It’s Saturday evening and the road outside is quiet. In about four hours time there will be the noise of taxis and the shouts of young people returning from clubs and pubs. Most Saturday nights are disturbed by the passers by who have drunk too much, but I don’t mind.
I have suffered from depression since I was quite young. Not that I knew what it was in younger years. I would feel almost trapped at times, surrounded by was a dark shadow, held by this sort of feeling of melancholy that had no cause or reason. I used to watch the television news even when I was at primary school, not that I understood most of it, but because it was a way of escaping from myself and the world around me.
Life on the television news seemed to make sense; the world seemed a controlled and ordered place. I didn’t understand the awful things that were happening in
Since those times I have feared being alone and being isolated. I have always liked the feeling of security that comes from knowing that you are surrounded by people going about their daily duties. In my university days I lodged with an uncle and aunt in Kew in west
Remote places have always held a fear for me. They leave me exposed to my own thoughts and reflections and my first instinct is to try and find familiar things, to try to find sounds and experiences that make me feel secure. I remember being in the
My friend Roger Purce would tell you that I behaved in the same eccentric way when we were in a remote corner of south west Tanzania – I couldn’t find the BBC but I found the German station and put that on. I don’t speak a word of German; it was simply to have something that took away the feelings of remoteness and isolation.
The taxis and the shouts at tomorrow are welcome; they are a reassurance of a world that is predictable.