My Kingdom....for a Chicken?

At times like this it's easy to lose track of days and dates. Not looking at my work diary gets me out of sync. Just as I finished writing my post yesterday I realised it was the 28th. That is mum's anniversary. It was on my mind but I had the feeling it fell on Sunday. Rather than posting again after I thought I would wait until today. Eight years, so what to say? I guess probably it is good she is not here to witness this world as it is. Her anxiety would have gone through the roof. I listened to Faure and Durufle last night and reflected.

We are all getting older. Time is flying until I turn 51. Will I be back at work then? I do hope so. That said I'm managing well and my anxiety is not here anymore.

People here seem to be adhering to the stipulations in times of crisis. I haven't been for my walk yet. It has been a cold and windy day and the whisper on the grapevine is that we saw snow today.

I'm managing to keep going but I cannot get chicken for love nor money. Fish too is hard to come by but that is not a great hardship for me. I miss my prawns though. Today there is slow roast belly pork on the menu. It smells marvellous.

The afternoon was spent as usual with an opera and the paper. My old friend Figaro dazzled me as the time slipped. The sun is out but will soon be disappearing. The clocks went forward so I lost an hour of sleep and it will be light much later. Classic FM is honouring the conductor Karajan so I get the glories of Verdi opera.

In the morning I will go back to work. Nothing is scheduled in so finally a chance to make headway with the waiting list. We never had one when I worked alone. But then again I was working far too hard. That stress is not with me now. Long may that continue.

See you in the week.

I Heard a Voice

Beauty in Dark Days.

I watched the sun rise in the eastern sky. A glorious orange orb low on the horizon. And I saw the sun set in the western sky lighting up my living room with ever moving sunbeams. The world may be in dark times but there is still light and beauty in dark days. That was yesterday.

Today dawned colder, greyer and windier. A big change but I did see a glimpse of the sun during my afternoon walk. I am only allowed out once a day. In the week it was at night. There silence but for the occasional sound of an empty bus and distant clatter of deserted trains headed to Cambridge. This afternoon the cross of St George still fluttered over St John's church and there were a few people out. A dad and his two boys playing football on the abandoned cricket club. The square is no longer sacred and there will be no Test matches this summer. A short line of people queueing for the shop. A small family out for a walk with the mother covering her face as we passed a suitable distance apart.

I survived almost a week working from home. My wifi decided to play tricks at various points but generally went well. I know how to use Zoom now, I am entering the 21st century. The general stress and confrontation that sometimes enters my work place has gone. People are kind and respectful.

There is fear of course. But it doesn't lie with me. Amazingly my anxiety has vanished and I'm upbeat and positive. I'm hoping this catastrophe if that is what it turns out to be brings profound change to our society. Fiona our chaplain is lifting some of my thoughts for her Sunday sermon.

Dad, Miriam and Nigel are all fine. We are adapting. Who would have thought before this I would be able to survive a whole week not setting foot in a pub?

I'm keeping people entertained with my culinary adventures. I drove out to Gareth's yesterday lunch time, there was no queue and he was well stocked with meat. So tomorrow roasted belly pork will adorn my plate. Tonight there will be steak and chips and a glass of Rioja.

As has gripped this country we are suddenly in awe of all those people who risk themselves to keep us fed, watered, de-rubbished and able to travel. To those keeping the water, gas, electricity and internet going. And our extraordinary health and social care workers. I salute them all.

We will get through this. Keep going a day at a time. Focus on what you can do. Enjoy your brief engagement with nature. In this time money, fast cars, big houses and trappings of wealth and "success"have all diminished in value. We are all the contents of our fridge, cupboard dependent. We all need to stay clean, safe and ordered. Let us come together as we have now in a way I've rarely known in my lifetime.

See you tomorrow.

Mark

Spot of Gardening Anyone?

The sun has set on day 2 of the UK lock down. It is hard to work out what is truth and what is fiction. Daily our politicians and medical staff come on TV. Thus far we have the most draconian peace time measures ever recorded. Some might argue it is more restricting than war time. The pubs have been closed since Friday night. Restaurants too. Most work has shut down and people are in desperate need of money.

I was sent home from work yesterday for who knows how long. All went swimmingly in my new adventures in the world of laptops until I switched off for lunch today. When I tried to go back in the Wi Fi wouldn't work. Well it would, my phone and PC were fine, just the laptop. Then I couldn't get into my X drive. I don't know what an X drive does but it deprived me of things I needed. Maybe better luck tomorrow.

Allowed out once a day for a walk I have spotted people gardening. Whoever apart from my mum and my sister ever liked gardening? Well and Sarah. But unable to work people are doing their gardens, washing the car and generally doing outdoor type things.

Strangely enough apart from IT problems and fears I may run out of beer my anxiety has all but disappeared. Who would have thought that? Well I preach to everyone to focus on what you can do not what you can't do. And I can't do anything about this virus other than to stay home and not go too close to others when I am out.

In my kitchen I'm doing great things. Posting pictures to cheer people up it is going down well. Being home for lunch I made a Thai green papaya salad. I was on fire after but it was delightful. Tonight I used so excellent beef mince from the Farm Shop to make a cottage pie. Didn't quite nail it, a little dry, but tasted good.

The week will progress and we get to a locked down weekend. How will I fare with that? I'm allowed to shop for food so a little adventure will begin. Take care out there.

I Heard a Voice.

As I Suspected.

Way back in 1986 somehow I got a B in O Level biology. I say somehow in the sense that despite the efforts of my 3rd form teacher, what we call year 9 now, it's a wonder I passed at all. The titular head of science was possibly the worst teacher of my entire school career. Dr Shaw or as he was known Gush was an utter failure as a teacher. What has brought him back mind was the current pandemic. Rather than just laugh at his derisory teaching ability it is the other side of him that troubles more on this sunny spring afternoon. Anyone with an interest in prodding, poking, measuring and weighing naked adolescent boys in the name of "science" would be jailed in today's world. What was known as the "Gush feel up" was the stuff of legend, a practice conveyed on boys not girls. Perhaps he wasn't interested in girls. Or maybe 16 was too old for him. Maybe he was a man of science. But that practice has I hope been consigned to history.

What little I do recall of biology through want of bad teaching and nearly 35 years of my life is that viruses cannot be treated by antibiotics. As the name suggests they only impact on bacteria. And my thought went by extension that antibacterial hand wash will have no impact on viruses. That thought occurred to me this week as the shelves are emptied of such products after the weeks of being told to wash one's hands by the government.

Reading in The Sunday Times today there was an interesting piece by the former government minister and medical doctor Liam Fox about pandemics. The whole thing was fascinating. But above all confirmed my belief that soap is far more useful than an anti bacterial cleaner in the face of this onslaught. My enforced choice to buy four bars of soap in the week may pay dividends then. Given that the bowel is full of bacteria maybe there is now an need to wash hands twice when using the bathroom?

That this will profoundly change our society is now becoming clear. I'm still not convinced of the apocalypse my notes on the improving environment may well be part of recovering when it comes.

In the meantime I intend to do what I can. Just back from my afternoon walk it was good see a few people out. A late night walk when I would normally be going to the pub last night gave me sight of a single solitary soul in the 25 minutes around the block.

I must eat of course and while I have food the adventures of a culinary persuasion go on. Slow roasting in my oven is a half shoulder of lamb studded with garlic and rosemary. With fresh supplies I will make my own mint sauce. I have vegetables and potatoes so all is well.

Apparently I'm required to go to work tomorrow although what I'm walking into remains a mystery. Two colleagues have said I will have some sort of rota explained to me by Geri tomorrow. The mind boggles.

In these chastened times take care. For those who are interested I'm well and symptom free. Let's hope that continues.

I Heard a Voice.

Fluttering in the Breeze.

The Cross of St George was flying over the tower of the church of St John at Digswell this afternoon. Fluttering in a strong breeze it is none the less a glorious spring day. I'm told the equinox was yesterday. But what of tomorrow? Fear and uncertainty now pervade my country as it catches of to the rest of virus ridden Europe. I still haven't seen the pale horse but the country is slowly grinding to a halt.

Now the pubs, restaurants and cafes are closed along with the schools. My sources although only briefly touched seem to indicate that against these odds the university is still open and they expect me in on Monday. I have no problem with that although an appointment at the dentist will cut short the day. Why they want to see me now having been pain and sensitivity free for the first time in nearly three years is beyond me. I know the recent trip was merely a stopgap until more drastic action but why now is strange.

How will I structure my days now? I have always enjoyed popping out for a pint and now I cannot do that. I have supplies of food, wine, beer, and pretty much everything I need for the next two weeks but what of cabin fever? When might it be safe to visit dad again? To London, or Cambridge or indeed St Albans?

While for the time being I'm safe I do fear for many friends who work in areas that are shut down. Also all the courageous staff in our NHS. But also a huge shout out to Gareth and Tony my butchers, the kind people who work in the shop by my flat, those at Waitrose, Aldi, and Sainsbury's where they keep me supplied.

When reality returns will everywhere re open? What of Yan and Lin? Andy and Choon? Francois and Bronwen? And the people who run the glorious country pubs that so enlighten my life? Will Sue and Duncan at The Butt of Sherry survive? A whole way of life may have shut its doors forever.

The virus will play out one way or another. Those with a greater knowledge of the environment are already talking of how the the air and sea and land are becoming cleaner. Is this nature's revenge on us who have so raped its resources? I have said for a long time the earth will survive but whether we do may be another matter.

Everyone I know is safe but frightened at the moment. I'm reticent in a strange way. An anxious nightmare ridden night may tell another story but whilst awake I can only focus on what I can do not what I can't. So tonight I will cook, I will drink wine, and I will listen to opera. Have to keep going day by day.

I Heard a Voice.

The Still of the Morning,

Waking earlier than planned today I wondered for a few minutes on the still of the morning. Silence. No cars outside. No TV. Not Radio. Just me and stillness. The night was not kind to me. I struggled to get to sleep and then was woken by two staggeringly vivid and unpleasant dreams. The content of each was lost on me within seconds. In truth this holiday has had a lot of interrupted sleep.

Krishna was due to visit today but text on Tuesday saying she doubted she would make it. Not answering her phone yesterday nor replying to my text today confirms what I feared.

As Europe shuts down some vestige of life still exists in the UK. I went out, got supplies, bought a book, chatted to my friend Stella and had a light lunch with Yan. She was worried about me as she hadn't seen me for a while.

I am fine. As is dad and Miriam. She has been sent home from work as Nigel is in an at risk group. In fact all of my family are at risk. That said I'm not sure mental illness has any bearing on this affliction. They are closing the schools from tomorrow. Cambridge University is shut as is the University of Bedfordshire. No doubt my work will follow suit in the next day or so.

So what to do? I have pretty much everything I need barring washing powder and paracetamol. No doubt I will survive. I'm still stunned at the hysteria this has brought about. We are entering the unknown. In fact probably more unknown than at any time since 1945. But we will ride out the storm. I will do what I can to help friends who are stuck indoors. Gary and Ali are home and Will and Russell who work in the pub are both off. Will it catch me out? Maybe, possibly, probably. Who knows? My greater fear of the recession this calamity may bring us. I have a pretty stable job. I will get paid and will get by. But how long I will be off I do not know.

Yet on this quiet Thursday afternoon I'm listening to Opera on 3, making chicken stock and reading my way through a mountain of books and magazines. I'm content but know the fear many will be feeling. So take care out there.

I Heard a Voice

Behold a Pale Horse.

And behold, a pale horse, and on it rode death. As the world goes mad I have yet to hear the galloping hooves of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, see the pale horse of death or indeed the ghost of the headless horse at Burnham Green. What the fuck is happening? Will this be the end? Will we all dissolve in a pile of shit because some cretin told us to buy every toilet roll on earth? Will the elderly we wiped out by this plague? The simple answer is I doubt it.

I have spoken to a number of GPs and pharmacists in recent days and they all think as I do. The world is not coming to an end.

The great classicist and ancient historian Christopher Kelly now master of Corpus Christi College Cambridge disagree on very little. Other than the Revelation of St John the Divine as the last book of the New Testament of the Bible. He thinks it should have been excluded by Constantine after the Council of Nicaea, I think it is the greatest book of the bible. It talks of the Four Horsemen and pale horse. And the end of the world. It doesn't talk of science. Or reality. Those two can be very different.

I have no fear of plague and pestilence. Yes I'm worried for the vulnerable. But fear is not high on my agenda. That everything will shut is not a good prospect but what will be will be.

Down here in Kent the sun shone, I cooked splendid roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, we drank Rioja, we walked along the beach and I drank excellent local ale in The Hope Inn with Beka. Now back at dad's flat contemplating a shower and a quiet Sunday.

I'm told they have shut the campus. I'm off until the week after next. Sure I can try to work from home but we will see. The coming weeks are certainly uncertain but none of us really know what will happen. The only thing of which I'm sure is that buying up every toilet roll in the land merely means we take up a lot of space, a condition that has no baring of the bowel or digestive system is not going to be quelled by that.

Take care out there and watch out for the pale horse.

I Heard a Voice.

Changing Seasons.

The promising start of a bright sunny day has given way to sporadic rain and grey skies. Given how wet the last few weeks have been I'm not downhearted. Spring is inching its way into fill the void of a mild but wet winter. Standing on the cusp of that change I reflect on what was.

What was was a brutal autumn term of too much change, expectation and confusion. Getting further on it has become easier. Yes there are days like Tuesday when I vent inappropriately and days too when I mourn my dead in ways that have not gone down well with everyone. The problem with death and funerals is all we hear is half truths and outrageous glory. That which I wrote in the week still stands. I'm not in the business of writing eulogies. This blog is dedicated in part to exposing the brutal reality of the mental health world.

My weekend has been one of recuperating. The last week was not easy. But what week is when one is in pain? The quiet weekend which ensued included a lovely gathering with friends in The Waggoners yesterday afternoon, an England victory over Wales in the rugby, a Lao curry featuring prawns, potatoes and dill. Now on my second opera of the day, Handel's Arminio accompanies me as I write. Earlier I had a pint in The White Horse in Welwyn.

Around 4 pm I will put a joint of gammon studded with cloves in the oven for a slow roast and an enticing supper.

Come this time next week I will be down at the seaside. A long deserved break will see me headed for the coast. Dad will turn 83 that week and we must celebrate. Before that however I must attend a funeral. Not for my friend Nigel, that will be in due course, but for my neighbour Sheila who lost her brave and courageous battle with cancer a couple of weeks ago.

Going into the new working week good luck and stay safe. Until next time.

I Heard a Voice.

An Unlikely Friendship.

Mental illness is the great leveller of men. And women. And trans, non binary and gender fluid. It doesn't care who it strikes. It doesn't care who you are. A combination of circumstance, genes, environment and the inevitable tragedies and catastrophes of human beings conspire together. I was felled by it at the age of 20. Of course the signs were all there all along. But it took a series of devastating blows to destroy what to many was a glittering and golden present and future. At 21 I had a breakdown. Nearly 30 years later I'm still living it in my work, in my life and in my interactions in at work and leisure.

Late last night I learned of the death of my friend Nigel. We met in a psychiatric day unit in the autumn of 1991. Me a 21 year old recent Cambridge graduate and Nigel a local man a few years older who was not educated who had been battling the demons of schizophrenia for more years than I knew. We made an unlikely duo brought together by the wiles of mental illness in a quiet almost forgotten part of east Kent.

Trying to describe Nigel is easy and hard. Easy in the sense that he was who he was. Hard in the sense that many adjectives one might attach to Nigel have negative and scary implications. The kindest way in the modern world might be to say he was inappropriate. To today's people he "had no filter". He was loud, rude, big, perverted. He knew no social niceties. Nor did he behave in a way that many would approve of. One of the nurses at the hospital once told me...very inappropriately...that they warned young female staff and students that they needed barbed wire in their knickers.

That however does not tell a true story of this tormented man. He never actually harmed anyone. He was kind. He had time for people. He always asked after me when he saw my dad. And he made people laugh.

Vivid but embarrassing memories of us in the greasy spoon cafe near the unit, in the pub at the bottom of the hill, of me almost kicking him out of my car and dumping him on the roadside when he shouted in my ear while I was driving. Of him as the giant in the Jack and the Beanstalk pantomime at the unit.

The product of devastating past which I certainly wouldn't go into on here what chance did he have? I can't answer that question but I know he made the most of what he could.

Statistics tell us that the life expectancy of people with schizophrenia die 20 years younger than the general population. I have lost count of the number of people I knew back then are now dead. Not many if still alive ever really got out of that trapped world. I did and I forever beat myself when struggling with the ludicrous belief that I got out so don't deserve to have dips in my mental health.

The bonds borne of such circumstances are little understood by those who have never been locked up as we were then. Part of my success in my work is I know that world and I talk openly about it.

Remembering all the dead is tempered by knowing the torments and pestilence of mental illness in life. If there is a God may he recall the lives of those I have lost and cherish them as they weren't always in life.

For now I say good night. There is another day for me tomorrow. And for you.

I Heard a Voice.

Where is the Next Knife Coming From?

On days like today I just want to yell fuck you to the world. Wracked with toothache since Saturday and having had emergency dental treatment yesterday I do not need to be stabbed in the back from all sides. Systemising something that cannot be neatly packaged into sterile statistics, petty point scoring and general you are useless attitude is as toxic as it gets. Do not judge me on what a flawed spreadsheet says. I work extremely fucking hard and have helped save many lives over the past 15 years. There is a reason why people have my mobile number scrawled in big letters across their boards in offices.

Having had to come home early yesterday and feeling pretty shitty a volley of "you fucked up" was not what I needed. I know what goes on in mental health world, I know what to trust and I know what to write so don't attack me for protecting an institution that yes gave me a chance but like me does not always get it right.

I've been in this business so long on one side of the fence or the other I know who I work with, I know what's possible and by god do I know my flaws. I'm not perfect. I'm not a machine. I cannot respond to everything immediately without emotion like some super being. I am not that.

At the age of 23 I was branded a narcissist by one of the most eminent psychiatrists of his generation. In those days I was angry, traumatised and damaged. I also had what they failed to recognise a significant mood disorder that needed medication rather than therapy.

All theses years later I'm back in therapy and it's making a difference. I'm also one of the most respected mental health practitioners in the county who people rely on to know what is going on and to most of the time get it right. It was a hard fought reputation.

There are reasons why I write my notes the way I do. Reasons too why my engagement with students is fluid, reactive and not set in stone. Being told what and how to do it is not always helpful. Being criticised for not doing what others want for very good reasons does not help.

Coming home my first thought was go out, eat expensive food and get pissed. But I stayed home against my raging desire and cooked. The resultant Moroccan sardine balls seasoned with garlic, cumin and coriander with a tomato and coriander sauce surpassed all expectation. What a triumph. Seeing my psychiatrist today and assessing where we are at led me to my food and its decadence. There is nothing decadent about spending 76 p on a couple of sardines with a few additions and sating my anger. Not sure it did that and some time later I'm still ruminating but listening to Beethoven as I write I know that there are better things than knives, bitterness and regret.

Maybe I will regret this post tomorrow. But it needed to be said.

I Heard a Voice.