Humanity Restored.

Those who have followed the news in the last few years and British politics will know how divisive the issue of migration is. The last few months have seen a tidal wave of human misery pouring over the borders of Europe fleeing devastation in Syria, Libya, Iraq, Afghanistan as well as (if we believe the press) many in Africa fleeing poverty. Rarely does one see the human side of this tragedy.

Back home in my nice warm flat in leafy affluent Hertfordshire I lead a simple, self indulgent, at times decadent  but ultimately fairly safe life. For all I gripe on here that is a given. In my decadent self indulgence opera, reading and cooking play a big part especially on Sunday. And on most Sundays I like forward to the restaurant reviews of AA Gill. He can be arrogant, temperamental, acidic, acerbic, pretentious that sometimes it makes me cringe. What he does well is make a mockery of what my old English teacher called "piss elegant" restaurants. Pretension works both ways in the world of the food critic.

I was truly moved by the exerts I read from his memoir of his own alcoholism that was serialised a few weeks ago. But that was exceeded by his wondrous review of the food on offer in the refugee camp in Calais known to all as the Jungle. Humility, praise and sheer humanity as he recalled the day he spent with the most impoverished of people in the mud and squalor as ordinary people cook the most amazing food in the worst is situations. Human misery can spring out amazing stories.

Today the French police moved into and destroyed part of the Jungle. It will go down well with the right wingers of my native Kent and those campaigning on the European referendum which we are allowed to decide. Those refugees did not get to decide the fate of their lives. We do.

I sometimes feel ashamed of things I have done in my life. Yes it has been blighted by mental illness but I have never been on the street, in the mud and without food.

In my quiet world I'm listening to Beethoven's Triple Concerto and digesting another decadent food offering. AA Gill has reminded me how contented I should be with that world.

I Heard a Voice.

Luncheon Engagement.

On a day that can't make up its mind what to do the bitter wind swirled interspersed with bright sunshine I did something different. My friend Madeline picked me up for a drive in the country and beautiful Sunday lunch at The Horns. And what a civilised day we had, chewing the fat, consuming fine food and thinking away what we both face back at work tomorrow. We don't often go out but I always enjoy it when we do.

As a result of a splendid trip out I have not had fix of opera today. That happened last night instead. Now I face a choice on what to do next. I'm too full to eat. I have done enough reading. So what next? Film or opera? Decisions to make.

Whatever I end up doing so far I am successfully putting off thoughts of tomorrow. Why do weekends go so quickly? It's been good though.

Soon I will back in the demands of mid week. But at least I have another plan to look forward to then, the visit of Beka. Methinks another country pub may be on the menu then too!

I Heard a Voice.

Weekend Delights.

I like Saturdays. I don't have to get up early. It doesn't matter if I'm not at my best. Not many people are demanding my time. I get a chance to cook. And on some occasions sporting excellence beckons.

During my long battle with mental illness before Risperidone February and March were always tough months. What got me through was the 5 then 6 Nations rugby most weekends. I would escape to the Oddfellows club to watch and have a couple of beers. It was usually interrupted by my friend Chas who was forever asking to turn over to the horse racing. He is a professional gambler.

These days that same competition has become so commercialised by TV needs that games are often at a time when I'm cooking and not able to concentrate. 5 pm kickoffs or there abouts do not fit my life style. But I try. As England prepare to play Ireland in a few minutes I have arranged dinner to cook itself. A lamb shank Tagia is slowly cooking away. Dinner is likely at 7.30. So rugby it is for me.

Earlier I did my usual town visit, some shopping and a light lunch in The Waggoners. So far so good moodwise. Mental illness seems a long way off today.

I Heard a Voice.

Then They Were Gone.

The manic week is over. And I am at rest. The end has been strange, a day littered with appointments but barely anyone turned up. I suppose it saved to speaking but frustrating none the less. After all these years I am acutely aware that us mad people can be a bit unreliable.

My weekend awaits. It started with toad in the hole. For those unfamiliar with this English classic it is sausages fried then surrounded by batter and baked. Yorkshire pudding with sausage. Comfort food. And very good it was too. When I took them out of the fridge I realised that they were made of lamb not beef. Worked well though. Apart from the Moroccan masterpiece of Merguez sausages made of lamb I'm not too familiar with lamb sausage. Must try it again.

I learned tonight that Beka will come to visit next Friday. Looking forward to that. Go out to eat somewhere, a beer or two in The Hedgehog then a quiet lunch in a country pub on Saturday.

Before I jump the gun though and wish myself another week older I will relish my quiet home rugby watching weekend. A good plan.

I Heard a Voice.

And Still They Come.

What is it with this academic year? None of us can remember such a sustained wave of suicidal, vulnerable, desperate students. Well not wave after wave as we are experiencing now.

I'm in a very mixed mood. Not mixed in a mental illness way but in a I did some good but not good enough today. Yes I helped some but others I failed. Failed maybe too strong a word, some things I feared happened but not as a result of me fucking up. More that the situation cannot be saved. I do not make decisions for students. They do and the course of their lived can and does shape the future. I take no pleasure in being right. When I was good today I was very good. The not so good moments were not necessarily me being bad.

Although my mood is mixed it is better than last night. I came home angry and became angrier. This prompted yet another trip out to eat as I was too angry to cook. But I assuaged my anger over the course of the evening.

There is but one day to go and it will be a busy one. I'm tired but getting there. Can we sustain this level through to May? God I hope we don't have to.

My mood diary remains undone. But when it is done it will look rather better than a few weeks ago. For now I was let happen what happens. I plan to watch Michael Wood on China at 9 pm. I heard him speak once at Waterstones in Canterbury about the Trojan War. He was an excellent speaker.

I Heard a Voice.

Avoiding Awkward Questions.

I'm listening to Pinchas Zukerman and Marc Neikrug playing Beethoven's Violin Sonatas after another very long day. These recordings are new to me as I'm trying out the box set dad gave me for Christmas. I still love the Perlman Ashkenazy recordings as some of the finest ever but this is good.

It may be only Tuesday but it seems like one of the longest weeks in some time. Yesterday there were heart breaking tales and huge risk. Today was following on from that. Referrals are coming at the rate of 4-6 a day. Yet the bulk of my day was preparing for and enduring a long meeting.

The meeting was about a validation review of the School of Postgraduate Medicine on whose programme I studied. I was very anxious. True they wheeled me out only because I hit the tick boxes of practitioner, student, teacher and service user and that made me hot commodity. My fear was about being asked directly a difficult question about my experience. And those who look back on my posts from the autumn of 2013 until February of 2015 will recall at times my experience was a lonely, frustrating and anxious one.

Instead we were bombarded by minutiae questions on content and diversity. At times I wanted to speak but was on a strict leash. When finally those magic words service user came I launched forth and answered pretty much every question in but a few seconds. I think it went down well and brought huge relief to those on our side of the table.

Not really sure how I feel about it now. Tired is very much to the fore. But I'm doing well. I'm coping, I'm not overwhelmed and I'm in control. A long time has passed by since that happened. Am I back to where I was before? Not really as that was a bad place to go back to.

The rest of the week is full. More challenging conversations will be to come. But I have a sense of value that has been absent for a long time.

On that note I leave you and return to Beethoven. Until next time.

I Heard a Voice.

God That was Hard Work.

Of all the stock phrases trotted out by people when talking about mental illness the one that says "sometimes it's a struggle just to get out of bed" is amongst the most common. It certainly held sway back in those long dark days before Christmas when I was really struggling. For reasons I don't quite understand it all came back today.

Strange as I have been doing so much better in recent weeks. But try as I might I simply couldn't get up today. It all seemed black and pointless. But emerge I did with a great deal of effort and a huge amount of reluctance.

So what of this day that seemed so unpromising? Well it's warm and the rain has disappeared. I summoned the energy to get to the shop for a paper and with even more effort made some lunch. Puccini plays quietly in the background but none of this is anything to lift my mood. Flat and lifeless. My old boss at Social Services would have called this a duvet day-get away from reality day. Sadly such days do not exist so I will drudge on despite really wanting to go back to bed.

Let us all hope and pray that tomorrow is a better day. Until then, bye.

I Heard a Voice.