Thunderbirds Have Gone…


The night in the church wasn’t too bad. I managed to sleep through some of the longer pieces and was only kept awake by the occasional mistake on the ivories. I smiled to myself when our daughter hit or missed a few bum notes, but had to evade the stare of an elderly gentleman who obviously took this event in the nature that it was intended; biblically.  

During the course of the evening, when I wasn’t dozing or inducing a medical coma, we read whatever literature was to hand. We browsed through the programme notes at least fifteen times before being tempted into the hymn books that sat confidently before us.

The church itself was one that belonged to Jesus Christ and his Latter Day Saints. It was modern, in a 1970s type of way, carpeted, centrally-heated, and had a sound-system. The toilets were of a standard that many hotel chains would envy. I spent some time in there in order to escape an infinity of Rachmaninov’s Prelude in C Sharp Minor. One can never wash ones hands enough.

When I returned to our pew, Sonya was buried in the hymn-book. She told me about Joseph Smith and his wife Emma as we travelled back in the car. It seems that Joseph did the wonderful thing of starting is own religion. Unfortunately, he was persecuted for that, being jailed over thirty times. His final jail stay ended with both he and his brother being murdered by a mob. It gave me an idea.

I have often toyed with the idea of starting my own religion. However, I have never wanted to be murdered for it. When the Mormons first started, they set about gaining converts. This was, in my mind, a big mistake. The fewer followers one has the better. My religion would not speak its name. I would be the only one who knew about it. And nobody would persecute me or eventually resort to murder. I would go with the Ten Commandments as I think they are rather sensible. I would add another just for good measure, Thou shalt not sleep with your neighbour’s sheep. I think that would be perplexing and thought-consuming all at once.

Oh, and I like the idea of toilets and carpets and central heating. 


If I lose my way and come knocking at your door, do not answer it. That way, you’ll be doing me a favour. 

If I have upset any one with this post, I apologise.


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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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