Sorry, readers.

This is not a personal affront to you, but to myself. You see, I found this last post a little wearisome. It was like sitting next to somebody on the bus who just goes on and on and on and on…

A bit (lot) too opinionated. It happens every now and again.

Anyway, here is a snippet from tomorrow’s post:


I am sitting in a classroom at the edge of the world and I am writing.

Looking from my window, I cannot see the slow mud-filled movement of the tide, lapping and overlapping its progress along the coast. A teacher that I once had when I was still soft around the edges taught me that this was long-shore drift; the gradual, interminable erosion and kidnapping of all that once was called land. The school is an outpost in a region flattened by reclamation and outside indifference. It is here that I drive into my exile and it may be from here that I return. As you read this, I can hear the splutters of astonishment that entails the spitting out of tea, biscuits and credulity. This guy, me, is moving from a Jesus to a Moses complex. Perhaps you are right.





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This is the story of what happened to me when anxiety took a grip. I lost my senses, I lost my job, and I lost me. I then turned to writing to find those things that had gone missing. How can you teach when you believe that education is a business that is failing in its primary remit of helping to create a better society? Indeed, how can you teach when you believe that you have nothing of value to pass on? The book/blog is the story of my recovery from the absolute darkness of the early days. It is an Odyssey through my life over the last twelve months and a retracing of my steps to discover how I found myself there. More than all of that, it is a re-evaluation and a rejoicing of all that which I call life. Happy reading and I hope it helps. There is madness, Everyday Madness, and not all of it comes from within.

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