Frustrated Writer

I like words. Always have done. As a child I used to fill a notebook with my stories. When I was about 9 or 10, I was told I could enter an essay writing competition. My imagination was rich enough. Sadly, it never happened because my handwriting was “illegible” (Where were word processors when needed? I could have won the Booker prize by this time!)

At this point let me introduce myself and my blog. I’m a “late middle aged” man living in Buckinghamshire. As Shakespeare put it “A man in his time plays many parts”. Some of the parts I’ve played have been a teacher, a psychiatric nurse and a therapist. For the most part I’ve enjoyed the work. I’ve enjoyed being able to help fractured people become more whole. It’s always amazing what power there is in words.  To heal or to hurt. Which takes me into blogging and this blog.

(Image from melissablakeblog.com)

As an adult in the internet age, I have the luxury of being able to indulge my love of language. To tell the entire world of my thoughts. About the world cup, our new prime minister or global warming. A sort of online diary cum reflection space. This one is my offering. I hope it meets your approval.

The question for me now is where to start this blog. Picking a card at random from my memory box brings out how we came to live in this house, which has been my current address for more than 25 years – which seems unbelievable. If anyone asked, I’d have said “Maybe 10 years. 15 at most. But 25 years…”  I share it with my wife, two dogs and a long garden. And – I love it to bits. Sadly, my mobility is worsening, and we may, at some future point, have to sell it. Or find a way of modifying the steps and staircase. Leaving it will not be a happy day.

We moved to Aylesbury from Woolwich, southeast London. We never really felt at home in Woolwich so leaving was not too painful. We came to Aylesbury for me to take on a new job as the manager of a small, private eating disorder unit in the centre of the town. It was a Cristian foundation which added a new dimension. Saying grace before meals three times a day was a new experience. Pity these15 or so patients struggling with all manner of conflicts being obliged to thank God for their food. If I’d been a patient, I would have refused to say Grace! To crown it all, on the door to the dining room was a poster declaring “The battle is not yours but the Lord’s.” If I’d lasted any length of time there, I would have ripped that poster off the wall. Pure nonsense and, probably heresy! (If you want a memorable experience, sit at a meal table with a group of eating disorder patients. The hatred and aggression that is around the table is awesome. Aimed at the staff for enforcing rules. Aimed at the patient who has already taken three hours to eat a cheese sandwich. God for being God. And at the food for being the enemy. The sound of unspoken violence and hatred fills the room to capacity.)

I thought I was fitting.in quite well until about a fortnight into my stay and I was called into the owner’s office and told that I was sacked. On the grounds of racism, sexism, irreligiosity and general stroppiness. I was shocked. I hadn’t seen it coming at all. To this day I’ll own “stroppiness”, but in the sense of being willing to challenge existing values and behaviours where they seem counterproductive. Why should I agree to something that makes no sense to me? In my book, part of being a manager is to set boundaries and standards for one’s team. As to the other charges, I’ll admit to elements of them in my personality. But mostly, they are conscious and in my awareness. So that was my brief sojourn in an eating disorders unit.

I found a new job relatively quickly. I became a staff nurse on an acute admission unit in the area. I was talking to a senior manager who knew the eating disorder unit quite well.

“You do know” he said, “that if you’d stayed there another two weeks, I wouldn’t have offered you a job here.”

“Why not?”

“Because no nurse worth their salt would have worked there for more than a month!” I was flattered, relieved and vindicated. And ensconced in Buckinghamshire, the land of my fathers. (On doing my family tree, we discovered that my ancestors have occupied some part of Bucks since the 1500’s. I like that! It gives me a sense of belonging.)