Lest We Forget.

A bitter wind is sweeping across the sunlit land. Here in Hertfordshire autumn is most definitely here. Here too is World Mental Health Day. It also marks 13 years today that my second book Charon's Ferry was published.

Each year someone, or some group, whose identity is unkown announce a theme. This year it is real voices, real change. I've witnessed a lot of change since 1990. In 2026 there are more voices. But are either change or voice real?

Yes and no. So many voices are negative, hostile and angry. But the system also can be negative, hostile and angry. The language we use in service is often beligerent. Engage? Comply? Take responsibility? Institutionalised? These are not terms of compassion, of kindness, of equality. They are words used to reinforce the us and them dynamics of the mental health world.

My current care is compassionate, caring and me centred. But I'm a known figure, with known ideas, a known voice. Does everyone feel the same? I don't think so. The whole of 2026 has taken a real toll on me mentally and physically. The enormity of knock on effect in the mental health community in Hertfordshire was recognised by so many including the Trust. 

Sometimes it feels that my voice is being silenced. But my voice is far more authentic, compromising and dedicated to a shared vision of mental than so many who shout loudest. My voice can be terrifying though which was a recurring theme in my therapy.

Where are the authentic voices? The real voices. There is a danger that they will be drowned out by the words of the angry.

So on World Mental Health Day speak with passion, integrity and humility. Remember so many of my friends did not survive. I remember them too on this day.

Pale Light of an Orange Dawn.

I don't often see the dawn. The powerful sedation of one of my medications meant I once slept through an earthquake and more recently the sirens of 26 fire engines struggling to put out a major blaze just 300 yards from where I was asleep.

Regular readers will know that I get a lot of bad dreams and it was one such dream that woke me to witness the dawn today. Pale, orange, October light. So beautiful.

Sadly the dreams have brought me closer to the darkness of my depression. I do not feel good. During the week I saw my psychiatrist and CPN and was asked about mood. That day I felt okay. Today I do not feel okay. Isolation is not helping. Bar The Waggoners where I lunched and at the chemist I've seen no one all day. I did speak to Jayne.

With the outlook bleak I decided to listen to opera and read. The former was effortless but I struggled with the latter. I am enjoying a glass of Chianti though.

Last night I dined with my judge friend. It was good to see him. He too has been through hell the last few years but even though it's only early days life seems to be righting itself.

I plan to make a cook a cottage pie later. The devil once ate my cottage pie and loved it. I will love it without her tonight. Tomorrow slow roast shoulder of pork.

I Heard a Voice.

The Robber of Normality

Last weekend I was speaking to Jayne in Cambridge. Since my most recent setback we probably speak three times a week. Inevitably the overwhelming nightmare that is anxiety came up at some length. For some time she has been trying to pursuade me to stop using contact lenses and just go back to wearing glasses full time.

True I no longer play contact sports which was the reason I started at the age of 16. Am I being vain? Many say I look younger wearing my glasses. But I don't worry too much about I look like. So why?

Thinking in the week I'm simply trying to hang on to a bastion of normality. Anxiety has robbed me of so much of my life. I struggle with travel. With meetings. With anything domestic. With work. At times I shake so much that I'm terrified of pouring the kettle. Once I think of shaking I shake.

The daily trial of putting in my lenses is a trial. Bernie Rosen once said to me you must do the boring little things, the nitty gritty. So I try to hang on to my life.

Talking of my most recent setback I thought until Thursday that the nightmare was over, evil defeated and stepping forward into the light. But no it has been resurrected. I've been trying to hold my anger at bay ever since. This is a witch hunt.

Yet on this Sunday morning I can do nothing. So I focus on my opera, my book and my kitchen. A lamb shank is slow roasting with rosemary. I will roast potatoes and carrots and serve with sprouts, broccoli and kale, gravy and home made mint sauce. I have half a bottle of Chianti to accompany it.

Take care out there.

I Heard a Voice.

The Sunshine of Autumn.

On a sunny Sunday afternoon in September I bid you a fond hello. Thank you for sticking with me after the tumultuous months that have characterised 2026 for me. No the devil didn't speak. And as per my last post I have been delivered from evil. Truly this year I've seen inside the gates of hell.

Mentally and physically it has taken its toll. I'm back with a care co-cordinator for the first time since last millenia and I now weigh less than 10 stone. Still I keep going and fighting on.

This quiet Sunday I'm listening to Puccini and cooking roast gammon. To be served with roast potatoes, cauliflower, carrots and tenderstem broccoli, gravy and fiery English mustard. Heaven on a Sunday. No wine today, fancy a pint in a country pub instead.

A key part of recent challenges has been the overwhelming isolation of the last few weeks. Excepting staff in shops who know me I've gone days at a time seeing no one. Of course that happened during covid but hard all the same.

Tonorrow I return to my office. I'm not really too anxious about this but do anticipate some adjustment being needed over a few weeks.

I did get away in the week to Folkestone. Always good to get away. Pretty good journey home yesterday. There was a major fire just over the road from where I was staying which has made national headlines. The following morning from the cab conveying me to the station I saw more fire engines in one place than I've ever witnessed before.

Sadly the world appears to be burning too. The result of powerful, angry men who serve but themselves. We live in dangerous times.

I Heard a Voice.

And Deliver Us From Evil.

A grey but mild September day I've yet to venture beyond my front door. Haydn plays, my book is page turning and a single rib of beef is coming up to room temperature in the kitchen.

If you are reading apologies for the sparse and somewhat cryptic messages I posted. I have been enveloped in darkness since late July. A darkness that was brutally evil. I have re-evaluated my concept and understanding of evil. Much more common than I once believed.

No the devil did not speak. Well at least not directly to me. She hasn't done that since June and her messages remain unopened. No lurking out there in the fires of hell, the fog of contempt and the sewers of human depravity a darkness known longer but not detected sprang to life. And it was evil.

That I'm human and make a lot of mistakes is well known. God I beat myself up enough. But to wantonly prey on the vulnerability years later defies words.

On Thursday a single text delivered me from evil. Left is relief, anger and sadness. My vulnerability has now switched from the depths of hell to the dangerous, glorious heights and dazzling heaven that is mania. I'm fighting hard to contain that, Risperidone at the ready.

But I'm free. And on this Sunday I look forward to roast beef, to Chianti, to reading, and to opera.

I Heard a Voice 

A Book and a Beer.

What to say about the last fews weeks? It's been really tough and I've had to take a step back from many normal aspects of my life. Shut off from work I've been extremely isolated. This is compounded by my local pub having shut. So only sporadic contact with friends.

That said people have gone to great lengths to support me. Most recently Jayne came down from Cambridge yesterday and we spent a lovely afternoon together lunching at The Waggoners then quaffing chilled white Toscana back at my flat.

The flat is where I am now listening to Lucio Silla, cooking roast rolled breast of turkey and reading my book, The Land Where Lemons Grow. It's beautiful book. That I've made such progress with it is because I've taken myself off on the bus, book in hand, to some of the pubs in Welwyn a couple of times a week.

Wonderfully peaceful, a pint of ale and my book. This course of action has helped me get by on dark days.

This week is pretty empty. A work contact on Wednesday on the phone. Then my new care co-ordinator in the afternoon. A strong measure of how much I've been struggling is that I now have such a person for the first time since the later 1990s. Fear stalks the halls of the powerful. That they are worried is clear. I'm known by so many in my part of the world, a very high profile statistic.

For now I leave you. My friend Gary is coming for lunch. Tomorrow will be tomorrow.

I Heard a Voice.

I Saw the Rain.

After months of intense heat and humidity, parched earth and yellow grass the rains finally came on Thursday. At last a break from it all.

Rain aside Thursday did not go to plan. Sat in a 15th century pub in St Albans with my book I got an unexpected call from Harry my therapist. Therapists never call especially from mobile numbers. Not sure what I said to him on Wednesday but it spooked enough to get other eyes on me.

So I boarded a bus and pitched up at the mental health team and spent an hour with a nurse. A very senior nurse. Important people are worried. I was impressed with her. Human and giving just like me.

I'm not where I was on Thursday but I had a Saturday in near total isolation which was hard. Too early to tell how I feel today but I have Handel opera, my book and half a chicken to roast for my lunch.

After lunch I'm going round to see friends. With The Hedgehog now closed at least for the moment I have few places to go.

Going forward it is just day to day. But I will ride out the storm.

I Heard a Voice

Surprise Contacts.

Been a while since I was on here. Nothing to say and taking a step back from a few things in my life. It's a mild, sunny Sunday morning here. A step change from the intense heat and humidity that has characterised our summer for weeks on end.

I'm home listening to The Magic Flute. I read a chapter in my book and I need to think about preparing lunch. My friend Jasmine is joining me for roast lamb. Later than planned as she was late back with her poorly son.

Trying to step back has not been easy. Yesterday my plan to just chat to friends over a pint but ended up being much longer than planned due to various unexpected visitors to the pub.

Last night likewise. Seeing my friend Emma whose late mum lived downstairs from me was unexprcted. Still struggling to make sense of her mum's death I was tied up in an intense conversation so I was much later home than I'd hoped.

Today I hope to be more restrained. Need to stay alert for a meeting I'm having tomorrow. Enjoy your Sunday all.

I Heard a Voice.

Sunday of Opera, Reading and Roast Lamb.

It has just gone midday on a quiet Sunday. Handel's Julius Caesar is playing. A half shoulder of lamb is slow roasting in the oven. And I've read another two chapters of my book.

Not been here for a while. I have been exploring other areas of social media. My posts on TikTok about mental health, communication, barriers, challenges are attracting some interest.

In my working life things are going well. Busy last week. I'm off to the Royal College of Psychiatrists on 16th...hang out with the self appointed important people. At some point this week I'm talking to important people about getting candidates onto Clinical Psychology Doctoral programmes. Number 1 priority is being strong enough to stand up to consultant psychiatrists.

Therapy continues each Wednesday afternoon in same brutalising, intense, humbling and shocking way. I knew it would be hard though. One day at a time.

I'll heading to the coast after my trip to London. See my dad, my friends and to walk along the beach.

England play tonight in the World Cup but as kickoff is not until 1 am I won't watch as I have to work tomorrow.

Enjoy your Sunday.

I Heard a Voice.

Heat and Echoes of the Past.

I was musing with Sarah in the week on what friendship actually means. People say "you can count the number of true friends on the fingers of one hand". Just over a week ago I lost a friend of 15 years because she misinterpreted something I did. The wisdom of Sarah rightly pointed out "if she was a true friend she would have challenged you on it during a conversation not just told you to fuck off".

I struggle with self esteem and sense of self. Try as I might to use my knowledge of language to do good sometimes I get it wrong. My therapy sessions have a heavy dose of loss, endings and the actions of others.

The week that the devil addressed me directly three times has been very difficult. But hour by hour, day by day I got through. I have not opened the latest missives from her but the fact they were sent is really unsettling.

Back on a quiet but stifling hot Sunday morning I'm listening to Puccini, reading and roasting a chicken. A friend popped round to fix a small plumbing issue in my bathroom. Having spent most of yesterday seeing no one it was good to have a visitor.

Going back to friendship some years ago I was privileged to share a panel with the then CEO of MIND Paul Farmer at a mental health conference. His comment was interesting, "the problem with Facebook is it has redefined what a 'friend' is". Friendship is not a numbers game. What matters is authenticity. I know many many people but how many are there for me when I'm struggling? 48 hours of silence usually raises the alarm with my true friends. I must stop trying to be there for anyone especially if it is to my detriment. Devil go.

I Heard a Voice.

An Avalanche of Nightmares.

Two weeks have passed since my last post. I had hoped to post after therapy two Wednesdays ago but was too emotionally exhausted to do anything. But so much has happened.

I returned to my office for the first time in more than a year two Mondays ago. It felt alien, bewildering and overwhelming. Very similar to going back to campus after lockdown. But I did it.

My real emotion was being stunned by the welcome I received from people in health and education. The narrative has changed. They missed me and needed me. The struggles they had without me are getting clearer.

An exhausting experience set against the backdrop of therapy and the devil reappearing. That therapy is having an impact is clear from the avalanche of nightmares I've experienced recently. Really hard going at the moment but I will persevere.

As for the devil life is not looking good but I'm resisting the desire to reach out. You reap what you sow. No longer will I prop you up.

Lost another friend on Friday. Maybe I should cut myself off from people who drain me. As my friend Rebecca who is a therapist said to me yesterday do not keep giving when it is to your detriment.

Away from that though I listening to The Magic Flute and preparing lunch for a friend. Roast rib of beef and a bottle of Amerone. She's bringing the cheese.

Until next time.

I Heard a Voice.

Roast Duck, Grey Skies and Puccini

The skies have turned grey, the air is cooler and Puccini plays. Sunday afternoon on an edgy, listless weekend. A week full of travel wore me out. Then the paranoia set in.

Forever worried and anxious being spied on from I know not where is very unnerving. The devil may have gone at least for the time being but I'm fearful of who trust.

That is the nasty part of my mental state. But I have my kitchen, my opera and my books. A duck leg and potatoes just went in to roast. Not had roast duck for several months. The devil once joined me for roast duck. Maybe been the last time I roasted duck.

Tomorrow summer starts, I go back to my office and remember a profound, beautiful but doomed meeting four years ago. That changed so much in my life. It is fodder for my therapy sessions. They remain brutally hard. A nurse on the ward in 1994 said to me "it will get worse before it gets better". I wasn't expecting that 32 years later I'm still at times in the grip of a mental health vice.

Away from my little world life looks uncertain, unstable and unsafe. Why do we do all this to ourselves? Intent on destruction. I fear for the world.

I Heard a Voice.

Vindication and Anger and Emerging.

In my year long venture into all things ADHD I repeatedly hear two words. Mainly these words come from women diagnosed late. They are powerful. Vindication and anger.

After a 4 1/2 year nightmare I emerged into dazzling light vindicated on Friday. A new way forward sweeping away the toxic cloud that has seeped into my very being, my core and my self. It is over.

No ego driven, power crazed and control obsessed poison any more. Life changed on Friday.

Going forward I will play to my strengths, bring compassion, bring teaching, bring knowledge and a fierce sense of right and wrong to my work life.

On a sunny Sunday morning I'm listening to Mozart opera and cooking roast pork. I read two chapters of my book and am looking forward to opening a bottle of Rioja.

Yesterday I was in Cambridge with Jayne to watch the American football Varsity Bowl. Glorious win for the Pythons followed by drinks in the Granta and dinner at Sala Thong.

Not without its bad memories. Two events occured in the Granta many years ago. Both very significant and damaging. But I will not let that overwhelm me. Past mars my past but I shape my future. The storied story goes on.

Back in my current world the devil has shut down all contact with the world beyond her twisted, damaged little life. It is both good and bad. Tinged with what might have been. Harry says I always talk about endings in therapy not what went on before. There is a long way to go with therapy and it remains brutally hard.

That, however, can wait until Wednesday. Today is Sunday and tomorrow is a public holiday. Enjoy this sunny long weekend.

I Heard a Voice.

A Day of Indifference.

The skies looked thunderous when I went out earlier to collect my medication. Angry, threatening clouds but no biblical showers.

On a working day I'm finding it hard to get going with anything. In truth today there's not much to be done. When I woke up I felt a sense of apathy and indifference. Odd given that Friday was good. Glimmers of hope and possible dissipation of darkness. That that darkness had descended more than 18 months ago was purely due to vindictive, manipulative and aggressive behaviour by one person obsessed with power.

No one who knew me before changing jobs could understand why my skills were not embraced but threatened. Sanction may be about to lift and what I bring praised, adopted and heralded. It has been a long and tough road.

My long weekend with Marie did not go entirely to plan. Poor weather and her being unwell dented our Saturday. Fortunately she felt much better on Sunday and we had lovely roast beef at The White Horse in Welwyn.

Tomorrow brings therapy and next week brings me to see my psychiatrist. Been a while as my appointment was rescheduled as I was in Kent for dad's birthday.

The Varsity Bowl is coming on Saturday so plan to go to Cambridge, meet Jayne for the game, a couple of pints in The Granta then dinner at Sala Thong.

Have a good week all.

I Heard a Voice.

Division and Hate.

The fallout from the recent local elections has been dominating our lives the last week. I tend to avoid talking about politics especially online. Last Wednesday I bumped into a friend who is a former Tory councillor on my way to therapy. He had gone back to his roots and not voted for Reform. I mused that our last two governments had blown massive majorities in the space of 18 months. What is happening to our country?

In truth we are lurching further into division and hate. Yesterday a big right wing nationalist march took place in London. The right to protest in vital to our democracy but the demonisation of different parts of our people is alarming. Please let's unite not tear ourselves in to small hate filled pockets.

For many the streets do not feel save. A Jewish friend recently said "if I see someone wearing a keffiyah I am filled with fear". I've worn keffiyahs for decades. I do not want to to be a figure of fear.

In a similar way the cross of St George flag has become a symbol of fear and division. That flag belongs to us not bigoted ring wing people who sow the seed of hate in our communities. Who knows if said flag will be embraced in more positive way during this summer's World Cup.

Away from that my mental state has mainly improved. I don't know for sure yet but the dark, toxic cloud that has enveloped my working world since October 2024 may be about to lift. I'm certainly getting noticed in high places. Change must come and I will try to help bring it about despite losing allies.

My friend Marie is here for the weekend. She was unwell yesterday but feeling much better today. We're off for lunch at The White Horse in Welwyn.

The devil murmured last night but is not much on my mind. Enjoy your Sunday everyone.

I Heard a Voice.

Falling off a Cliff.

Some days I just wake up really depressed. Usually triggered by nightmares of my mum it's like falling off a mood cliff. Today is such a day.

I knew I couldn't do it today. So simply gave up. I sit alone in my flat feeling desolate. The rain is coming down and it's very cold. My mind is clothed with a black darkness suffocating me. I can see and hear but not touch.

Years ago people used to equate my illness to being in a long, dark tunnel. It was worse than that, I was floating in darkness unable to touch or feel the floor or the walls of that tunnel.

Yet still I got up, made my bed, got dressed, had coffee, washed my face, put my contact lenses in and brushed my teeth. I did not go back to bed with all the curtains closed and the lights off. That course of action was very tempting.

For now I fight hour to hour. I will get through. As I posted on another platform earlier to mark Mental Health Awareness Week I survived.

It's too early to decide if I will increase my medication. On Wednesday I have therapy, today I think I need it.

I Heard a Voice.

In Close Proximity.

A cold wind is blowing across the quiet land of Hertfordshire. In sharp contrast to the glorious day yesterday. I'm so cold I have the heating on.

The week was tough. Finally had a conversation about my future. The change I wanted and needed will not now happen. I have little choice but to return to my old job and face big questions. Why is work so hard? To add to that though the woman who has steared our service on a more stable path is leaving. Where this leads us I have no idea. What I do know is that I'm the only one who knows.

That is aside this weekend though. It's the weekend of the Food Festival. I went down yesterday with a friend but felt the busy throng too overwhelming. What I didn't learn until later was that the devil was there too.

I'm hugely relieved I didn't bump into her. Given how painful the journey has been since January to move forward thank goodness it was close proximity not face to face.

Back to this cold Sunday I'm listening to The Marriage of Figaro, I've read another chapter in my book and have rolled breast of turkey roasting in the oven. Still not eating much but continue on my culinary adventures.

Miriam is down visiting dad. No doubt they've booked somewhere nice for a pub lunch. I'm booked at The White Horse in Welwyn for lunch next Sunday with Marie; she's travelling up on Friday.

Devil go home and reap what you sow. I do not want you in my life.

I Heard a Voice.

Not a Known Soul.

I've not seen a soul today. Well not known to me. After a lonely, detached and tired holiday weekend I have sought solitude. I didn't wake up until midday. The lack of structure and purpose on bank holidays has long plagued me. 

Unsure of what to do I didn't eat lunch. Wasn't hungry. But I did get in my car and had a pint of Cornish ale in The Rose and Crown at Welwyn. Apart from the young woman pouring the ale I spoke to no one. Nor see anyone I knew.

Back when mum was alive she would always be surprised when I bumped into someone I knew wherever we went. She always wanted to know how I knew all these people. Well I talk to them.

Meeting new people has never been easy for me. That may come as a surprise given that I get paid to meet and talk to new people. That though is on my terms, in my world. The mental health world is home, familiar to me.

After nearly 19 years in Hertfordshire a lot of people know me. Just none today.

The devil was less on my mind today. That after almost reaching out last night. All voices say do not. Thus far I haven't. Must keep that up.

In my solitude I did cook. Beef rendang from scratch. Made the paste, slow cooked it for 2 1/2 hours. Came out pretty well.

Tomorrow I speak to a wise man, I work and I cook for Sarah. Undecided whether to do pan fried duck breasts with cassis and blackberry sauce, pan fried and roasted duck breast with pomegranate molasses or duck Mussaman curry. Each requires going out for ingredients or the effort of making curry paste on a work day. I wonder which I will choose.

I Heard a Voice.

Whispering Deceit or Crying a Painful Truth?

The devil spoke this week. Not directly to me but to the wider online world. I'm trying to interpret what she said. Was she whispering more deceit to elicit compassion or expressing the painful truth that has beset my mind since late January?

All but one person in my life have don't you dare respond. The one different voice, that of a therapist, is urging me to connect. Who do I trust?

The devil took up most of my therapy session this week. No advice was given, never expect that from a psychodynamic therapist, but he did give some different angles. The most striking was that unlike what happened in the past this time someone reached out to me not the other way round. Before the door has been slammed in my face repeatedly.

It is hard to forgive betrayal, vitriolic bile and attacks that confirm my very low opinion of me. But do I need to forgive? Or am I deluding my self that the devil's message relates to me?

On Tuesday I will speak to someone who will advise. Then I will decide.

Back to today I'm listening to Handel's Serse and cooking roast lamb. It has been a fairly lonely weekend. People doing their own thing. Tomorrow is a public holiday, what do I do with myself? Always a conundrum.

Must phone dad and Miriam later. Back now to my opera and my book.

I Heard a Voice.

Disastrous and Expensive.

Had things gone to plan I would be enjoying my Sunday opera feeling refreshed after my holiday. As it stands I'm listening to Sunday opera with an insidious and smoldering anger.

The week away was not only cut short but was an unmitigated disaster. Never again. Fortunately dad is fully recovered but the appalling way the hotel dealt with a minor stomach upset has left me angry and once again feeling betrayed.

By late last week it seemed they were going to refund everything including the £200 I spent on travel. Now they're trying to back out of that. What can I do though? I'm a nobody with no leverage.

Despite the rage it is sunny, I'm not being bombed as many are in the world. I'm cushioned from economic catastrophe instigated by war in the Middle East. I have a job, a home, food and the right to vote. That is lucky for me. Others are not that lucky.

In a couple of hours I will walk through the woods for lunch at The Waggoners. Tomorrow brings what it will but that is tomorrow.

I Heard a Voice.