A Comic Alternative.

For all my love of Mozart and serious opera I am but a novice in the genre. Miriam is far more knowledgeable than me in the field. In fact she and Nigel go to Glynbourne every year. My friend Gary from the pub knows far more of opera too. Much more familiar to me are the comic operas of Gilbert and Sullivan and the French composer Jacques Offenbach. I have played in the orchetra for both; not very well mind you. They are always fun so on a warm and humid June day I turned to "HMS Pinafore" and "The Pirates of Penzance". And splendid they were too. That said I can't do a Sunday without Mozart so I now have on the violin sonatas.

I have felt rather flat all day. I think it is because I'm tired. How much longer can I keep working at this pace? It is verging on the ridiculous at the moment. Tomorrow we start July and still the carnage goes on. When will it stop?

But there is still some of Sunday left. The chicken is roasting away and smelling great. The white Burgundy is chilling-I'm looking forward to that. And then the cherries; a healthy pudding, mum would approve.

Tomorrow it is back to the chaos. Not sure when I will blog again, will have to see how the mood takes me. For now goodbye.

I Heard a Voice.

PS Happy birthday to Miriam, off at the Bowie exhibition today.

Figaro, Jerome K Jerome, and Pimm's.

I'm in good company this afternoon. The cherry season is upon us, I've been paid and my cupboards are overflowing with fine produce. Shopping out of the way I have chosen the company of Figaro, Jerome K Jerome, and a glass of Pimm's. Civilised isn't it?

You may recall that Mozart is my normal Sunday afternoon jaunt but I decided on this warm humid day to go back there and just relax. It has been another long week. I came home exhausted; this is just too much for almost July. Why is it happening this year? Maybe the students are all staying on to avoid going home. So I have to look after them. But they can wait until Monday, it is my weekend for cooking.

In my kitchen I have 6 boiled eggs cooling. They will me curried later. My mum used to make a wonderful egg and prawn curry. It sounds an odd combination but it really works. These eggs will be in a coconut masala. One of the great triumph of yesterday's shopping expedition was getting coconut milk without bankrupting myself. For reasons I do not understand its cost has doubled in the last couple of years. The town where I work is ugly and unpleasant but the wonderful mix of cultures mainly down to our students means I can get all sorts of goodies at good prices. I came way with jaggary yesterday too, can't wait to try it.

Tomorrow it is roast chicken. I even bought a white Burgundy to go with it. It was on offer so I couldn't resist. For once I will not roast potatoes but rather boil some Jersey Royals, probably the finest potato on the planet. That will be worth it too.

So with my life so unsettled and my mind doing cartwheels I will stick to my relaxing Saturday afternoon and continue my venture into "3 Men in a Boat". And Mozart will be my partner.

I Heard a Voice.

Herons and Dragonflies.

The long, cold, dark days of January seem a long time ago now. The lake by my office was at times surrounded by snow and covered in ice. It was savage in its beauty. Well at least that was on the days when I made it off the ice rink that was the carpark by my flat to make it to work. January was the last time I managed to see my Doctor. He likes to see me 2-4 times a year to monitor me. Is it wise to keep a track on my mood disorder in the absence of enough madness to warrant the attentions of a shrink? Of course. Yet it never happens; we are both too busy. When I left him I had the form for my annual blood test linked to the consumption of risperidone.

It is now late June. The snow and ice has gone but cold overcast days prevail at times. In the last few days the heron and the dragonflies have returned to the lake. It has a different beauty now. Today I finally managed to set aside enough time to go and get the bloodtest as well as remembering the form. I went early to try to get to work. Big mistake. 1 hour 45 minutes later I emerged with a plaster over my vein, my blood taken and my mood surprisingly intact. It doesn't really bother me waiting. What did bother me was the plethora of pensioners moaning about how long it was taking. I wonder what was so pressing that they all had to go first? Are retired people that busy? By the time I retire I will probably be well into my 70s and have little to live on. But I can't do anything about that.

Today was boring. No students and tedious administrative things to do. It was rare respite. At the moment I am managing 3 crises-is it really summer? That was after another night of dreams; I was up 3 times. The odd thing was I had 2 different dreams involving my mum. Or should I say 1 not involving my mum. What linked them was that 1 was set prior to and 1 after she died. Dreams never ceased to amaze me.

We have 2 months to go in the summer.  I think mentally I'm okay. But my life has changed little. And by God do I need change. Where will it come from? Some will say fate, some destiny, and my dad through prayer. I'm not wise enough to know.

Viewing figures are buoyant at the moment, 2nd highest ever. Keep coming and do speak to me if you like; I don't bite!

I Heard a Voice.

A Night of Sad Film.

Hello and welcome to a breezy summer Sunday afternoon. Still glimpses of summer are rare. If I am to believe the recent press reports this may be what we can expect for the next decade. Well at least it keeps the flies and wasps at bay for a while. The forecast in Kent is even worse; force 8 gales led to the cancellation of the inaugural Folkestone Fish Festival. Dad's church are braving it for their festival although I'm not sure how wise that it.

Last night's curry was triumph but I was so hungry when I woke up that I actually ate breakfast. That is something I hardly ever do. After said curry I watched 1 of my favourite films "Girl, Interrupted". Go and watch it. Or even better buy the book of the same name. Set predominantly in the psychiatric unit it takes me back to dark former times. Yet it was there that I met such amazing people. The film truly captures the essence of being locked up and grim and childish responses we had to that.

The film also makes me think of those who did not make it. I will never forget them, those who lost the fight I won in the end. Part of the lot of being mentally ill is going to many funerals. We die younger. Indeed risperidone gave me back my life but it probably will shorten that life. But at least I hae a life now.
For now I listen to the "Messiah" and read. The lamb goes in on a low heat at 2 pm and I'm then off to a country pub with some friends.

Enjoy your Sunday all for Monday will come in but the twinkling of an eye. And so starts another week in this long journey.

I Heard a Voice.

And There was Silence.

Silence is a rather rare commodity at my flat. Most of the time I have either the TV on showing news and cooking programmes in the main or I'm listening to music, Mozart, Mozart and Mozart. Well not all the time. I can't remember the last time there was silence. When I got home from shopping on a whim I left everything turned off for a couple of hours.

During that time I was somwhat inductrious. 2 weeks ago my flat was in serious need of attention. Now after cleaning, mopping, sweeping, squirting, tidying, recycling ad rubbish it looks somewhat more respectable. Then it was time for tea. I invested today in some Twinnings Afternoon tea. Been meaning to buy some for ages. I have it when I visit dad, a legacy of the glorious tea when had the day we interred mum's ashes, but not at home. So all change.

Talking of change I'm not cooking today. I have had Burmese curry infusing for 2 days now so will heat that up. I had planned to have it yesterday but was too tired and lazy. It was a long week and I didn't wake up until 11.20-nightmares aside of course-so must have been exhausted.

I think I might watch a film after said curry. Then all to quickly it will be Sunday, roast lamb awaits. Another day closer to another week. The summer is now a third over although with the rain we have had today it looks more like autumn. Maybe one day the sun will shine!

I Heard a Voice.

No Award for Me Again.

Those who have been reading since this time last year will recall that I was shortlisted for a Vice-Chancellor's Award as Employee of the Year. You may also recall I failed to win. That stunned many people but not me, I had no idea how it was judged. Today the Vice-Chancellor's Awards came round again. For the 2nd year in a row I was shortlisted for Employee of the Year. I did not expect to win and neither did anyone else. Everyone in the know knew the most deserving winner was my close friend Geri. I am asked to do some pretty difficult and unpleasant things at times. The difference between me and Geri is that she is the one who fields those calls and responds in the middle of the night. She does far more than me. Guess what, neither of us won! I am not disappointed for me but I certainly am for Geri.

Thinking about it though how can a judging panel differentiate from such a diverse staff group nominated? I don't envy them. I'm sure the man who won is amazing at his job and highly deserving. But how do you decide between those who at times make life and death decision from those who are brilliant at helping students complete the final projects? As I say I'm glad I was not on the panel.

I'm home now and exhausted. I have a Burmese curry ready but I can't even be bothered to cook rice to go with it. So it is salt and pepper ribs with extra chilli. Then a well deserved beer session.

I Heard a Voice.

The Gentlemen's Club.

Once upon a time I thought that arrogance was a virtue. I am after all one of Thatcher's children and I went to Cambridge. Once upon a time I thought it was essential that I joined a Gentlemen's Club. As a Cambridge graduate and public school boy I'm entitled to join 2 different such clubs, the Oxford and Cambridge Club and the East India Club. Then my life came crashing down and after years of fighting to recover those amibtions and so called virtues were irrelevant to me. When my mood is too high I'm always right, I'm annoying, quick witted, judgmental and generally not nice to be around. I try to curb that.

Today as a veteran of mental illness and being practitioner I hope that I know something about it. Perhaps that is my delusion. But what people do know where I work is if the shit hits the fan I do not panic. I rarely ask for help as the response I get can be good or bad. I would rather manage my life as I can control. I give my advice, and history tells me I'm rarely wrong, and people can choose to take it or ignore it. If I pass the buck it is always with the proviso that I gave my advice-if someone chooses to fuck it up then they can take the rap if it goes wrong.

During my journey across Hertfordshire for the last 6 years I have been a character who speaks out and is as a result revered, reviled, or dismissed depending on who comes across me. Those who have met me respect my judegment. Those who do not dismiss me. I am after all not in the club; I am neither nurse, nor social worker, nor Doctor.

10 days ago when a student I know well went tits up I called for help. Everything I predicted has happened and why of earth she is not in hospital I have no idea. Today I was told that she was just playing games as she is personality disordered. Case closed, life over.

Well for those in the know PDs have some of the highest mortality rates of any group in mental health. Long ago I put forward what I called The Right Illness Theory. In short it says the treatment received is directly proportional to the label attached. Translation if you have psychosis or bipolar we might take you seriously. If you have PD we don't give a fuck. As my manager said today if someone is in danger who cares what the label is?

I am dismissed because I'm not in their club. Oh how that might change in the unlikely event that I'm elected to the Board of Governors.

Talking of unlikely events, tomorrow is the Vice-Chancellor's Awards ceremony. It is an excuse to get my linen suit out but I will not win. I'm just not important enough. So for now I stick to the fine Burmese curry that is bubbling away on my hob and the fact that most of the time I make good decisions. I cannot account for the decisions made by others

See you soon.

I Heard a Voice.