience and worried little that I had lost £4.50. Yesterday I went in again for more supplies. At a different till to pay I was shocked that she walked over and said "did you leave your light bulb behind the other day?" and promptly put it in my bag. I was struck by the kindness of this young woman. Certainly not what I was expecting.

In an odd sort of a way I sense that many are being kinder in these difficult times. More patient although there are exceptions. More tolerant, mainly. And more forgiving. I have optimism that that will continue when the shackles come off and we are free again.

My week was most politely described as trying. Having sail serenely on the crest of a semi manic wave having the anxiety brake taken away things came crashing down on Monday. You know those days when all the most demanding of people come out to play, the doubt creeps in and the anger brought on by powerlessness ferments? That was my Monday. And with few resolutions until yesterday I did not enjoy the week. The result that the impact of therapy on Wednesday was diluted is not what I need now or at any time.

Come the weekend though limping home after the storm of the week that was, the waters have calmed, the gale subsided and some sort of peace is restored.

Domestic things took up part of my day, sweeping, mopping, hoovering, washing. All those tedious things. But now I have a sense of accomplishment and a sedate reassurance that I can manage without Jess for a while.

The storm continues in the culinary arts. Thai stir fried prawns with chilli and basil for supper yesterday. I shallow fried the remaining prawns dusted in turmeric, chilli powder and gram flour and served them on a bed of salad and a squeeze of lemon for lunch. After this I will make a curry paste from Java to use in a lamb curry. And tomorrow an old favourite in slow roast shoulder of pork. Can't wait.

A long chat with Jayne on the phone was lovely. Need to ring dad later. So I bid you farewell a day after May Day and wish you all well. See you soon.

I Heard a Voice.

To Err and to Forgive.

A grey, cold and wet morning greeted me when I woke up. The morning after the day before. It had not been a good day. Someone, somewhere, sometime once wrote "to err is human, to forgive is Divine". I did not feel very divine after yesterday.

We all know those days when all the most challenging people come knocking oblivious to what has happened and needed what they needed now. In my world sometimes I am faced with the darkest of nights. On the bad days life is truly black.

Back in those terrible dark days of the early months of 2018 when dad was so ill and I was facing homelessness my Cambridge friend Harvey gave me some wise advice, "I have learned to forgive myself for the things I get wrong". Given my past and the expectation of a King's chorister, a Cambridge graduate that has always been a battle for me. And with that comes mistrust. My at times brutal career has taught me that.

Late last night having drunk far more than I should to block out the turmoil and memories I turned to my first book A Pillar of Impotence and read the final chapter. That moment of eternal glory rising from the depths of mental illness to defeat death and destruction and be on top of the world. Reading that helped a little stepping back from the mirror I stared into yesterday afternoon.

From the bleak start and anxiety ridden dreams with the help of my friends and colleagues I righted the ship. Every time I get things wrong it feels like I have erred. But can I forgive myself? That is the right of the Divine but I am not that.

By the evening the little mistake I made in the shop leaving an item behind was in its place. So what? That would not have happened yesterday.

Venturing into my private world of cooking I triumphed with a Vietnamese pho, reflected on how foolish I had been and forgave myself for not trusting. People came through for me today. The hard part is just asking for and accepting their help. The world is not always evil. And sometimes it is good to trust.

Until next time.

I Heard a Voice.

They That Go Down to the Sea in Ships.

When will I see the sea again? Walk along the front? Meditate on the shingle? BBQ? Stop for a pint in The Hope Inn? Five weeks into the lockdown the sea seems a memory. Fortunately it is not a dimming memory but something I do miss. Something to strive for to look forward to when the time comes.

People around here are still being pretty good with the restrictions. Yes it took me some time to queue for my medication in the week. There is a little bit of a wait for the shop. Most people are in their gardens or on their balconies. I have my balcony door open and am listening to Handel. Not long back from my walk.

That was the first walk for a few days. A sore calf muscle made me step back from daily exercise. Taking a short route with the least uphill climb I did okay. Maybe stretch out to something longer in the week.

For all of that though I continue to thrive. A glimpse of the crescent moon last night. Glorious sunshine outside. The sounds of the birds. Nature is fighting back in all her glory. And I'm appreciating it all.

My culinary adventures continue to succeed. A fierce Thai jungle curry last night. Wonderful roast chicken today. And new season English asparagus. Spring is indeed mighty. The shops are well stocked. I have food and wine. And opera. And books. And work. That is going well and being without anxiety in the main has greatly helped my mood. The great brake to wondrous times is lifted. And it feels good. Must not let it fly too high though.

The rest of my day will be taken gently. My third opera of the day. A light supper. And I think a glass of white Rioja. Enjoy your Sunday everyone.

I Heard a Voice.

A Voice From the Grave.

A measure of how troubled, disorientated and depressed I was two years ago has just come to light. I've never been the tidiest of people but sorting a few things out yesterday I found two cards. One from Sarah that was open but unused. And an unopened handwritten card. That from Sarah was wishing me well in my new home. Opening the other I found a lovely card from my friend Sheila who lived downstairs. I say lived for sadly she lost her long and courageous fight against cancer a couple of months ago. A voice from the grave.

This reminded me that so much of my past comes in and out of my mind. The thoughts occurred yesterday too that it is exactly 30 years since I met the girl I call Rachel in my books. That stupid, arrogant and deluded time when I thought I was on top of the world. That my life was built on sand quickly became apparent when a mere few months later it all ended mysteriously and without explanation and my madness came like a thief in the night. I believed my own bullshit in those days. Now at times I struggle to know what to believe.

Sitting here today in a small flat in Hertfordshire on a cold overcast day I'm reflective. Reflective but well. My anxiety is nowhere to be seen. Work is going great. I'm stocked with all I need. I'm cooking some great dishes. And I'm as happy as I ever am when not manic.

Last night I caught up with the Selwyn crew via zoom. And what fun that was! Have any of us grown up? Of course we have but we can take a trip down memory lane. Looking forward to our meet next Friday.

This evening I will cook a Thai curry with lemongrass. Tomorrow is slow roast shoulder of lamb. And a day of indulgence.

Remember in these odd times we will get through it. Voices from the grave will come and go. And we will and must live in the present. Until next time.

I Heard a Voice.

English Wine, Roast Turkey and Chocolate.

Rumbling thunder to the west and gentle drizzle marred my afternoon walk. Fearing a biblical downpour I cut short my perambulation and came home.

On this Holiest of days for Christians may I wish you all a very Happy Easter. The day of the resurrection is marked by billions across the world. For others not of a religious persuasion it is a holiday marked by roast dinner, wine and chocolate.

For my part I triumphed with roast turkey seasoned with thyme and sage wrapped in bacon with roast potatoes, kale, carrots and green beans, gravy and local cranberry sauce. The wine was English, it had to be, from the Chapel Down winery just outside Tenterden near dad. And what a glorious lunch it was.

With the holiday set to run into Monday it is good to switch off, turn down and gently relax. My mood is not as buoyant as a few days ago but I'm happy. I like Easter but miss my friends who often come to lunch on this day. As I walked by the shops I did see my neighbour Richard which was nice. So too my neighbour Stephen who I bumped into earlier when I bought my paper.

And now I think another glass of wine, a hot cross bun and a little TV. No doubt I will see you all again soon.

I Heard a Voice.