Sitting on the Fence.

Sitting on the fence.

I don’t know which way to go. On the one hand I would like to jump off the fence and make my position clear. Yet, there are doubts and deep regrets if I make the leap. What am I talking about? It is my Christian faith that is the point of discussion here. Having written an earlier blog last Christmas, my search for truth in the existence of God goes on. The truth, the real truth is I have absolutely no idea if there is a God, and hence a belief whether the version of biblical events concerning Christ, who has been my friend and companion for over 22 years is authentic and real. Strangely enough part of me not making the jump is I simply don’t want the concern, consternation and arguments from my Christian friends who will see this as, the ultimate demise, in an already fragile life in my personal relationships. I know they will pray and do everything they can to persuade me to jump right back over the other side of the fence; to faith, church attendance, looking to the bible for direction and prayers.

I have been going to church again now for six months. It has been ok but I confess, that the vast majority of church services that I have attended have been totally boring and repetitive. You go through the same ritual every week. To be honest, I would rather go and do something for God’s people than sit and have my mind for ever wandering when it comes down to the sermon. Being bad now, I find it hard to keep listening and float off into my little fantasy world where it is a whole lot more interesting.

Anyway, I am digressing. The whole point of this blog is to say that there was an important turning point for me the other week. My Christan friend talked about a sermon which had filled her with hope and excitement. The sermon was called “The God of Breakthrough” and the speaker focused on how God is the God of breakthrough in very difficult situations. He asked how many in the congregation who had been praying hard for a breakthrough in a very difficult situation, -say in a relationship or other problem, that was still a battle and had not been answered. He asked the congregation to stand if this was the case. Most of the congregation stood up. He then went on to say that God would answer and he was the God of breakthrough but it just had to me in God’s way and time. (well, something to that effect).

My christian friend was excited. She too was having a very, very hard time with no postive outcome or improvement. She believed that God, by the very nature of this sermon was already answering her prayers, telling her not to give up. She felt buoyed by the occasion and how other people were experiencing the same thing.

The fence gate hit me at this point. I was sceptical and I didn’t want to squash her spirits, so kept this feeling in my heart to share on here. My question to myself was and still is this. If there is a God who is all knowing, all meaning, all caring, all powerful, where he can do anything, then WHY leave a majority of a faithful congregation’s prayers and most pressing deep needs unanswered? The Pastor was not referring to minor problems we all have from day to day. He was meaning deep, deep seated hurts and pain. Why should God do this? I can not understand. I just don’t get it. Saying to God: “hey, mate I just don’t understand you. What is your purpose here? Why should people have to suffer in this way? Ok, I know we all stuff up and sin but come on give us a break for peats sake. You could sort it and quickly so why don’t you?”

When I had calmed down - after my inner questions to God, I nearly let go and jumped off the fence. This is it I thought to myself, I am going for it. At this point I have stopped going to church, ocassionaly say something to God in my day but finding the prayer side of things difficult. There must be someone out there who can help me on this.

Why has God left a whole congregation of people’s prayers unanswered? I am looking for answers. I will be continuing this discussion whilst sitting on the fence. At this point, my world has not collapsed around me for feeling this way. God has not struck any blow to me. The day is good and I am feeling good. My plans forge ahead and life has turned a corner in recent days and weeks to happier events. Now theoretically I should be entering a dark, uncertain day if God is not by my side, as my christian friends would have it. But the sun is shinning out there and the thoughts of not knowing where I am going after death, just seems like another journey to me and not so frightening after all.

The story continues!

My Musical Journey: 2 Ocean Gipsy

Before you might listen to this youTube recording, You need to read my previous blog, (Musical Journey, one). Have just found this on YouTube and had to include it on here. This song is one of my all time favourites by the Classical Rock group Renaissance. However, it is not them that is singing this beautiful, haunting melody. It is another voice but I have placed it here because of the words which are exquisite in  their poetry and detail. And if you read all of my other blog, you will know somewhere there will be these words in a bottle, probably long since gone, but washed up by the sea, just as Ocean Gypsy was.

This to me is everything I love about music. Love, feeling, pain, emotion and dreams mixed together in the sound of art, like a artist’s pallet. Full of colour and surprises, nothing dull or bland, For me, my heart sings when I hear this. The drama and the romance of the story says much about my character and my personality. Always the one that liked a dramatic storyline with music very atmospheric and moody. I feel like the little girl who wants to believe in fairy tales but in reality knows and accepts that the world can be a brutal, dark and often lonely place. I identify with Ocean Gypsy because in many ways I feel like I am this creature, the washed up mermaid on the shore just like her, full of love, hopes and dreams but living in the real world where things don’t always go your way.

My Musical Journey: 1

 

On the 30th January 1981, I sat down to the dining room table to commence my school homework. At that time I was in Sixth form, and to drown the TV from my ears, I placed my headphones to my radio-cassette, given as a recent Christmas present, upon my ears. I was about to listen to some new music that had been taped by a new friend that day. The group was called Renaissance and the album called Azure d’or (meaning blue of gold). I recall that day as if it was yesterday. What I did not realise then was that this was the start of a love affair with this group and their music that has lasted to this day. The friend has long since lost touch but the music lives on in my heart.

This YouTube video was a thrilling find. I never would have believed that Renaissance- a progressive folk, classical rock group of the 1970’s to early 80’s would ever be found there. I punched in the group’s name in the off chance something might come up and to my surprise 32 videos appeared. I did not get to bed very early that night as I watched many of them. This was the first time I had actually seen the group perform, even on a video. I was so excited to have found this. 

This YouTube posting is one of the best because of the sound quality and depicts the essence of this band well. Also, it was chosen because it was the second song I heard that night from Azure d’or, not too long to listen to on here and one of my favourites. Annie Haslam, who is the lead singer was trained in Milan in classical music and opera. She is a highly accomplished singer, and Renaissance songs, with lyrics of poetry and classical melody mainly crafted by group guitarist Mike Dunford and Betty Thatcher( poetess) are just perfect for her voice.The song here is called “The Winter Tree”. Listen to the words to discover the meaning of the song for you. It is very clever in many ways and easy to listen too; very easy on the ear. 

You may think this sounds rather nuts but my friend and I baptised January 30th as our Renaissance day and would commemorate it each year. They became quite a cult following for us. In the course of time, I have collected all their albums. In the loft I have a plaque, immitation record disc with the day and title designed and made by my friend, who is now an author and illustrator.  It is beautiful and an object I treasure: It has blue and gold colours within it.

When I travel to and from work, I sing to the CD’s I have collected and know many if not most of the words to the vast collection of songs that were recorded by them. For over 20 yrs, my voice has now become ( I am told by my family and some church friends who hear my singing), very good as I have practiced and practiced all the high notes and different compositions. I love in particular Mother Russia, Ocean Gypsy, Kalynda, The mini opera Song of Scheherazade. Yet Azure D’or remains one of my favourite albums.

With this music comes many happy memories. I look back, as if it is yesterday, and feel a tremendous amount of happiness and joy. Apart from this one friend, I have never really shared Renaissance with anyone else. My husband never really took to them and I have never met anyone who has shared the same passion for this particular type of music. It feels to me that these melodies belong to me and my friend.

 One day, we stood on a windy beach cliff top and tossed a bottle into the sea. My friend had written the words to Ocean Gypsy on a scroll tied up with ribbon. Inside the bottle was an old fake gold ring of mine, silver of some kind, and some pretty stones. This song is about a mermaid who finds and loves a human but as a result of this love dies. The objects placed in the bottle were some of the words in the opening lines. These lyrics are just breathe-taking and beautiful, such poetic words. We hoped some one would find the bottle and keep it. That felt romantic to me.

I would like to pay tribute to my friend who I loved, admired and respected and who introduced me to this music. It would lead me on a journey to discover so many other passions and musical tastes. From Russian classical music, to the tales of the Arabian Nights and Persian art, my musical journey continues to this day. There were many happy hours discussing why we loved this group so much. Most of my school friends thought I only liked Renaissance because I was out to impress the man. The man was impressive and still is but the love of the music was very genuine and lived on well after our friendship ended in very sad circumstances.

Thanks for the Music. My musical tales will continue on another blog.

My Musical Tastes

 

I thought today of writing my next blog about why I love music and what type of music I love the most.

I thought first though it might be a good idea to give you a current example of what my tastes, which are many and varied are. This track from Coldplay is currently what I am listening to on my Ipod at present. I particularly like this groups sound and presentation vocals and choice of instruments used in their recordings.It may not be your cup of tea, dear blogging audience, but I have enjoyed listening to it again. The guys are quite hot too, especially the vocalist.

Per-chance to dream when I listen to music. I move away to a far distant place alone with my thoughts and feelings in a busy world. This is an arena where I allow myself to fantasise, plan and hope for an ambitious future. Swirling to the music, I loose myself in the melody.

That’s a quick snap shot in writing about some of the reasons why I love the beat of the rhythm called music. I will fill you in next time on more of the sounds that makes me rock and my heart beat and most of all why.

The Pork Pie Club

My husband and a friend have jokingly formed a group. A recent spate of friends and relatives having heart attacks and needing Coronary artery bypass and stents has finally meant my own husband has gone along for the health mot because of some shortness of breath and knowing he is at “that age”. The results have been alarming. As a result, he too needs cardio-vascular assessment and further tests. Anyway, we joked with his friend about all the lads getting together and forming a man’s health group. Come for a pint, a pork pie and talk about your cholesterol and heart attack. We all thought it was very funny in a serious way and this fictious group is now called the pork Pie club.

I said, “lets have an advert, a funny advert, slogan”. Then my mind got thinking. Let’s have a amusing poem on the blog site called the Pork pie club and this is the result of my prose and thoughts. See what you think. Very tongue in cheek and a little naughty in part.

 

When the arteries are clogged and your veins are a bog,

 then come and talk to the boys.

We’re the ones that care because we ‘re there,

come on fellas, we here for the beer,

the salami slobs that have no fear,

so come and join the Pork pie club.

 

No women allowed, this is boy ground only.

We talk about asprin and pills.

The tests and the pain, the girth and weight gain,

never to be so unfit and lame

The misses will never cook the same. 

so come and join the Pork pie club.

 

To swap our tales of needles and labs.

The embarrassing tales of razors and jabs.

The experience is real, almost surreal

as we succumb to tests which confirms the deal.

that life is going to change for real,

so come and join the Pork pie club.

 

You ‘re never alone as you join this band,

of carrot crunchers and lettuce in hand,

The diet is new and so are you,

No salt, little fat, it ain’t going to get any better than that,

That is tasty and new, let’s go for a brew,

so come and join the Pork Pie club.

 

When you want a shag,

and the misses does too,

but the brewers droop has come to you,

The raised bp means flop bot me,

do not despair, for the boys will care’

So come and join the Pork Pie  club.

 

 So take heart my friends and excuse the pun,

and let’s get together and have a crafty bun,

for life is not going to be such a bum,

of no fun, no frills, no spills,

we take the pills but have some thrills,

So come and join the Pork Pie Club.

 

                                                New members welcome.

Membership Fees:

One pint of beer,

One pork pie,

One asprin and a bottle of statins.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

42: It’s too late

I watched the TV as the vote was announced. To my horror it was true. The new anti-terrorism legislation, where an individual can be held up to 42 days without charge, on suspicion of terroism  was passed. This video is the best I could find on YouTube discussing why this is a big mistake. George Galloway’s arguments were recorded in April, and hence before the recent parliamentary vote. He makes a passionate plea saying don’t let this folly occur: stop it before it is too late.

But it is too late. The goverment stitched this one up nicely. With a majority of only 9 votes and to the astonishment of many in the House of Commons the motion was carried. It appears that the voting was swayed by Unionist MP’s eager to secure some financial and political rewards. The usual tricks in the world of politics. I bet the whips had to work overtime on this one.

Today The Independent reports on the resignation of David Davis, Shadow Home Secretary forcing a by- election. He wants to make a stand against what he perceives as an erosion of civil liberties and human rights. I agree wholeheartedly with him and in brief, I give my own reasons why I am against this legislation.

1. This act can be open to abuse. People banged up in cells, where any whiff of terroism is suspected. The state can and does get it wrong. We only have to look at the shooting of Jean Charles De Menezes last year.
2. Could this open the door to other areas of law and order enforcement where the detainment rule could apply. The insidious erosion of people’s democratic human rights where non-terror crimes are treated in the same way.
3. What I hate most about this is, theoretically anyone could be taken off the street, detained under anti-terror laws and just taken into custody without any powers of appeal over the 42 day rule.(Correct me please if I am wrong on this last sentence).
4. The absolute power of the state over an individual who has no say in the incarceration of their person. The act here implies guilty until proven innocent.

While, I acknowledge the threat of terrorism in this country, I can see Galloway’s point when he talks about Northern Ireland as a parallel. Before the peace process no where was potentially more volatile and open to acts of terrorism then what occurred In Northern Ireland and also the bombings in main land Britain; where even our own Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher could have easily have been killed in the Brighton hotel bombing. However, the government did not pass this kind of legislation then.

I believe this law could further feed the fanatical worry of terror; so called terror. Yes, terror exists and we need international responses to combat terror. Let’s start looking at the wider picture of real terror. For example, what is occurring in Zimbabwe where two women were murdered in the most in-human way because their husbands support the opposition party. Somehow, the government appears to take little interest in eradicating such an evil despot as Robert Mugabe. We will just leave that one alone should we?

This new law makes Britain what it really is. A frightening place to live in. Better watch out for that knock on the door. It might be you they have come for.

 

 

Cleaning

Today, I want to write a little about cleaning. Boring you say! Yes, cleaning is tedious, repetitive and time consuming. Like relationships you just have to keep scrubbing away hoping the dirt will come off eventually. so today, I am talking about cleaning, but then again I am not talking about cleaning. After writing Reflections and also the Field of Bricks, a certain abrasive, determined streak has developed in my attitude to cleaning both in the house and in my relationships, but most of all in the way I cleanse myself from now on.

Yes, I have spend many hours on my days off cleaning; the carpets yet again, the washing, infact the place has had a mini makeover. However, this has been more to do with; I want this place to look decent for me now, to have an organised tidy environment in which to conduct my life. Then I can arrange my life, within the context of my family, around this. If I work hard then I want the place to look decent when I get home at night. Suddenly, everything feels a whole lot better because I am in charge now of my own life.

When I wrote the Field of Bricks I felt very out of control, but now there is a certain order. I took control, made lots of phone calls, got things mended, erected and rubbish taken away. The grass is cut, the fence to keep the dog off the garden is up. The garage still needs a bit of work but it is coming along nicely. My beautiful summer house erected for my flower arranging is a neat haven of chairs and covers, tidy and dusted where I can listen to the birds and drink tea. My dressing table is smelling sweet and my jewellery in all their little boxes. My handbag has been cleared of truck and paper and is light again.

My old clothes are being binned, the shabby underwear having seen better days. The old is out, the new is in. There is going to be a new cleaner sexuality about me, clothes laundered well, nice lacy knickers and matching bras sets, (that’s a first), shoes cleaned. The wardrobe is next on the hit list. My husband and I have agreed to buy one new item of clothing a month. Too much effort has been expended on just doing and buying for the daughter, now its our turn to look decent.

My daughter has been going to a junior gym and I am enrolling too. My husband may do this also. I am still fighting with the swimming lessons and don’t intend to give up. so, you see this blog is more than just cleaning. I am not saying this is a five minute wonder or a new start, though it kinder feels that way. I have had many false dawns in this area of my life before but this time it is do or die.

The big test now is when I am at work. Usually, things then start to slide but I intend to keep on top of it all, a little each day. My time management has never been a strong point, always rushing but not being as productive as I could be. Today, I have done two hours of cleaning, (husband helping), two loads of washing - the lines are crammed full there are no pegs left, doing a bit of flickering, (photographic website) and writing a blog before lunch time.This afternoon there is a birthday present to buy and fathers day cards to post, well in time for the weekend. So, I will hit town before the school day finishes.

Back to work tomorrow for six days and only one day off next week before I am back to work for another two. That is my eractic shift pattern in my profession. Then I have got three days off, hair dressing appt booked and my daughter and I will have a chill out Saturday then. The agenda is to begin the clothes shopping ready for the holiday next month. Definitely,  good cleaning has been going on both internally as well as externally. What ever happens in the future, it pays to be ready and that means now for the time being, living life more like I have just done this last week.

After, all there is only one life. No, you don’t want to spend all your time cleaning but you don’t want to live in a muddy corner either. Time to take stock, start living and look ahead to the future.

 

Climate, Church and Abuse.

My friends know me for my eco stance and concern over the environment, so I should welcome the Church of England taking the moral line over this issue; calling on us to have a duty to protect and help save our planet. After all, as Christians, surely we are custodians over God’s wonderful planet and living creation-if indeed he created it. (The jury is out on that one folks but for now we will assume he has.)

However, whether the Church has just decided to go eco to gain some brownie points either socially or politically, an article in the Times today exposed the Church of England to some very negative press over the issue of climate change and linking this to a recent headline abuse scandal. Here is an extract of the newpaper report.

Survivors of sex abuse by Christian clergy today responded with anger and shock to the Church of England bishop who said that everyone who failed to act on climate change was as guilty as Austrian child abuser Josef Fritzl.

Victims accused the bishop of being “facile and demeaning” towards Fritzl’s daughter, who was kept in a cellar for 24 years, raped repeatedly and who had seven children by her own father.

The Bishop of Stafford, the Right Rev Gordon Mursell, an expert on Christian spirituality and near the bottom of the hierarchy of Anglican bishops, said that people who ignored global warming were, in effect, locking their children and grandchildren into a world without a future and throwing away the key.

 Need-less to say there has been much criticism of these comments from survivers of sexual abuse and a calling to account of the sex scandels and abuses within clergy ranks and communties.

I found this analogy utterly astounding and think it is so off beam and off the planet. What ever is the church thinking of making such a suggestion by suggesting this kind of linkage? It just seems absurd to me. The Bishop went on to qualify his analogy stating that people needed to realise that doing nothing to save the planet for future generations were as quilty as Fritzl abusing his own daughter.

No wonder the pews are emptying in many C of E churches if this is what is being preached. Where is the credibility in this? The gross insensitivity of the comments. I wonder what old Archie Rowan Williams think to this one, as the Church of England is publishing its own report complaining of the quality of its clergy.

What an own goal! As more and more reports of child sex abuse in the Catholic priesthood and other Christian denominations are exposed, I think the whole report is rather a hoot and a corker. If this is the Churches thinking around such an emotive and sensitive subject then what else must it indeed think about other highly contentious subjects.

In conclusion, I quote one final extract from the article:

It is with horror and shock that survivors sexually abused as children or as adults within Christian churches and by Christian clergy and ministers should hear their own bishop declare that perhaps buying oranges from South Africa is the equivalent to being locked into a dungeon and being raped repeatedly for 20 years by an evil father.

Sums it up for me that. It makes the Church look quite ridiculous. Now what did I say about the quality of Church leadership and accountability? Oh, I remember now. That other blog I wrote. Proves a point in a way I think.

Reflections

 

I stare at my reflection in the water.

A calmness in the storm, my mind is strong and certain.

This image is a pond for the many eye that view

but for me, it conveys much more than anyone can know.

The reflection is like a crossroads for me, personal, painful.

But the calmness of the water fills me already with its healing touch.

This water gives me strength as I drink and have courage in my heart.

For I am worth more than water, than air and earth.

I am my own creation and I stand at this reflection of change.

With my new found voice, in words and in spirit,

I am facing uncertain times which require courage.

Facing failure, yet also success in my new found image of myself.

Drowning yet floating, despairing yet hoping,

of a better life and a new sunrise at dawn.

To love myself more and to be loved in return.

I stare at the reflection,

it winks back at me.

Go on girl be brave,

take the future, and with those words already penned, hold the future in your hands.

Stroke the water, ripple the reflection and cause a stir no-one will forget. 

 

Love’s Executioner

It is not very often that I read 111 pages all in one gigantic reading session. But this was no ordinary book: this was I.D Yalom’s Love Executioner. Gripping, absorbing, compelling, this is one book where the word novel could not even begin to describe it accurately. It was certainly a story book. Actually, a collection of stories about Yalom’s (an American psychiatrist and psychotherapist) real life experiences with clients whose identities have been changed, of course, to protect confidentiality. Enough said, let me tell you why I read it.

I too have been in “therapy.” Actually, I hate that term, it sounds very much like an self-indulgent ego trip of the mind, where you go for a brain cleanse after a hard days work.  Personally, It can sound weak and feeble, rather dysfunctional, and what does this word really convey, really mean to real ordinary people hurting and in sometimes desperate need ? Well, if you read the book you will learn two things about therapy.

1) It is not for the faint hearted, if is done professionally and effectively. You need stamina and courage, its no quick fix, well it wasn’t for me.

2) Properly trained therapist, (of which I mean professionally trained people of many years and many hours of academic, rigours examinations at university level and hundreds of hours of supervision to obtain a recognised and accredited qualification) are like people operating screw-drivers. They need a steady and skilled grasp. One slip of their tool, as they are tinkering with your mind, can be very damaging. Hence the need for the skilled hand of application.( I know my own past therapist will love that analogy just written). He will think himself as a screw-driver from now on. (see here for a list of what you need to ask when considering counselling).

Love’s Executioner touched many raw nerves. It made me cry and gasp. It made me think and ponder about my own situations. It terrified me to confront feelings I didn’t want to think about, and it excited me so much, to know and to have acknowledgement within its pages, how much I had truly grown since my own counselling began, and how that growth, sometimes painful even now, has continued in the 19 months since my own individual work finished.

There were many different types of people and in different situations that made up this book. How Yalom managed to choose from the many people he saw must have been a problem . There was a man facing terminal cancer with a rather fixed obsession with sex. A woman with a huge weight problem escaping her fear of death, by her eating habits, and grieving over the death of her own father. A man who could not bring himself to open three letters, for an irrational fear as to what they might say; and another man who clung on to his past dead lovers love letters, in the vain hope of preserving his self-esteem and past youth. Reading through this list, I realise how little I have managed to convey the real grit of these people’s lives and the power of their own personalities and stories coming through.

Not everyone had a really positive outcome, something else which the real life therapist has to deal with. Not all of his/her cases will be successful or have the outcome which both client and therapist envisage. That must be hard for the professional counsellor, especially when money is paid and the pressure must be on to deliver a good outcome. It’s not like you get your money back is it!

So, as I have skimmed over these lives rather briefly, let me focus on the one character who spoke to me and gripped my heart the most. It was Thelma in the opening chapter, of which is the book’s title, that caused me the most sensation. This was about a women’s love obsession with her past therapist and how it consumed her life, obliterated her reality and had made her attempt to take her own life. Her relationship with her counsellor was anything but beneficial, as it developed into a most inappropriate self-absorbed, sexual liason. Clearly, the therapist was in need of serious help himself; you could not help think about who was using and abusing who in that situation. When the counsellor ended the counselling and the personal relationship as well, poor Thelma desperately needy in her own barren life, with an emotionally and physically distant husband, was left with unimaginable pain, loss and grief. It consumed her for eight long lonely years immersed in re-living 27 days of bliss and happiness as she saw it. Thelma lived those days, over and over again in her mind.

 It was left to Yalom to be the executioner in this bizarre tale of love, intense feelings and betrayal of professional trust, culminating in a session with Thelma and the therapist, to help this lady find some peace and closure to this sorry tale. It was all very bizarre as the outcome was that Thelma be allowed to have some brief contact with this man. However, there was one flaw here which Yalom only skirted around and did not deal with adequately; the desert of her own relationship with her real partner. I felt too much time time was spent dealing with her and her obsession ( a yearning for a person not there), rather than focusing her her own wasteland much nearer to home, ie, her clearly aching heart of nothingness within her own marriage and life.

What this tale taught me the most through the authors counselling was that no-one should have that much power over you. I can identify with Thelma and I am choosing to show my own vulnerability to be revealed here. Your counsellor can bring you much hope in your own life, self-esteem, that some one cares and is concerned. That you are the centre of their world for one hour while therapy last. A wonderful marriage of minds where you are nurtured and given priority over all else. Your opinions and beliefs count, your growth matters. You want them to care, to be proud of you in your achievements, and show them what you can do. BUT, BUT no-one should have total influence over you to the point where you can not exist without them. You have to learn that if they were not there you are your own person and your life carries on. You do not exist for them, or to carry on “being sick” just to perpetuate the intimacy and the nice warm kick that therapy can give you. Thelma’s therapist was a powerful drug to her, more powerful than Prozac. Without him she could not function. No decent and professional therapist would want that for his/her client. I can see how this happens though.

What surprised me the most about Yalom’s work, is that he appears to be a psychiatrist, therapist-counsellor and sex therapist all rolled into one. Perhaps, this is the American way. In Britain it would seem that while these subject areas overlap we have clearly people trained as psychiatrists, those as counsellor-therapist and some trained specifically in sexual therapy. 

Finally I saw one main thread that seemed to be interwoven. With mental-ill heath can all to often bring with it low achievement which equals low expectations, equals low work status, equals poorer income and standard of living. This poverty both financially and emotionally then can exacerbate the poor mental health. This leaves an important question: how then do people fund expensive psychotherapy? In answer many don’t and fail to get the care they need. As a nation we are crying out for affordable and excellent counselling. For many, brief sessions or state funded  care fail to meet their needs. I was lucky because even though my income stream was not huge, I could afford counselling which stretched over months and months.

If any of you out there need this kind of expert help ( I can only give my own view, you need to judge for yourself, so please don’t quote me) then look here please. This service is by its very nature available to anyone with a phone. So you can see that while this blog focuses on a review of this book, its aim is also to highlight how important it is to find the right person. Me, becoming a counsellor. I would not touch it with a barge pole. I will stick to my own profession, thank the therapists who do a good job and leave them to get on with their very skilled and important work. 

I hope someone may have benefited from reading this blog and if you have a real need that blights your life, that stifles, consumes and absorbs you every day processes of thinking and living then get help. Don’t go to someone who could exploit you. Choose someone VERY VERY CAREFULLY.

 Good luck!