Decadence is Ours!

My sister Miriam text earlier on to suggest that rare ribeye steak, potatoes sauteed in duck fat, petit pois and Bearnaise sauce with a glass of Rioja was somewhat decadent for a Monday evening. Maybe but it was sublime.

In my arrogant youth before my breakdown and the devastating recession of the 1990s we at Cambridge strove to be as decadent as possible. Of the many things I learned on going up to Cambridge in 1988 was the prevalence of "dining" societies. Translation, drinking societies. Each generation created it's own societies for such decadence. There was one in my time called the Merkins. The English translation of their Latin motto was "Decadence is Ours". Oh how we learned when it all went wrong.

I admit my visit to Borough Market brought back some of that decadence. The Gloucester Old Spot pork was so good it defied description. Even my friend Gary raved and he rarely does that. Currently under way is a wild boar and chorizo stew. Rustic of course but not a run of the mill meal.

When the latest recession hit the UK in 2007/08 a quiet revolution in food shopping ensued. Now the cheap supermarkets from Germany are hammering the old stores, rich people have changed their habits and we are living more within our means. I mixed the 2 back in Kent, Aldi a 30 second walk, Mandy's brilliant butcher 30 seconds walk and Waitrose 5 minutes.

Now in Hertfordshire I have no butcher but easy access to each of those supermarkets; I still mix and match. Tonight's decadence came from Aldi, a beautiful 21 day aged ribeye steak. And it was sublime.

Old and new can mix. Borough is an occasional indulgence but I can still live well away from that wonderful place.

I finally have a plan for my talk on Wednesday. It may be an empty room but I intend to blow away the one man and his dog who might turn up. See you soon.

I Heard a Voice.

A Feast Awaits.

Sunday, wonderful Sunday. A day to rest, to do opera, to cook and to read. On a rather dull day a pork shoulder joint has just gone in the oven, The Marriage of Figaro plays quietly, the paper is only a fraction read. I had to stop the good stuff to do some cleaning-very dull. I will have visitors round for roast pork later.

This is no ordinary joint of pork. It is Gloucester Old Spot pork from Borough Market. I spent a splendid afternoon with my friend Katherine at the market. It was packed but I came back laden with beautiful produce. Aside from the pork there was a chicken, some boar, a chorizo sausage, cinnamon from Sri Lanka, 2 different Spanish cheeses, bacon, and some beautiful damson jam. The latter really reminds me of mum. So for the next few days I will feast and share with my friends.

Oh too quickly though tomorrow will come. Last week was tough at times but not for the usual reasons. Finally late on Friday afternoon we confirmed the programme of events for Wednesday. Now all I need to do is give some thought to my talk and scribble down a few bullet points just to remind me of the order. I had planned to do that today but would rather listen to Mozart. Tomorrow it is then.

I Heard a Voice

Thanks Goodness for Purcell.

I have very much enjoyed each evening except Wednesday coming home to an hour of the music of Henry Purcell this week. He was featured on composer of the week. The final part has just finished. I'm really glad the week has finished too.

Co-ordinating events and managing multiple and changing demands of others has never been my forte. That has taken up much of the week leaving me with frayed nerves, too much anxiety and downright stress. The reason is that next Wednesday is University Mental Health and Wellbeing Day. Give me a crisis any day over organising such events. Finally get students, the student union, the charities and various other people on board and it is mayhem. I'm so tired. It has been a nightmare.

Yet as I enter the weekend with a beer, Beethoven and a feeling of exhaustion it seems we may finally have an event organised. My part is to offer a talk as I did last year although with no book to launch. I will speak at 4 pm on Wednesday with a theme of "Crisis? What Crisis? 25 Years of Student Mental Health". Whether anyone turns up is anyone's guess but if you are in the area of Hatfield you are more than welcome to join me in B400 on the College Lane campus for what I hope will be some fun.

In theory I am going to Borough Market tomorrow. In practice it entirely depends on when I wake up. I feel like sleeping for ever. When will this tiredness dissipate? Soon I hope.

I Heard a Voice.

Edged With Ice.

The cold weather of the last week is still in evidence by my lake. I returned today for the first time since our move at the end of last term. No not to work but merely to park my car. The surface was still, clear and tinged with ice. I would imagine earlier in the week it was a solid sheet of ice. Neither fish nor heron were in evidence on a cold cloudy day.

My friend Marie is visiting for the weekend. She has not been up here in over a year. So off we toddled for a little shopping, a sandwich and pint at The Horse and Groom then a trip round the Galleria. I was very restrained and spent little.

Back at home in the warm we have the rugby on-terrific performance from England yesterday by the way-and I'm contemplating a supper of Malaccan pepper crab with black beans, ginger and curry leaves. As we both have little reasons to celebrate we are splashing out on lunch at The Waggoners tomorrow, I suspect rare roast beef is in order.

No doubt the weekend will be oh so short. I remain tired, I slept for 11 hours last night, but doing well. Work is a little too manic for my liking but we have only 2 months to go until the Easter respite. See you soon.

I Heard a Voice.

Youth Over Experience.

Today I was invited to be part of an assessment panel for an academic post. I was not doing the interviewing but rather listening to 4 presentations, questioning the presenters then giving feedback. Given that we had no context not having seen their CVs or histories it was a fascinating exercise. A single candidate stood head and shoulders above the rest. And she was the youngest and least experienced. Some of the others felt the lack of experience would be a problem. Had it been down to me it would have been no question at all. She inspired me and if I wanted someone to teach me it would be her. In time no doubt I will find out the result; I very much hope to meet her again.

That was just part of my busy day. I didn't really stop other than a couple of 5 minute food breaks. I got home at nearly 6 pm. Tomorrow will be equally busy. Only then can I come up for air.

As I try to wind down Puccini's Turandot plays, a beer is open and T E Lawrence beckons. Over half way now. I managing but my diary is getting too hectic, will need to keep a lid on things in the coming weeks if I don't want to spiral out of control.

I Heard a Voice.

Vindication!

Just over a dozen years after an off the cuff conversation with my friend Heather I have finally realised a dream. At that time I was trying and failing to get a job as a teacher. I had been trying for nearly 3 years and despite 150 odd applications and 18 interviews teaching had given up on me. Was I ready to give up on it? I had no choice.

On that afternoon in the summer of 2002 she asked if I would consider working in mental health. My response was yes but not for the enemy. She asked what I wanted to do. To be a consultant of course. Her answer was telling "you have to start at the bottom". And so I did.

Held back by "what would you know?" "What qualification do you have for that?" "You're not a nurse or social worker" and all myriad of barriers, somehow I landed the job at the university in 2007.

Today I came of age. I have passed the MSc in Mental Health Practice. It is a course undertaken almost exclusively by psychiatrists. It is proof after all these years I do know what I'm talking about. Where I go from here who knows but I feel utterly vindicated that my 25 year journey has finally been recognised. It is but a piece of paper but it is my piece of paper that says fuck you to those who doubted me!

I Heard a Voice.

Black Fertile Soil.

Travelling to and fro Ely via Cambridge in the past few days took me through field after field of fertile black soil. The earth of East Anglia brings forth wondrous products. It was flecked with snow belying harder falls north of me. I was slightly sad to see some of those fields given over to solar farms. Given world resources can we really afford to waste such fertility? It is always good to go back home although I didn't really do more than pass through Cambridge.

Back in Hertfordshire I have shopped, had a pint of Black Sheep in The Waggoners then cooked Balinese pork with chillies, ginger and kecap manis. Now settling in to a night of opera-Offenbach's Les Contes d'Hoffman is on the radio-and some reading.

Tomorrow it gets real. My inbox is groaning with requests. I haven't read any of them yet but I suspect it will be a busy few days. Fortunately my mood is holding, not so sure about my energy though. Still struggling with the early mornings

Until next time.

I Heard a Voice