I find that whatever this thing that ails me comes with side orders. That is to say, along with the crushingly low self esteem and self-destructive urges this affliction overflows into social phobia and anxiety. This is worrying me this weekend because a bunch of my friends are meeting up in a hotel to renew acquaintances and have a few drinks. I could have gone but chose not to. A month ago it was the same story with a housewarming party and a week ago with another house party. I passed on all these despite them being attended by lovely people. I'm sure that If I had gone I would have enjoyed myself and had a good time but my fear of going anywhere or meeting anyone holds me back.
So, am I turning into some sort of recluse? Will I be one of those basket cases you see wandering down the street shouting to myself? Will the local kids avoid walking past my house because of the strange old man who lives there (me). This seems like a bad way to end my days.
But please don't worry about me. Time is passing and with each day, well nearly each day, I can feel myself healing over and getting stronger. Maybe its the medication, but it feels like a natural recovery from the piss-poor state I had got myself into. I'm even starting to consider for the emotional battering of applying for jobs again. I'm sure the feeling of winning a job would buoy me up but I'm still not sure if I'm strong enough to shrug off the hundreds of offhand rejections I will have to endure.
Wednesday 30 September 2009
Friday 18 September 2009
North Wales Traffic Police
It was on the A55, somewhere around Abergele and I was tanking along. It was getting on for seven in the morning and I'd been riding since about four am. I was on the way to catch the ferry from Holyhead to Dun Laoghaire. The weather had finally cleared and the bright dry day promised a lot more than the foggy frosty dawn that had greeted me. The traffic was light, the bike felt good so I was letting the bike do the work while enjoyed the pace, and the weather and the view.
I was in the habit of looking over my left shoulder as I passed the end of a filter lane. This was IAM training, checking all potential hazards and blind spots. On this occasion I saw one of those Volvo estates with the blue and yellow paint jobs. "Oh dear" I thought. "I'll bet he wants to have a word with me".
So I wound down the revs and started looking for a pulling-in place. I came across one fairly quickly so I signalled, shoulder checked, lane changed and pulled in. The copper pulled up behind me with his lights flashing.
"I expect you have some idea why I pulled you over" he said. This is the standard opening apparently. You're supposed to admit to some offense with your reply at which point you are banged to rights. I tried for a puzzled shrug. I should also explain that by this point I had removed my crash helmet and revealed myself to be a fat, balding grey-haired bloke and perhaps not the spotty long-haired tearway the copper might have been expecting.
"I can't fault you on your riding" he said. "You saw me straight away and pulled over sensibly". Having congratulated me on my riding skills, he went on to apologise. "We had a fatality over the weekend so we've got to be seen to be doing something".
Then he tried to engage me on the subject of driving behaviour more generally. "Are you in a hurry to get to the ferry?" he asked. "Nope" I replied. "I'm just enjoying the ride". He knew the distance to the ferryport to the nearest hundred yards, and when it was due to leave. If I'd tried to make a point of the importance of my trip he was ready to explain how I'd have time to spare if I confined myself to 30 mph for the rest of my journey. I didn't want to give him to opportunity for the roadside safety leture nor the impromptu roadside vehicle inspection. Both of these would certainly detain me past the ferry's departure time.
The copper explained to me that by using his "Vascar" device he had timed my progress between two points and measured my speed at ninety four point eight miles per hour.
"Of course, if you'd been going at ninety-five miles an hour or more, I'd have to send you to court for four penalty points and a big fine. Will you accept a fixed penalty notice with a three-point penalty and a sixty pound fine? Good. Sign here".
As I rode on to catch the ferry the copper's compliments regarding my riding and apology for having to be seen booking someone went round and round in my head. I wasn't particularly peeved about the event since I'd been caught breaking the speed limit and would pay the penalty. Today was just my turn that's all.
But I pitied that copper for having been told to go out and to be seen nicking some motorcylists. It ws apparent to me he didn't want to be doing what he was doing and the image of his finger hovering over the Vascar unit while my speed reduced to below the incriminating ninety five miles per hour is still with me today.
I was in the habit of looking over my left shoulder as I passed the end of a filter lane. This was IAM training, checking all potential hazards and blind spots. On this occasion I saw one of those Volvo estates with the blue and yellow paint jobs. "Oh dear" I thought. "I'll bet he wants to have a word with me".
So I wound down the revs and started looking for a pulling-in place. I came across one fairly quickly so I signalled, shoulder checked, lane changed and pulled in. The copper pulled up behind me with his lights flashing.
"I expect you have some idea why I pulled you over" he said. This is the standard opening apparently. You're supposed to admit to some offense with your reply at which point you are banged to rights. I tried for a puzzled shrug. I should also explain that by this point I had removed my crash helmet and revealed myself to be a fat, balding grey-haired bloke and perhaps not the spotty long-haired tearway the copper might have been expecting.
"I can't fault you on your riding" he said. "You saw me straight away and pulled over sensibly". Having congratulated me on my riding skills, he went on to apologise. "We had a fatality over the weekend so we've got to be seen to be doing something".
Then he tried to engage me on the subject of driving behaviour more generally. "Are you in a hurry to get to the ferry?" he asked. "Nope" I replied. "I'm just enjoying the ride". He knew the distance to the ferryport to the nearest hundred yards, and when it was due to leave. If I'd tried to make a point of the importance of my trip he was ready to explain how I'd have time to spare if I confined myself to 30 mph for the rest of my journey. I didn't want to give him to opportunity for the roadside safety leture nor the impromptu roadside vehicle inspection. Both of these would certainly detain me past the ferry's departure time.
The copper explained to me that by using his "Vascar" device he had timed my progress between two points and measured my speed at ninety four point eight miles per hour.
"Of course, if you'd been going at ninety-five miles an hour or more, I'd have to send you to court for four penalty points and a big fine. Will you accept a fixed penalty notice with a three-point penalty and a sixty pound fine? Good. Sign here".
As I rode on to catch the ferry the copper's compliments regarding my riding and apology for having to be seen booking someone went round and round in my head. I wasn't particularly peeved about the event since I'd been caught breaking the speed limit and would pay the penalty. Today was just my turn that's all.
But I pitied that copper for having been told to go out and to be seen nicking some motorcylists. It ws apparent to me he didn't want to be doing what he was doing and the image of his finger hovering over the Vascar unit while my speed reduced to below the incriminating ninety five miles per hour is still with me today.
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