27 Jun 2009

Post 137: Glastonbury dreams

This will be the 2nd post I have written at an odd time, I reckon the post below this one will probably be better and hangs together because I have several things on my mind today.
Firstly, I got an email yesterday from the clinical neuropsychologist who was in charge of the TLU (Transitional Living Unit) at Putney hospital, the last place I was incarcerated before I moved to a place of my own, the lady in question (Sonja) is leaving the TLU to concentrate on her private practice which I'm sure is more lucrative than working for the jolly old NHS. Sonja and I probably got off on the wrong foot, I was deeply unhappy with myself and everything so I probably wasn't the most responsive patient to therapy in the world but I like to think we grew on each other and after about a year there I like to think we both enjoyed our chats ( I could of course be mistaken). Whatever, it was sweet of her to email me and say adieu. Judge for yourself whether my response was reasonable, I only reproduce it here because it's a fairly accurate representation of my feelings then and now
Thanks for thinking of me and good luck with it all.I wish I could
look back at my time in the TLU with fondness but it ain't gonna
happen because everything about life now is infinitely sh*tter than it
used to be,I only wish the growth hormone angle hadn't turned out to
be a blind alley.
 If I have learnt anything from this experience it is never to hope
something will work because it seems that medical science has no clue
about what works. It is so hard to listen to anyone when deep down I
know they don't have a clue what is or is not possible. I know that
this isn't the most helpful attitude but logically it's difficult to
think any other way! I do however miss our chats Sonja.
She has not replied yet, in my experience no-one likes being told they don't have a clue, particularly in the medical profession when they have reached the lofty heights of consultant. Maybe I need some lessons in learning when to keep my mouth shut but that would be boring.
The 2nd thing on my mind was that I was idly flicking through the channels last night just after I'd got into bed (well before a pathetic 8pm these days because post watershed TV might offend my delicate sensibilities, obviously) I happened upon the BBCs excellent Glastonbury coverage. I was filled with a sudden sadness that Festivaling is likely to be beyond me for the rest of my days. I used to love these sorts of events because I love loud music, I used to go to a lot of dance festivals because there's nothing quite like the feeling of losing the plot with 1000s of people outside. Festivals, Loud music, plentiful intoxicants and loads of people were almost the best thing in the world Рthey were a great leveller and dare I use that awful clich̩, sod it, everyone was in it together (apart from scousers who always seemed to come to festivals to rob people, sad but true), it was being unlikely to ever experience this again because wheelchairs, muddy fields, poor balance, noise, long days/nights and chronic fatigue go about as well together as fish and bicycles.
Oddly, my unhappiness evaporated when delicious Lily Allen, homed into view, I adore her for her attitude as much as her looks, I have expounded her virtues already on this blog so much that a friend reprimanded me for it, I soon told her to get back in her box by telling her how wrong I thought it was to be shagging a married man with kids, I do have a few morals that may not be immediately obvious.
Anyway , the delightful Ms Allen was awesome in front of the tens of thousands who'd come to see her on the Pyramid stage,
I was also impressed by impossibly cute 'little boots' and even by an artist I've been determined to hate because of her stupid name and the legions of chavettes who try to emulate her, but Lady Gaga's rendition of her tune 'Paparazzi' was mesmerising, I may yet be a convert.

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