The trumpet-thrower

Transfer I know where I am, and I know where I’m going. I’m in the back of a minibus. A driver and a co-driver are transferring me from the hospital in Cardiff back to the Deva in Chester. I’m unsure if my mind is sound or not, although I seem to be thinking clearly… a bit. I remember… Read More »

Bringing back the dead

The following is a flashback. I should’ve put it in the first post of this blog. I’m including it now because there are a few important themes in it. Half-Life of the YoYo Man – continued Hypomania: Greatness On I walk. There are houses on both sides of the road: semis, typical English suburbia. What percentage of history’s… Read More »

IRD: Designing a logo

Hypomania: International Research and Development I’m not sure where I am, but why does that matter. I can be anywhere I choose. Great things are afoot! My company – what shall I call it? It has to start with the word International and it’s all to do with development. It’s pre-ordained name comes to me in a flash:… Read More »

Adventures in Cardiff

What do I know about my current situation? I know I’m in Cardiff. But what am I here for? The place was my home once, but not any more. I know I’m in a cell, but why? And a cell is a self-repairing, growing, organic life-form. And I’m in one. Is this cell itself alive, living, growing? Budding… Read More »

Operation Jobsearch

I’m starting this post by nipping back to the time after my return from Africa leading up to to the big breakdown. There are signs of oncoming mental collapse which might be useful for you, the reader. Moving the career along In Chester, I’m based at Mom’s and Pop’s. After Caitlin’s wedding I strike out for my goal… Read More »

A return to sanity?

Socialising It was around this grey time after discharge when I was fortunate to come across a thriving club called Rotaract. For young people aged 18 – 30, these groups are connected to a Rotary club that keeps an eye on them. Dating Meetings, upstairs in Chester’s Pied Bull Inn, were attended by 40 or so young men… Read More »

Emerging from Mercia

On leave Still on leave, occasionally feeling a little better but generally not. Alec, a small 60-something Scot and next-door neighbour, takes me to the farm where he’s a cheesemaker. I’m edgy beyond belief; every nerve is jittering, has a separate life, is buzzing with uncoordinated electrical spasms. I feel I’m going to explode from the inside. All… Read More »

The fiery flames

Shadowy figures One dark but dry night, in confusion, I find myself out on the large lawn between the hospital and the main road. Everything is grey and misty. Shadowy figures drift around. I’m not even sure if they exist. One nears me. “We help each other,” he says and wanders nebulously away, not helping me at all.… Read More »

Walking the circle

Colditz? Permanently fogged, I have no idea where I am or what I’m doing here. It’s a sort of fuzzy-round-the-edges Colditz. Contemplating ways to escape, I find that the only way out of Mercia Ward is a permanently-locked and very solid door with nine small glass panes. Punching through one of these and reaching through the broken glass… Read More »

The Smoking Tower

Inside ‘The Deva’ The Deva, as the Romans called Chester, was an ominous, looming-out-of-the-dark Victorian building, allegedly the best place to stockpile the local mental ill-health community. It’s a huge rambling, austere Victorian building with a tower constantly emitting smoke like a chimney in a concentration camp. I used to see it from the Chester to Rock Ferry… Read More »