“Daddy? I want a hamster.”
“You’re not a having a hamster.”
“The ant died.”
“The ant wasn’t even REAL.”
“It was real.”
“Look – if you put something down on the floor and it runs away, it’s real.”
When I finally decided that my dog had some sort of mental health issue, I didn’t mess around. I immediately splashed the cash and called in the professional: a £50 per day dog whisperer called Anita who lived on the borders of Kent and claimed to offer a life-changing service for pets AND their owners. This is the email I sent her…
Life can be like driving a very fast car in difficult conditions…and the bumps and scrapes can damage both you and the people around you. Between 1997 and 2016, I wrote twenty eight books and two short stories for a bunch of the biggest publishing companies in the world. This journey transformed me in many…
It’s a cold morning. I’m at Enoteca on Ramsgate seafront, and I’m in a terrible mood. I’ve had the worst night’s sleep in living memory, as I woke in the early hours from a dream in which I was digging up a dead relative in order to prove that they’d put his shoes on the wrong feet. As it turned out, I was right…but that doesn’t mean much when you’re suddenly awake at 3am….
This is a post about fortune telling. This is not a post about me wearing my wife’s underwear…but I DO look cheeky in it.
On my days off, I like to visit Costa in Broadstairs to grab a small cappuccino and a roasted cheddar and tomato sandwich. Once I’m loaded up with my little takeaway bag, I head to the seafront and consume it on one of the benches just along from the bandstand. I don’t usually draw much attention with this regular routine but today, however, I feel like I’m being watched.
I hate waiting for people, and this guy is over an hour late. An hour late. It makes me wonder at what point you stop being late and start being dead. I know it’s morbid, and I know I’m a depressing b*stard, but there’s a certain point whenever I’m left waiting for somebody that I naturally assume they’re dead. You see, I have that level of misguided self-importance: I am, in fact, telling myself that the only reason someone would no-show at a meeting with me is naturally because they’ve died. Weirdly, I start to miss him….and I’ve only met him twice.
How much do you really know about coffee? Let’s find out.
I’ve always had a huge appetitie. I was in okay shape as a younger kid but when I started at an enormous secondary school, a rising sense of anxiety and a distinct lack of friends forced me to look for a place to hide: I hid in food. Quite literally. I ate and ate, getting bigger and bigger until – by the time I left school – I was morbidly obese. At the same time, I was starting to experience fairly major mental health problems associated with becoming increasingly isolated and with feeling, as I was increasingly starting to look, like a freak. These days, it’s pretty horrible to use words like ‘freak’ to describe anyone, especially as a kid…but back in the 80s and early 90s that epithet was banded around quite a bit.
One day after my daughter found an entire crop of grey hairs in my beard, something pretty terrifying happened to me. I don’t think I’ve ever seen my wife laugh so much…but I still haven’t recovered. Here’s what went down:
Your horoscope might not be important….but your personality type definitely IS. How well do you know yourself? This was a question I was asked the second I walked into some fairly intensive therapy sessions. I said to the therapist: ‘I’m worried I might be a psychopath and I’m definitely a sociopath. People hate me. I’m always overthinking stuff. I’m worried I’m not a good person. I really long for the past. I keep making terrible decisions. I hate being around other people but I get bored if I’m on my own. I’m worried that I’m ALWAYS bored and I do really stupid stuff to make me NOT bored. I think I’m drinking too much wine and definitely too much coffee. I fancy far too many woman. I’m worried I’m going to blow up a petrol station BECAUSE I’m so bored. I really miss my career. I used to write books. I’m worried that I used to be somebody I knew and now I don’t really know who I am. I might be a love addict….oh…and I HATE pretty much everyone.’ My therapist said: ‘Do you want to sit down?’ That’s right. I said all that while I was still in the DOORWAY.
I’ve never been able to cope with the passing of time and over the years this single fact has got me into so much trouble I can barely even describe it. When I make a decision or don’t follow my heart or even occasionally when I feel I’ve made the RIGHT decision, I still absolutely yearn to go back and do things differently. It’s like a sort of emotional heartbreak and without any exaggeration, I find it practically impossible to cope with.
This is the way I always describe depression to people who haven’t experienced it.