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.