An Air of Resignation.

It has been a strange few days and my mind is in a weird place. It has been a sense of utter resignation. My appeal has been postponed until 12th-I feel I have no chance. I also took the plunge and applied for a job in Cambridge. Yet I have the same feeling of resignation with that. I know I can do the job but why is it that these places think the only people who know anything about mental health are nurses, social workers and counsellors? It is bullshit and I have proven track record as an unqualified practitioner-the comments of my students speak for themselves.

Talking of my students I witnessed the ultimate outcome of my efforts yesterday. I am working with a truly lovely woman who is training to be a teacher. For 20 years or more she has battled depression. I had her from the moment I met her and her progress despite a few blips has been astonishing. But it was what she said yesterday that almost brought tears to my eyes. "I am proud of my children and proud of who I am". That is little short of a miracle for a woman whose self esteem was so low when I met her after all these years ravaged by a devastating depression. That put me in a good mood.

I had lunch with my former head of department yesterday which was also good. So I thought I would be heading into a weekend of good mood. But it didn't last. At 4.30 pm I spoke to a close colleague and discovered that a key plank of my pay appeal is being taken away from me. It would seem I will no longer be involved with supervising our mentors. Maybe that has sealed my fate, who knows?

After that today has not gone to plan. I had hoped to get the bus to St Albans, eat Moroccan food and meet a friend for some real ale. But I was too tired. So to plan B.

Several hours on I have a wonderful smelling beef rendang bubbling slowly away on the hub, I have listened to the whole of the Messiah and discovered the delights of Ernest Hemingway. "Death in the Afternoon" is of course a controversial book. I went to a bullfight in Granada in 1990. I don't recall any concern for the safety of the horses as Hemingway describes in detail in chapter 1 but I recall being mesmerised by the skill and courage of both bull and matador. I don't think I will ever go again.

Granada 1990, a life time away; a life changing experience and the happiest I have ever been. It was 2 months before my illness. For it was there that I met Kathryn. Or should I call her Rachel as I do in the book? So long ago.

I Heard a Voice.

Summer's Here-Break Out the Linen Attire.

I was 10 years old when I first went to Australia to sing. On the way we stopped to refuel at Bombay. Nothing could prepare me for the furnace that awaited me as we stepped out the plane. I walked into a wall of heat and humidity at precisely midnight local time; it was 88 degrees and close on 100% humidity.

Of course we don't get that here. But finally I think today summer has arrived. We are lucky enough to have missed the showers here and had a glorious day. So much so I have broken out my summer attire of linen-another of my English traits. Not of course my famous suits but cool loose linen trousers and an equally loose shirt. I fear it could be a long night.

I have achieved more than I thought I would today. I struggle to get motivated when I don't have a queue of students running to my door. Paperwork bores me. But today I got some done.

I also had nice surprise when a lovely card arrived from an outgoing student union sabbatical officer thanking me for my help over the last 2 years. I'm not sure I helped much but it is nice to be appreciated. Tomorrow I am meeting my former head of department for lunch-nice to step away for a while.

And tonight? I will griddle a chop marinaded in spices a la Ken Hom-I've mentioned that before on here. Then I will settle down with Pimm's and catch up on some TV. See you soon.

I Heard a Voice.

And Our Little World is Rounded with a Sleep.

So spoke the words of Shakespeare. I think the quote comes from the Tempest although since reading it for A Level 24 years ago my mind is a little hazy on that one. But that song that was set to music by Vaughan Williams was known to me long before then. I sang them as a child. "We are such stuff as dreams are made of, and our little world is rounded with a sleep".

Maybe Shakespeare understood dreams better than me. But whatever they are about I finally slept well last night. There were of course dreams but I was only woken twice rather than the 4 times a night of the previous 4 nights. It has made me feel somewhat better though.

It has been a quiet day of Beethoven and newspaper reading. Maybe I will watch the football later. For now I am par boiling potatoes to go with roasted chicken thighs later.

I promised last night to report back on my Thai curry. The answer, simply stunning. Powerful heat and wonderful cornucopia of flavours-perhaps the best one I have ever done. Beka-whom I taught to cook Thai curry and who now cooks it better than me-would be somewhat proud.

Tomorrow it is back to reality. I have one final chance to resolve my pay dispute-I will have to write the letter of my life just to get a chance. All will be known on 10th July at the latest. If it fails I will be looking to move on in my life. Who knows where that will take me. For now though I just enjoy a quiet Sunday and contemplate that great passion of mine, food.

I Heard a Voice.

Fire From the East!

It has been a strange weekend. I have not been at my best and I had a dramatic mood swing downward out of the blue last night. I had my fourth bad night of nightmares in a row-if this continues life does not look quite so good. Maybe there is a relapse on the cards.

But it hasn't all been wasted. I finished proofing Izzi's PhD and she seemed to think it had helped quite a lot. Not quite what I had planned for the last 2 days of my holiday but it kept me out of the pub for a while.

And so to today. I feel very little but tiredness. I went shopping and did a whole heap of domestic stuff-you know the boring nitty gritty stuff that we are all lumbered with. But for the last hour I have had more fun.

There are few things as therapeutic as making Thai curry pastes from scratch. Today I made two. I am planning a jungle curry from the renowned Australia chef David Thompson who has spent most of his life researching the history of Thai food. He is in many ways revered for his expertise.

I've not done this one before and I'm not sure I have ever used so many chillies in a dish and I reduced the specified number. Joey would be proud of me if I can get through this. I couldn't get any fresh pepper corns but I will improvise.

Assuming I survive the chilli onslaught I will try to report back tomorrow. In the meantime, here is to an undisturbed sleep free from the perils of my night time demons.

I Heard a Voice.

The Dream Catcher.

Why have certain cultures throughout history revered dreams? Native American Indians, Aboriginals in Australia and various tribes in South America have incorporated the dream world into their culture. I have no doubts others have too but I am by no means an expert. I remember the first time I was shown a dream Catcher by my friend Helen. It left me with one over riding question, why?

My life has been plagued by bad dreams for years. No doubt the psychotherapist Jung would have had something to say about that but I have always considered psychotherapy a lot of old shit. I don't know why I am plagued by dreams. The last 3 nights have been dreadful with me woken several times in the night. I can understand that some dreams are about our anxieties in waking life. But at the moment I have little on my mind. I wish they would go away. It leads me to feel as if I haven't slept in the morning.

So what of the waking hours? I am back home in Hertfordshire. The dinner with Beka and Anne went well as did the funeral on Tuesday. There is but one thing that is good about funerals-catching up with those I haven't seen for a while. I had very good journey back and had a a couple of days on complete relaxation lined up.

But it was not be. My fellow blogger Izzi phoned on Wednesday evening asking if I could proof read her PhD which she has to submit on Monday. So all afternoon yesterday I stared at my computer screen and read. 2 files down and 3 to go. Why does the world never go to plan?

On another note I am finally getting some thoughts on "Charon's Ferry". My friend Marie came to visit at the weekend and spent nearly 7 hours solidly reading on Saturday. She had finished by Tuesday and described it as "bloody brilliant". Another friend Jacqueline is hooked and promises to comment as soon as she can. I guess that is all good news.

So back to now, the next file beckons. I will start now and only stop for Singapore noodles for lunch. I will let you know when I come up for air on another cold, dank and wet day. Whatever happened to summer?

I Heard a Voice.

The Garden of England.

For those of you who read my blog abroad you may not know that Kent where my family has lived for the last 33 years is known as the Garden of England. Famous for growing so many things as apples, cobnuts and hops, produce that has driven the fading British food culture for centuries. Actually cobnuts have more or less died out recently but they are still to be found in these parts. And of course the hops, the staple of ale. It seems very strange to me that I have only really started drinking real ale since last year. Kent boasts the oldest brewery in Britain, Shepherd Neame at Faversham.

So why mention Kent today? Well I'm down visiting my dad. I haven't seen him since mum's funeral. Sadly it is another funeral that draws us together at this time, that of an old friend known to both of us. Yes the deaths keep happening. In total since my last descent into my madness at the end of February I have lost 6 people.

But it is not all bad. It is great to see people and we're having friends round for dinner. My mum invited people around occasionally but her overwhelming anxiety she experienced in her last years often made these events rather traumatic for her. Today has been more relaxed than that.

I'm using local belly pork although done in a Spanish way, local cabbage and carrots for a magnificent Middle Eastern version of coleslaw flavoured with cumin and lemon, and then local strawberries after. To start I bought some top quality Spanish jamon and chorizo along with some olives and hummous-a true Mediterranean theme here in the outer recesses of East Kent. I very much hope Beka and her mum enjoy themselves. And of course my dad.

I'm off for now, more soon.

I Heard a Voice.

Saying Goodbye.

It is 4.34 pm British Summer Time on 16th June 2012. It is a day of memories. I had planned to blog last night but it was too late, I was too tired and it had been too long a day. The day had been spent in Cambridge with my Malaysian friend Joey and 2 others. But my mind was not entirely on that day. It was back 22 years before in the very same place. Cambridge my home.

When I got home last night my mind was still on the past. On that day I had been at a Cambridge May Ball with 4 women. 3 I knew well, the other, the girl from Alabama was new to me. As we emerged into glorious sunlight the next day, the girl from Alabama and me, neither of us knew the cataclysmic earthquake that was about to engulf my life. For it was that morning that my madness struck in all its brutality on an unsuspecting fool. That fool was me. She was an unwitting witness.

That was the day my long journey started. Today that journey is over, the book is written and raved about and the new book, the what happened next book is currently captivating my friend on this quiet Saturday afternoon. Yesterday was a day to say goodbye, goodbye to Joey, and goodbye to those demons. Will they ever leave me completely? I doubt.

Joey flies home to Malaysia for good tomorrow. I doubt we shall meet again but she has enriched my life for the last 2 years. I am lucky to have such good friends.

Back in the reality of my life, England are being thumped in the rugby, my curry is marinading and I'm thinking of going to Kent tomorrow. I have not bee since my mum's funeral. Sadly I have to go to another one on Tuesday; another goodbye to my past.