Speak Ill of the Dead.

Death is a recurrent if depressing theme to my blog. I have noted many times before that I have seen way too many deaths for a now middle aged, increasingly portly, balding and greying nobody. Also noted before is that we rarely speak ill of the dead. We merely speak ill of the living.

I was deeply saddened to learn yesterday of the death of my friend and former close colleague Sylvia. It was not unexpected giving that she has been fighting cancer for the last 3 years. Last time I saw her she told me of her desperate fear of death, as she put it "you are a long time dead". We spoke on the phone a few weeks ago and it was clear she was nearing the end. That day she had just arrived back from hospital so she was exhausted. It was a short call for that reason. Tragically we never spoke again.

She left the University feeling rejected and disillusioned. Her work in her view dismissed by the power games of others. How ironic then that I learned the news from the very same person who had ushered her career out the door. The tributes were suitably gushing but as I say we never speak ill of the dead.

I feel sad but will move on. I valued her hugely. It will in time become another death in many. Now as I listen to Rossini on the radio the lead played by a man I once knew I can reflect. A night of quiet contemplation away from the TV awaits. More reading I think.

I Heard a Voice.

A Thumping Victory!

Did anyone out there really expect what happened in Cardiff over the last few days? England's beleaguered and much maligned cricket team thumping Australia inside 4 days. At 43 for 3 after the first hour England seemed doomed once again to be humiliated. Yet they fought back to out bat, out bowl and out field Australia. What a day yesterday when the last wicket fell to a skied catch in the deep. Battle resumes on Thursday and on Friday I will take my seat in my finery in the Grandstand at Lord's for what I hope will be a marvellous day out.

Back to Sunday Tosca has been played in its entirety, I took a 40 minute walk, I'm waiting for King's on Choral Evensong at 3 pm, the pork has just gone in the oven and reading beckons. It is a beautiful spare rib cut of pork, very hard to find normally. That will roast on a low temperature for around 4 hours for a melting texture. A friend is coming and bringing Rioja.

Mentally I think I'm doing pretty well. Must update my mood diary tomorrow, I'm somewhat behind. My new colleague Sami starts tomorrow. I hope her bountiful energy and enthusiasm doesn't get lost in the face of the many brick walls I have run into in the last 8 years.

Summer is marching on. Soon NFL training camps will be upon us I'm really hoping this time next year my beloved Rams will be back in Los Angeles where they belong.

See you all soon.

I Heard a Voice.

The Waiting Game.

Small and insignificant though it may be on a day like today, I found myself in my worst nightmare. As I always say I have no power at all unless shit and fan collide. Then I have to make that call to the people with power. Today was such a day.

That tense, nervous on edge boredom of waiting for the power of the Mental Health Act to be invoked. I do not invoke it but I facilitate others to do so. My day of waiting was in vain, back to the starting blocks tomorrow. I hate these days and they wear me out. Having power can be a terrible thing.

Tomorrow we will see.

I Heard a Voice.

That Day.

On that tragic day a decade ago I was walking along the beach on Romney Marsh with a man called David. My phone bleeped and a strange cryptic message came through from Miriam. It said simply "I'm not in London today". I had no idea what she was talking about. I learned within the hour that as I had long predicted the bombers had struck in London.

Being a child of the 70s and 80s many such events happened. But none like this. 4 young men blowing themselves up for their idea of Islam. 52 ordinary people were killed. It did not affect me directly but it did others. Today is a day to mourn our dead. It is also a day to mourn the many 1000s who have died in this war whenever it started. The bombers will come again.

It is a frightening world in which we live. I am not political so have no idea of a solution. Sadly it doesn't appear anyone else does either.

I Heard a Voice.

Byrd, Lamb and The Sunday Times.

On a dull overcast day that has threatened but not given rain I have stayed home to read, cook and listen. The lamb is slowly roasting away with fine aromas of garlic and rosemary, the paper is mainly read and Mozart has been done. Next up is Byrd's classic Four Part Mass. That comes up at 5 pm. Oh I do like my Sundays.

The quiet season beckons tomorrow. I'm getting by but not exactly feeling inspired. In truth I'm counting down the days until Lord's. The First Test starts on Wednesday, an odd day for the start of a series. Then a week Friday I don my Panama and head for the Grandstand at Lord's for what I hope will be a splendid day out.

Funny though it may seem this summer is flying by. 3 weeks on Thursday my friend Laura is getting married. Why do people keep asking me to read lessons, I'm terrible at reading aloud. But I will do my best. Then August. 46 is fast approaching. My 30s seem a lifetime away now. Hard to believe I have been here nearly 8 years. Will it be another 8 years before anything happens? God I hope not. My friend Jayne is confident I will end up in Cambridge one day but it doesn't seem likely now. So the waiting goes on. Enjoy the week, I'll chat again soon.

I Heard a Voice.

Books Galore.

A few days on from my last baffled post I am none the wiser what went wrong. The dust has settled, despite the fears of some I did not go into meltdown and another weekend is upon us.

I'm listening to Haydn on yet another warm afternoon and reading. I did venture out early for a fiercely short haircut, to shop and a little visit to The Horns. Not been there for a while. I also managed some domesticity despite the heat and am limbering myself up for a curry.

Further opera will ensue after the curry, Tchaikovsky's The Queen of Spades. And reading. Nearly there on T E Lawrence. I still have a pile of unread books and that will only get worse as I discovered last week that Waterstones is coming to town. I'm not sure when they are opening but it will be nice to have a book shop back a couple of years after the last one closed.

I suppose I ought to brave the heat and go for a walk tomorrow. Slow roast shoulder of lamb is on the menu with some home made mint sauce. It's been a while since I had lamb on a Sunday.

See you soon.

I Heard a Voice.

Puzzled in the Heat.

The UK has just experienced the hottest July day on record. Back in my flat all the windows and doors are open, there is little breeze, I'm sweltering and baffled. Not just baffled but puzzled, confused, perplexed and trying to digest events that to most seem beyond belief.

My slightly cryptic notes on here about a plan all came to nought today with a simple e mail. It was a plan involving a job and Cambridge. A job that could have been made for me. Who with my experience and knowledge of Cambridge would possibly want a job of that nature? Well I suppose there must be someone out there as I didn't even get an interview.

In what I laughingly call my career I have faced setback, confusion, rejection, stigma and all manner of failure. What then is another setback? Well to me it feels that if I can't even get an interview for that job what else will ever happen.

This may all sound self indulgent were it not for the fact everyone else who is familiar with my work and my life in Cambridge are stunned by it. So I'm not alone but that doesn't help. Will another opportunity come my way? Maybe.

Given what has happened in my life I suppose I have done well. Few people ever get out of the benefits trap. Few unqualified people have got into such an influential position as a mental health practitioner. Yet I'm still where I was yesterday. Just now wondering once again what next?

I Heard a Voice.