Phoenix Fights

Fighting the FEAR, depression and BDP on a daily basis AND making my own bread. Bring it on 2016….



brick head


So here I am.  In my little country idyll after escaping the Smoke and all it’s stresses, worries and concerns.  Plus my notoriety as the local BPD nutter in some circles.

I am, to all intents and purposes, safe.  People are for the most part friendly, normal, and no one knows my dark secret.

Or do they?


Very little happens around here and I now know that any newcomers are the talk of the village when they first move in, and a great source of curiosity.  At least 3 pensioners knocked on my door within 72 hours of my arrival, scaring the shit out of my already traumatised cats (I’ve dubbed them the White Watchers – the pensioners, not the cats), and like their namesake’s, they don’t wait to be invited in.  I know I’m sounding very ‘London’ here (i.e. snotty), but I was in the Capital on and off for over 20 years, so I’m used to people that either mind their own business and/or don’t give a fuck about your shit, so the need for privacy is a hard thing to break, especially when you have stuff to hide.

Indeed one of these ladies wandered up to my desk and craned her neck to have a good old look at the paperwork strewn across it (some of which just happened to be from the NHS – great…), so I’ve taken to ducking every time I see a greying mop pass by the window and have nightmares about my secret being out, and a gang of them heading up my path with a Wicker Man on bonfire night, so my determination to be more sociable in order to appear ‘normal’ was challenged within a very short period indeed.

Also, I’m still something of a hermit, and despite the one neighbour I’ve befriended urging me to get out and about more in the community, I still find small talk deeply boring and energy sapping especially when everyone is so damned, well, normal…I miss my London freaks, I mean, friends.

So like the song goes, ‘Everywhere you go, you always take the weather with you’.  I’m still me, I  haven’t been cured overnight from moving north of Watford Gap, and, of course, my old worries have been replaced by new ones. And some old ones came back.  And on those dark nights and days of the soul, I still hibernate, only now, it’s more noticeable because the people around me have fuck all else to notice or talk about.

It could all be my imagination of course as I was off my meds at the time…


Plus, my property is so exposed.  People can see in, which I’m not feeling, so I’m pricing up garden walls, blinds, gates and electric fences (just joking about the last one – I think) as we speak, which will only enhance my reputation as a cold ass London biatch even more.

Cos these people may be ever so nice, but all in all, they’re just a-nother brick in my wall.

Because, try as I might to leave it, that thing was never going to stay in south London.

Cos it’s with me. Wherever I go.

But it’s meant to be a new start?

Perhaps I’ll replace the wall and fences with trellis and blinds which will let the light it.  Oh and maybe take the barbed wire off back order.

For now, anyway…

Namaste x






I went to the park again yesterday.

And sure enough, it happened again.

Picture the now very familiar scene; I’m lying on the grass, staring semi meditatively into the sky, a soft breeze playing across my skin, cool grass beneath my feet, dragonflies playing, birdies twittering etc., etc.


Fifteen minutes in, some school kids arrive.

Cue ominous ‘Jaws’ theme tune.

‘Well,’ I reason with myself firmly, fighting the urge to bolt, ‘they’ve just finished their school day, so they’re bound to want a bit of fresh air.  But in the quietest, most boring part of the park?!  But still.  They’re here.  So chill.’

Then more arrive.

And more.

And even more.

Within ten minutes, it’s as if an entire school has decamped into this little patch of tranquility, and the air is filled with shouting, chatter, shrieks and laughs.

I’m perplexed.  Is it some kind of budget school sports day? And even if it was, there are vast open areas of land much more suitable for kids to go and let off steam, so why are they in the twee granny garden?

I turn my head to look at the lady on my left to see if she is equally horrified. She is reading, has iPod earphones in and obviously doesn’t give a shit.

Normal, see? <twirls fore finger in direction of cranium>

I really want to leave now, but I’m determined to hang in there for at least an hour. I’d only just got there!

‘Here!,’ yells an excited boy suddenly, ‘let’s do it here!  You go that side and we’ll go here!’

All of a sudden the earth starts to vibrate, and as I prop myself up on one arm, two boys, one either side of my rug bolt past me, sprint to the bottom of the copse, turn around, and hurtle back up and past me again. They both then tag someone else, and that couple of sweaty youths fly past, almost taking one of my Havaianas with them.

Startled, I sit upright and look around properly. There are two sections of this little nook of the park bisected by a path; the area on the other side of the path is almost empty.

I’m getting irritated now because I feel like an inanimate piece of gym equipment, a flag, bean bag or something that divides the two team tracks.  Nice to know I’m still good for something.  😦  

Perhaps if I hang around long enough, they’ll run twice around my rug and tag me or something.

Seriously am I invisible or what?

But I lie back down and put my book over my face resolutely; I am staying at least another thirty minutes, come what may.

After five minutes or so, the race appears to be over.

I sigh, shift on my rug, settle myself and start to nod off….

Suddenly I wake to what sounds like a Stamford Bridge on a Saturday afternoon.  I sit up sharply and look behind me.

About three feet from my rug and army of mums have set up camp with their rugs, McDonalds/KFC picnics (stinky) and their respective rug rats.

I turn to look at the other side of the park.


What kind of fucking fuckery is this? Why does this keep happening to me?

Why are space invaders forever in my face?  Didn’t they get the ‘Fuck the hell off, you intrusive wankers’ psychic memo?

Mind you, I don’t think I’m alone. There seems to be some kind of perverse, reverse law of attraction where certain poor sods like me attract the very thing we want to repel.

  • It’s always the woman that doesn’t like kids that ends up holding someone’s snot encrusted baby whilst it’s siblings leave yoghurt, tears and chocolate stains all over her best pashmina after ‘borrowing’ it for their den.
  • It’s always the kid who’s allergic to insect stings that gets chased by that freakishly big, pulsating bee with an attitude problem.
  • And it’s always the chap who’s allergic to cats that the naughty pussy stalks around the room, and swipes her sneeze inducing fur all over his rust corduroys.  To be fair, that’s quite funny though 🙂 .


Why is this so?

And can we do anything about it?

Dear Gary, Psychic Empaths, can you advise?

Love Sista S x