Ross, Brand and the nation's reaction

I drove by Jonathan Ross's place yesterday, via a throng of reporters and tv vans. I presume that he had gone to ground somewhere. Maybe a hole underneath one of the many trees in his garden would be suitable. I have to say that I don't understand him. I thought that he was overpaid (highly) and over-exposed (mainly) but he made me laugh sometimes because he is quick witted. Who I simply don't get at all is Russell Brand. I've not 'got' him.

Be good if someone over the age of thirteen could actually explain why the BBC had to feel that they should employ Brand. Ok, so he's an ex-heroin addict (as if one can be an 'ex' heroin addict. You're like an alcoholic. Once addicted, always addicted), and ex-con and ex-whatever. I think that he has an ex-brain. He certainly has had any common sense, loyalty and common decency excised.

Why would a man consider it amusing to boast on air that he had ****ed the granddaughter of a well respected and generally liked 80 year-old grandfather? Why was this remotely funny? What was it that these two highly remunerated 'celebrities' had been sniffing/snorting/drinking while this 'prank' was taking place? Do they really believe that they should be able to get away with everything that they do - whatever it is that their immature, irresponsible and puerile 'brains' tell them?

It is generally the case, I believe, that BBC radio programmes broadcasts are vetted apart from those aimed at the 'younger' market. Is everything now acceptable, whatever it is? Whether it's the foulest language, sexual innuendo or pornographic imagery?

What kind of moral vacuum do the 'stars' of the BBC now reside? I wonder whether Jonathan Ross's daughter will beg her father to prosecute someone were they to broadcast their having had sex with her in the same unspeakable manner. What does Mrs. Ross say about this? Is she proud of her husband? And Brand? Still giggling like the silly adolescent he is. What a shambles.

'Mum, Heroin and Me' and me...

I watched 'Mum, Heroin and Me' this morning. I'd recorded it so that I could watch it without the ads that detract so much from anything that has any substance. Sorry for the pun. I thought that it gave a pretty good demonstration on how love can kill. Do you think that this is too severe an assessment of Hannah's mother and her, at any cost, desire to be a part of her daughter's life?

The point her mother made at so many times during the documentary was that Hannah hadn't fallen far enough, so that there was nothing that would make her stop her heroin addiction. In this case mum would help her whenever she could. Ok. I know that I'm making a judgement here and that I, of all people, have no right to do so. Was I any different to her? I certainly empathised with her frustration, irritation, anger and pure exhaustion at having someone in your life who was so egocentric and self-destructive that nothing was going to stand in their way, so long as they had their next hit. Except that, as far as I know, 'Zach' never actually used needles. One thing he hasn't got is a 'needle fixation.' His little fixation is the whole other paraphenalia - the papers, the rolling and the smoking.

W hat I couldn't get my head around was the fact that Hannah's mum literally enabled her daughter to be a heroin addict, even so far as giving her the money and driving her to her dealer so that she could take her to her hair appointment! What was more important here? The pretty daughter or the girl who is fixated on the next needle print in arms, legs and feet? She's already spent £10,000 in one year on gear, I guess that another £10 worth won't make much of a difference.

Almost until the end, amidst my empathetic anger and irritation with Hannah, I believed that there was almost something here that would be of use to kids watching the programme. 'Don't use, kids. You may end up like Hannah...' But then the programme makers had to give us a happy ending. Notwithstanding that throughout the documentary Hannah had shown absolutely no itention of getting off heroin, her apathy and self-indulgance paramount, she's now gone off to South Africa to rehab for five months! Oh, yes. She did say at one time that she wanted to go away to get clean. Where was it? Somewhere like Arizona or South Africa but each other time that she'd actually made the pretence of going into rehab here, she'd lasted no time at all because she 'wasn't ready'

So when did this epiphany occur? The viewer wasn't prepared for this. It was added almost as an addendum at the very end of the programme. What was the catharsis? Did Hannah spend any real time looking after herself on the streets? Was she jailed or beaten senseless? Did she 'come to her senses' and realise that life wasn't worth living like this? At no time were we, the viewers, made aware that she had even considered that she had finally come to the conclusion that she wanted more from life than squalor or the next hit.

Well, I look forward to the next instalment. I wonder how soon Hannah will be back, looking for Rickie (who disappeared like a bad smell) and after the needles, the spoons and the silver foil. She's already ruined her parents' marriage, driven her mother to a mental breakdown and, no doubt, demonstrates very little emotional empathy for having destroyed her family. I'd be interested in what the programme makers have to say if she does indeed manage to remain in rehab and continue along the path to fulfillment. I'm afraid to say though, that from having watched the documentary, there's little hope in that. Such a pity.

Worksop, World Mental Health Day and lesson number one

Worksop, somewhere in the middle of England, declared that 'World Mental Health Day' was a 'great success.' Not wishing to belittle Worksop, I'm glad that the inhabitants of that small town believed the spin. However, I don't believe that such an emotive reaction was embraced by the rest of the population of the world.

When I went in to speak with my GCSE class the very day of WMHD, I was informed by 'M' that "The class are pretty restless today. It's Friday... You know, start of the weekend and all..." After they had sat themselves down and put their mobiles and i-Pods away, I prefaced my talk with a question: "Did you guys know that today is World Mental Health Day.?" Blank faces. Disbelieving stares. Boredom. "Effective, isn't it?" I laughed. They settled down a bit. "I've come in," I explained to them, "to speak to you today about drugs and mental illness..." A couple of sly glances between the girls, 'Who's this old biddy come in to talk to us about drugs?' but when I actually began to speak and then to read from the book, you could've heard a pin drop.

I think that I probably spoke for about twenty-five minutes and then we had a question and answer session. The kids were interested. There were some very considered questions. They had obviously been listening. I had told them that I wasn't going to lecture them about drugs. I also said that there was no point in my telling them not to 'use' in any shape or form. I'm too late for that. I simply wanted to impress on maybe one of them - there were about twenty odd in the room - that the 'gateway' drugs lead to a far more dangerous scenario. The one where, at some stage, one in four of them will have a mental health problem and that those problems may well be as a direct result of their drug taking. I'm sure that there will be plenty of health 'professionals' who will disagree with me here, but I stand by that statistic.

So, by the end my hour and at the end of the questioning, I think that maybe I had made them aware of the correlation between drugs and mental illness and the axiomatic increase of patients on psychiatric wards but I doubt whether they will be interested in October 10th, year on year. Why? What's that? World Mental Health Day. Of course!

The lithium cosh of the deadly psychiatrist

I may have mentioned before that I have recently signed on to a Google group. It's an array of people who suffer from Bipolar disorder. I guess that I'm some kind of reluctant voyeur as I don't personally have the condition but know someone who has. Reading their extraordinary stories make me shiver. The men and women who subscribe to the group mostly appear to live in the USA but the resemblance to what happens here and elsewhere in the world is tangible. How they manage to survive is beyond me. What I simply don't understand is the medication culture.

Is there any other illness where doctors regularly play around with the dosages of various toxic medications in such an arbitrary and irresponsible manner? I read of the case of one woman who was prescribed such an array of anti-psychotics that she was bedridden for three years. The amount of pills, tablets, you name it, were given out in such enormous quantities that it is surprising that she ever managed to move her head from a pillow. This being the case, the psychiatrist refused - yes, refused - to reduce the dosage. Surely this is far and beyond what constitutes 'care'?

I do believe that medication, when it works properly, is the only way to manage Bipolar disorder. I don't believe in talking therapies or CBT or acupuncture or omega-3 or neurolinguistic if they are not used in tandem with medications that work. However, for a doctor to prescribe any kind of medicine in the quantities that they do in ever increasing cases, is criminal. I remember the time that 'Zach' was shackled to the rusty bed in Athens and when I demanded why, the answer was 'because we've given him so much medication, he might collapse if he gets out of bed...! My exclaimation point. The other instance was Ecuador. He couldn't even stand up to go to the bathroom.


So why is it that mental health patients are given the chemical cosh? Lazy doctors, arrogant psychiatrists, reluctant health authorities? It's a disgrace and one that, in all likelihood, is liable to never change - wherever you are.

The Sunday Telegraph, Stella magazine and The Dark Side of the Son

The following article appeared in The Sunday Telegraph Stella magazine at the end of June. I can now publish it again here. Thought that those of you who follow the blog may be interested in seeing it.

'The Dark Side of the Son'

"The first time I noticed that there was something different with Zach was when my husband, Sam, and I returned from India. The charming teenage boy we had left on the front porch, the dog lead grasped in one palm, the other sweaty hand patting me on my back telling me 'not to worry' and to 'have the best time', was now in the midst of a protracted argument with the man in the video shop.

"I looked around me, puzzled, noting with astonishment the faces of the other customers. Was I the mother of this skinny 18-year old who spewed venom when the man demanded that Zach hand over more late fees than Zach felt was his due? I brusquely shoved my son out of the way, slammed a £20 note down on the counter and marched him out of the shop.

"This was the first, but certainly not the last time that I wished the ground would gobble me up. I have lost count of the occasions when, over the past 11 years, Zach has put me in a position where his manic moods have led to the overwhelming desire to be anywhere but within his orbit. His form of bipolar disorder, with its attendant drug abuse, shows us no mercy. No one in the family has been unaffected, but I'm the one at whom the most poisonous behaviour is directed. From being a happy and bright-eyed teen, Zach was transformed unrecognisably by the illness. Between the highs and lows he would resurface and we would attempt to rebuild our relationship.

"One summer, when I was compelled at short notice to travel to Athens and bring him back home - out of the fetid hospital where he had been shackled by the ankle to a rusting metal bed - he leaped around the airport, darting from one passenger to the next, demanding Coca-Cola, sandwiches and cigarettes. I scuttled after him, calling him back as if he were a rebellious toddler. The accompanying psychiatrist and psychiatric nurse were themselves caught up in this insanity, with no recourse but to batten him down and administer more medication. Back in London and sectioned under the Mental Health Act, Zach retaliated by dying his hair blue and styling it into a mohican, the viscous dye running in rivulets around his face and shoulders.

"The war of attrition between us only abates when he returns to normality - a precurser to the period before he takes another journey, when, inevitably, police or mental-health experts are called in to restrain and incarcerate him. Then the wild goose-chase repeats itself and I'm off on a mission to save him and repatriate him to London's crisis teams and medications, and away from the crack, heroin or ketamine hits.

"For four years we endured the onslaught to our senses. My husband avoided confrontation by immersing himself in his work, but our daughter, Beth, idolised her big brother, and the manner of his breakdowns terrified her. Their relationship suffered - especially when we finally made the heart-rending decision to throw him out.

"My tears, my despair, my enduring love for my son were irrelevant. He had to go. The never-ending nights accompanied by crashing doors, incessant shouting, drug binges and a pathalogical refusal to deal with his issues almost destroyed us. For some weeks he had lived on the streets or in squalid bedsits until, racked with remorse, we bought him a flat - only for him to destroy it. So we threw him out again and now he lives nearby, benefit-aided, turning up for frequent visits, long-haired, bearded and hungry.

"Zach demonstrates no wish for our patronage other than for the financial opportunities it offers him. He refutes his diagnosis. He refuses medication. His illness seems linked to the seasons. He gets sick in the spring and autumn. Inevitably, I am drawn in to his mood and the hostilities recommence.

"From time to time clarity resurfaces. Zach tells me that he cares about his future. He recently said he's sick of the drugs spiral and, of course, I can only support him in his endeavours, hopeful for the day that he turns up, bright-eyed and smiling: 'I'm on the meds!' "

Right click on the article to see it in full.

Radio 4 Woman's Hour and World Mental Health Day

I must be living on another planet. For some reason I didn't know that tomorrow is World Mental Health Day. Indeed today, in the USA, it's Bipolar Disorder Awareness Day. Amazing, two specific days dedicated to our mental health. Howcome therefore that no one knows about it?

Some time ago I was told that BBC Radio 4 Woman's Hour wanted me to be a guest. Be an 'expert'. They were going to run, I was told, a series of programmes about mental illness. Well they did - this week. On Tuesday and Wednesday to be precise. On Tuesday there was, apparently, a programme dedicated to mental health issues and on Wednesday, a phone-in. The problem was that I wasn't informed about it, so didn't take part. A really wasted opportunity. I could at least have phoned in but I didn't know about the broadcast. I guess that I shouldn't be surprised. There's competition in this field too.

Tomorrow I'm doing my first talk to my GCSE group. I think that I'll bring up the fact that it's World Mental Health Day. I wonder how they'll feel about that? I suppose that my actually being at their school and speaking about Bipolar disorder and the effect that the condition has on families will be apposite. I just wonder what else is happening around the country. Increased funding for new psychiatric wards? Unlikely in this financial climate. A rethink as to what 'care in the community' should really entail? Again unlikely. Who wants to suggest that the job description doesn't fit what is actually a lie.

I suppose that someone once had the bright idea - sometime in 1992 I believe - that a day be dedicated to enlightening the public about mental illness. Doesn't look like it has succeeded too well, does it? So Radio 4 had the usual suspects in the studio - Ruby Wax et al - but it doesn't appear that there was too much depth to the discussion. Such a wide topic, it would take a week's worth of programmes to simply touch upon each symptom but that shouldn't stymie further broadcasts and they shouldn't simply take place during the week when the world is meant to be aware of madness.

'Brideshead Revisited', depression induced alcoholism and Ben Whishaw

We went to see 'Brideshead Revisited' on Saturday. Well, actually, 'Bridshead Revisited', according to the sign outside of the Screen on Baker Street. You'd think that they could find someone who could spell!

We're 'Bridshead virgins', not having seen the 1981 version on tv here or having read the book. But I liked the film. Hated the revolting music. Not one scene was safe from the saccharine infested 'score' and thought the guy playing Charles Ryder a wee bit wet. But loved Ben Whishaw. I've thought highly of him since the first time that I saw him in 'Hamlet' on the stage in London. He was a revelation - probably because everything that he portrayed reminded us of 'Zach'. It was a brilliant depiction of a manic young man.

Obviously, not having read Evelyn Waugh's novel, I don't know why Sebastian Flyte was an alcoholic. Was it simply because he loathed and hated the all-encompassing religion that was imposed on him? Or was it because he hated himself for his homosexuality? Or the more Freudian questions: love of mother or desire for sister? I don't know. In any event, Whishaw once again gave a revealing performance of the utterly depressed, existential young man, whose contempt for life created within him a negation of joy, to the extent that he wished to blot it out by drowning himself in wine, wine and more wine. It certainly made me long for a glass though, so guess that he didn't make it as unattractive a proposition as Amy W. does drugs.

Back to drugs: I'm preparing for my first 'talk' on Friday. Thirty sixteen and seventeen year olds. 'Don't do drugs' is the thrust, although of course I can't actually say that. How do I leave them with one message out of the whole? Difficult to know where to start. Before and after photos? A chapter or two from the book? The knowledge that one in four of them will at some stage of their lives develop a mental health problem - and that invariably these days as a result of some kind of 'recreational' drug? Whoever thought of that nomenclature? I'll ask them to look around at one another and ask themselves who it will be? Difficult at that age when the idea of 'actions resulting in consquences' is anathema to them.

So nothing really changes over the years. Poor Sebastian Flyte probably drunk himself to death because of his deep and overriding depression and a quarter of the population will develop if not depression, then some other mental illness, and maybe a quarter of those will self-medicate with drugs of some kind and I'm supposed to use my experience as a guide why it's not a particularly good thing so to do. More like 'Hampstead Revisited...'

Patrick Cockburn, schizophrenia and the Daily Mail's intransigence

Patrick Cockburn and his son Henry were interviewed in The Independent this week. The article was reprinted in The Daily Mail. Henry was diagnosed with schizophrenia and Patrick believed that it was because he had used cannabis. Patrick was/is a well known correspondent. It's pretty sad and the story, obviously, is not new. I added my bit to the feedback on the Mail's site. I wrote that I had written a book about this very subject and that more people needed to know about mental health problems, Bipolar disorder and substance abuse. I also wrote that I'll be going into schools and speaking with mental health groups about it.

Did they print my response? Well, of course not! They printed the writings of those who believed that it was Patrick's fault that Henry developed the illness. "If Dad wasn't there, then it's not surprising..." and the others who believed that there's no correlation between taking drugs and mental illness. Oh, oh... And others who felt that he deserved his fate because he was "so weak" that he "used"...

Among the responses, however, were gems from social workers and psychiatric nurses and family members and sufferers who had first hand experience of the fall-out of the now ubiquitous drugs abuse here. But they didn't print my few sentences because, presumably, I didn't fit their criteria. I was somehow publicising myself!

One of the responses read thus:

"Please keep on publishing articles like this to give others an understanding of mental illness and the strain and heartache it places on the families involved. Patrick is so right in what he says about peoples attitudes to mental illness."

You see, I do keep on trying to do just that but it seems to be flogging the old dead horse - unless you're well known to some degree, then the newspapers will simply not print it! It's so frustrating - what do you have to DO!

Then I read that Gerri Halliwell, the famous 'writer' of children's books, is the number one best-seller. She has sold a staggering 250,000 copies of her latest 'ouevre.' Maybe it's simply a reflection of our society as a whole: give them only the names of those they know where marketing is king because otherwise you won't sell anything. Have you seen how many books are being published this week alone? 800 new titles on Thursday. How on earth can anyone do anything with that?

Jools Oliver's intimate love-life but the dismissal of mental illness

Isn't it the case sometimes that too much information is information overload? Do we really know how Jools Oliver (the wife of the omnipresent 'cook' Jamie) followed her husband around the country so that she could get pregnant? I mean, sometimes isn't it rather becoming tasteless that these 'celebrities' have to bare all in order for their publicity? Isn't it enough that we know that she's pregnant without having to be given the exact dates and times that they performed the act?

There's not too much detail here but I thought that I should explain that I've had problems with my PC. It died on me. No emails. No blog. No going online to see how the book was doing. Don't ask about that! Appalling predicament. Pathetic really. How did we manage beforehand? Of course, there was no Amazon then. But even so. I think it's been infected by some kind of virus and I'll have to get it fixed but until then... I'll try my best and hope that nothing so dramatic happens.

I've recently joined a group blog. A Bipolar group. I thought that it had been pretty bad for me. Reading their stories and their questions, I think that I had it easy. At least they have each other, something that I didn't have in the past when 'Zach' was in extremis. You have to wonder how they manage each day. It's a mostly North American group but what I find is quite how similar the situations are - especially the problems that many of the sufferers have with their parents and their peers and their employers. The same denial of the illness, the same lack of care from the people who should be caring for them. They too complain about how Bipolar disorder, indeed any mental illness is ignored. For them the detail is absolutely necessary. But they still don't get the recognition that they truely deserve.

While we are continually bombarded with the intimate details of Jools Oliver's attempts at pregnancy or Fern's shrinking waistline (does anybody really care?) or Lindsay Lohan's lesbian lovelife, no one is informed in any realistic and compassionate detail about the one in four of us who suffers from mental illness. Will this ever change?

Self publicity, Amazon and more of Amy Winehouse

I'm now a shameless self-publicist. Well, I have to, I guess. I'm no longer at the top of the tree. So I've been tagging myself onto every book on the Amazon site that has any reference to mental health or drug addiction. The only problem is that there's probably over a million books with references to both those nomenclatures. It might take me a bit of a time... I only wish that there was a human being at Amazon with whom I could speak so that the UK and USA sites that stock my book were to make sense. However I try to change them, their robots are only programmed to fix certain 'product description.' Now mine looks a mess and I can't rectify it. So much for self-publicity...

I wasn't going to mention Amy again. I'm sure that everyone's pretty bored with my take on her. Looking at the latest photos yesterday, I was angered and disturbed. She looks like 'Zach' does when he's manic and in the throes of brain-dead addiction - in her cut-off shorts, her skeletal frame and her scratched, dirty, hairy arms. She's surrounded by people, so how come they let her go to 'galas' and gigs, or make the rounds of the local pubs? Surely by now they know that she's not going to be able to hold it together and sing?

I'm angered because no one, it would appear, cares enough for Amy to do anything creatively to help her. She won't be sectioned because she's addicted to drugs - the NHS aren't interested enough to do that. I know, I've been a party to trying to get Zach into hospital when he's all but killed himself on the streets and the eminent psychiatrist or the 'crisis team' weren't in the least concerned. She's a danger to herself but, of course, is so far out of it, that she won't seek independent help and I also know that it's virtually impossible to beg, cajole, tempt or coerce someone who's mentally ill to go in for treatment when they're in denial. But surely something could be done. Not a spa but a private jet could spirit her away to some kind of facility that would save her. But it needs cajones to do that and it doesn't appear that there's anyone who has any, any more.

So no amount of self-publicity by Amy - for maybe this is a subconscious self-publicity, exhorting her hangers on to do something, anything - is going to make a difference. And I'll continue with my own benign self-publicity that ultimately may also prove to be pointless.

Memoir mania.... and Zarif

And another one! How many more this week? Sir Roger Moore today. Gloria Hunniford, Richard Madeley, Bill Oddie, Cliff Richard, Sir Bobby Charlton, Ann Leslie... Whew! Who's going to have time enough to read them all? And they all get published. It's extraordinary. The received wisdom is that the 'memoir' genre has all but dried up but obviously the autobiography hasn't. But when is an autobiography not a memoir? When, presumably, there's no abuse. But wait a minute, doesn't Richard Madeley talk about his dad giving him a hiding and Bill Oddie's mum not wanting to recognise him because she was tragically schizophrenic? Surely these kids were abused too?

Ah, but... They're celebrities you see. The past is a different place for them. Everyone wants to know all about Judy's post-natal depression (or do they?) and Cliff's visiting his auntie in Upton Park. Really? Didn't Gloria write another memoir a few years back about Caron Keating? Is there really much more to write about?

I suppose that we should really be looking forward to Kerry Katona's 'warts and all' about her relationship with Jordan. Baited breath. How many copies would any publisher think he would sell before that's binned and turned into toilet paper? And every intelligent publication moans about the state of publishing in this country. Hardly surprising, is it?

Last night, for want of a change of subject, I went to see Zarif perform in Soho. Some people would describe her as the new Amy Winehouse. Hardly an apt description, apart from the fact that she, too, writes her own songs. The lovely thing about Zarif is that - she's lovely! She's also bright and sparky and clean - by that I mean no pointless weed or smack or ketamine. Her set was great and the band were phenomenal. I really wish her the best. Go Zarif!

GPs, unsafe motorists and paranoid schizophrenia

I feel a rant coming on. This morning I read that GPs are now going to held responsible if one of their patients has a driving accident should the GP have been aware that his/her patient may not have been well enough to take a car out on the roads. This may result in the GP being sued for negligence. What next, a GP/psychiatrist/social worker being sued should a patient of theirs kill someone if the GP etc knew that they weren't taking their medication?

The last sentence above is meant to be taken ironically, if you hadn't already guessed.

This week another woman was attacked by a 'paranoid schizophrenic'. She was knifed repeatedly and almost killed. The mother of the attacker was, understandably, incensed because she knew that her son wasn't taking his medication and, it goes without saying, although he was under the 'care' of the local authorities, they no doubt knew that the wasn't taking them too.

Last year, one of the worst for us as a family, when 'Zach' was in freefall after his repatriation from Thailand, he, too wasn't taking his medication. That was nothing new. However, the 'crisis' team were visiting him twice a day, even to the extent of seeing him once we threw him out of his flat, after he'd invited the junkies and the homeless to make themselves available of his 'generosity' within the walls we had so carefully painted for him in a previous, happier, time.

Two social workers, twice a day, every day. You'd think that was a pretty good scheme. You'd think that having spoken with 'Zach' at length, medication in hand, they would hand it over and tell him to take it. No, they couldn't do that. That was in breach of his civil liberties. They could talk until they were puce but they weren't going to ensure that he would take the very chemicals that would have helped reduce his grandiose and uncontrollable mania. So the flat was crammed with little white boxes full of pills and his bag contained other dosages but he didn't take them and they opted out of taking responsibility for someone who was a danger to himself and, consequently, other people.

What happened with 'Zach' last year, is repeated ad infinitum throughout this dogged land. No one person, GP, psychiatrist, local authority, social worker - you name it - will take the responsibility of caring for young people who are suffering from this most hideous of diseases: mental illness. Each and every time that someone is attacked by, generally, a young man in the depths of psychosis, there's an 'independent enquiry'. How many more enquiries do we need before someone decides that enough is enough and there's a directive that 'care in the community' do exactly that, care?

So the poor young man, labelled a 'paranoid schizophrenic', is now incarcerated for life in some revolting institution among the demented and criminally insane, pilloried and lambasted because someone in charge decided that his life wasn't worth caring for but GPs are now meant to take time out of their increasingly fraught days to ensure that a patient who may have had an asthma attack ten years ago while at the wheel of his car, is not about to have another one in the future. What planet are we living on?

Max Pemberton, Antonio Carluccio and a chronic lack of awaredness of mental health issues

I've taken a break from blogging, so wonder whether my avid readers will rejoin me. What's been happening? Radio broadcasts, letters to editors and now the invitations for me to go into schools and colleges and mental health organisations to give talks. Speaking in front of a bunch of 16 to 18 year olds will need my utmost guile.I've been informed that GCSE students only have a concentration span of five minutes. That's not much more than goldfish. Can this be true? Sounds pretty patronising and condescending to me. Surely seven minutes is a more realistic goal...

I saw this week in The Telegraph column written by Max Pemberton, Finger on the Pulse that there's an 'alarming lack of knowledge concerning mental health issues.' Well, well, well, so this is 'news'. Of course there's an alarming lack of knowledge. No one is interested in teaching kids about mental health problems. God knows I've gone over this enough in this blog but it just doesn't seem to hit home. At least being asked to go into schools and speak about Zach's problems with his Bipolar moods and his ingestion of drugs that sparked and tangled with his neurotransmitters, then it's a start. But where do I start from?

I'm not going to be able to go into schools and ask various kids, 'So when did you take your last hit?' and 'How many of you get wasted at the end of the day after school's out?' Not the sort of thing that PGCE teachers really want to hear their students discussing, is it? I can't go in all guns blazing and rant at them about predispositions to mania and the kindling effect. I guess that all I can do is to tell them about what happened to Zach at Glastonbury when he was fourteen and how I found him shackled to his bed in Greece when I went to repatriate him - events that led to chaos solely the result of mental health issues and drug abuse.

I read today that poor Antonia Carluccio, he of the pavement cafes and stunning pasta, has been admitted to hospital suffering from, yes, that's it, depression. A depression, it would seem, that resulted in him repeatedly stabbing himself. Seems to me that he is not simply suffering from depression per se but more than likely psychosis. Why won't the media call it by it's real name? Yes, the bottom end of depression does lead to psychosis. It would make it so much easier for the public to begin to understand mental health issues if they were given the correct terminology for them.

So another celebrity is 'outed' but it won't help get the message out and notwithstanding that I wrote to The Telegraph to say that yes, Max Pemberton is right: there is an acute lack of awareness among young people concerning mental health issues and that I've written a book about a young man who suffers from chronic mental health problems and that I'm going to be going into schools and discussing this same problem with young people, I've not heard a dickybird from them. Strike you somehow hyprocritical, not?

Is Lily Allen turning into Amy Winehouse?

Well, no. I don't think so. For a start, she has one-tenth the talent that Winehouse exhibits in her little finger, although I have to admit that on first hearing I did enjoy Lily's debut album. The problem with Lily, artistically, is that she sounds the same on every track and it all becomes so boring on second listening. Amy, by comparison, only becomes better. That's her salvation. But is it going to save her?

Readers write in to comments' pages because they're fed up reading about 'z-list' celebrities. But that's what the newspapers want to give us, that's why. Someone asked why newspapers don't write about 'real' people with 'real' issues and problems. The reason is axiomatic. No one is interested in 'real' people with 'real' problems. At least, that's what we are forced fed to infer from the same newspapers or magazines. When journalists write features about people with, among other things, problems with money or sex or madness, then the snapshot of their lives that we are presented with has no relation to reality.

A shocking headline is offered up to the reader in order to draw him or her into the article, whereafter everything is spun. "My life was ruined because of my excessive spending" reads one. "My wife left me because I ran with call girls" is another banner. "My girlfriend's depression caused me to want to take my life" is one more.

Having then offered a hook, the article invariably goes on to rehash what has been written about time and again and, because these are 'real' people, without celebrity status, the interest factor is about nil.

So we are left with the Lily Allens of the world whose celebrity is predicated on their getting drunk to oblivion and then making asses of themselves - so that they can then vomit up feeble excuses on Facebook. 'Look,' they say. 'It really wasn't me. It was the booze/draw/coke/my cat died/I didn't sleep last Thursday...' Tedious, isn't it?

Lily Allen the new Winehouse? Would she wish it? She probably would.

The oxymoron of 'Care in the Community'

Poor, poor Benjamin Frankum who was allowed out while under 'section' to, guess what? Care in the community! You may argue that we should not feel pity for Benji Frankum, because he then went on to kill a perfectly innocent father of three, Daniel Quelch. Mr. Quelch was definitely in the wrong place, at the wrong time.

It's heartbreaking that yet again, after who know's how many instances, that someone who suffers from chronic mental illness - let's call it schizophrenia - even paranoid schizophrenia - is not being taken care of in the least managable way. The very fact that he had been sectioned because it had occurred to the mental health authorities that he was a danger to himself, and as a consequence other people, then why on earth was he released out?

Presumably, as was the case with Zach, Benji Frankum was visited by a 'crisis team' or a 'social worker' while he was living in his 'supported accommodation' and presumably, as was also the case with Zach, they offered him his medication. Did they not force him to take it? Or did they stand next to him, offering him sweet nothings, while maintaining that they had no authoritity to force him to take the meds?

Is there no one in this country who is going to take responsibility for the unbelievably shoddy treatment that our mentally ill suffer from? How many more innocent people will die until there is accountability by the mental health bodies? The people who die are innocent, but, invariably, those who commit the crimes are innocent too, if they are suffering from a chronic mental illness. And when these so-called 'Mental Health Authorities' fail in their duties, as they increasingly do, who indeed should bear the guilt for the consequential fall-out?

It's about time that the blame is apportioned to where it emanates and this is with our 'caring' services. Maybe when professionals are made to take responsibility of their risible 'care in the community' and heads roll, then possibly less innocent lives will be lost.

The Bipolar heredity gene

I wrote a book about my son who has Bipolar disorder. This is not news. It's out there for all to see. Interestingly, and as a consequence of my having written the book, I've had some interesting feedback from various people. 'You were opening yourself to be judged' said one. Another said that he couldn't recommend the book to a friend whose son is going through almost the identical mood swings and bizarre behaviour patterns as my son, because, he opined, 'It has no happy ending...' Well, there is no 'ending' or, as some people would prefer, 'no closure.'

This is an on-going illness and, for Zach particularly, one that we hope would have a 'happy ending', only that's for the future. At the moment he's fine. When I finished the book, things weren't so clear cut.

I don't mind being judged. We are all judged one way or another for whatever we do. I wrote the book to bring the subject to light and as an aid for those families who are specifically going through the trauma and stress of seeing someone they love change personality so dramatically because of a chemical imbalance in the brain. I think it somewhat disengenuous to proscribe it for the very reasons that people need to read it: the recognition that their friend or family member is experiencing symptoms of a ghastly illness but that they are not unique in their suffering and that other families have experienced almost the identical emotional stress and anxieties.

This brings me to the heredity factor. I found out this week that a cousin's son is suffering from chronic mental health problems. I don't feel that I need give chapter and verse on the rest of the family, save to say that if I lined them all up, on both sides and going back a couple of generations, then the Priory would have plenty of fodder for full-time occupancy! There has to be a heredity gene. How it comes about is cause for research, especially among race/religious backgrounds. All I know is that there is a great reserve in my own family that could be used for specific research protocols.

Will I be judged for proclaiming this? Will it make more people recommend the book because they feel that realistically they should? Who knows... Maybe when these same people come to terms with the fact that they, too, could experience mental health disorders in their own families, then they may reconsider their high and mighty positions.

Of BBC Radio, Trisha Goddard, Sport and Telford

It's been an interesting but frustrating week - interesting because I've done something different in terms of publicity but frustrating because I want more of it!

Monday night and it was Talk Sport. Yes, even Talk Sport has a radio programme that allows a very impassioned and intelligent presenter - David Prevor - to conduct a programme the way he wishes to. So I had my fifteen minutes of fame with him. Again it went out live but this time I responded to the questions and, I do hope, didn't go off on a limb the same way that I did at BBC Radio Leicester. Whether it sold any books, I don't know.

However, I do know that people were listening to the broadcast because so many callers rang in to speak to David after my stint, describing their problems with mental illnesses. David has told me that whenever he runs a programme that has mental illness as its topic, the switchboard will go into overdrive. Everyone has an issue, or knows someone with an issue. As one in four people suffer from some kind of emotional/mental disorder, then it's hardly surprising that once the subject's out there, they want to talk about it!

The following morning I made my way to the BBC at Western House, where I was being interviewed for BBC Radio Shropshire. Having managed to get past security and the two very jolly receptionists who appeared to be having the time of their lives, I was shown to a studio where I, alone, and with earphones and a red clown's nose for a mike, was put 'down the line' to Clare Ashford. This was indeed an interesting experience. She was late. She apologised after I'd waited in there for what seemed like ages and wondered whether I would ever get out again - more of that later. Eventually, and with great mirth, I heard her laugh. The traffic, the congestion and the weather... 'Can't be as bad as London,' I managed. 'Yes,' she replied, still laughing, 'I know. I used to live there...' I think it went well. I think she'd read the book - maybe knew the press release really well!

It's pretty much the same questions every time but I'm trying to make the answers pertinent as well as compelling to the listener. Clare and I spoke for about twenty minutes. She's a very easy interviewer. There's definitely a skill and a technique. I'm jealous.

I'm not sure when the programme will go out but she'll let me know. So I'll note that here - just in case anyone wishes to hear me. At the end of the broadcast and after having said many goodbyes, I tried to escape but the door appeared to be stuck. I tugged and tugged and the guy outside didn't see me and I had visions of being incarcerated in that tiny, soundproofed room, until my feeble cries would finally be answered. Then, as if by magic, the door opened and I tumbled out! Pathetic...

Tuesday evening and it's the Trisha Goddard Radio Show from Liverpool. She's delightful and knowledgable and describes what it was like for her when her schizophrenic sister behaved manically. She's obviously passionate about her work with the mentally ill and made the point that part of the proceeds from her programme are dedicated to Mind. We spoke for about half an hour. It all went by so quickly. The programme is broadcast this Sunday evening, so this time I should be able to listen to myself and see how it can all be improved.

Next week I'm speaking with Radio Mediterraneo, the largest English speaking radio station in, I believe, Spain, if not all of Europe. Can they buy the book there though?

The nice thing about radio is that once hooked, the listener will continue to listen to whatever programme is being broadcast, irrespective of subject matter. I think it's always been the same. I can't say that I've ever been an avid gardener or scientist but the amount of programmes that I continue to listen to in the car once I have arrived at my destination will not necessarily correspond to a hitherto deep interest in the topic! There's something about radio that essentially sends you to another stratosphere where your imagination, unneeded for television, works once more and you morph into one of 'the audience.'

Sodden English summers, SAD and NICE

I feel sun deprived, one day after arriving back from sunbleached Spain. I woke up this morning to hear torrential rain falling onto the garden. This gave way to the fine spray that soaks even the deepest foliage. I don't think that I can remember a 'summer' like this. How is it possible that there won't be an epidemic of SAD, when large numbers of newspapers will recount in great detail the exploits of English, Scots and Welsh throwing themselves off bridges or overdosing on prescription drugs because of an overwhelming depression that follows the old-fashioned 'typical' English summer?

I only say this because the Elephant in the Room is now beginning to make himself visible - only slightly, of course. You don't want to expose him too quickly. I've noted with a kind of ironic humour just how many plays this year made it to the boards at Edinburgh that dealt with some kind of mental affliction. Looks like quite a number. And how many new books are being published that offer up some kind of depression or addiction problems as the main subject? Bill Oddie is about to have his autobiography on the shelves and there's Ruby Wax and her one-woman show. So it's there and it's kinda not there... We'll try to talk about it but really don't want to and the discussion shows will skirt around it and I'll try not to do a Radio Leicester too often, when the so-called experts tell us that no one actually dies because of mental illness - well, not any more, of course...

Which leads us back to the English summer and downpours and grey evenings and getting wet walking the mutt and my hang-dog expression when I lead him home, envisaging drying him off and brushing him down - and this shouldn't be happening yet. It should be happening at the end of October when the leaves are carpeting the streets and there's something quite heartening about the shorter days and crisper mornings. But it's still only August and crisp freckled leaves are already making their presence on the Heath and I can see the blackberries - those that haven't turned to mush on the sodden bushes - aching to be picked.

Time goes too quickly. It was just Wimbledon and the hopes of long sunlit days and evenings having a drink on the terrace in the summer heat; now it's practically autumn and we're thinking of winter clothes and, no doubt, the Christmas decorations will show their faces in stores desperate for any sales in this media induced recession. So the families who are literally having to tighten their belts because food is so expensive and who will be unable to pay their gas and electricity bills or their mortgages will consider another year without sun, hoping that NICE will extend payment for anti-depressants and the whole shebang begins again but no one will notice the Elephant.

Mitch Winehouse, crazy Amy and new found celebrity

Does Mitch Winehouse need a crazy Amy in order to justify his new found celebrity? What would he be were she not to be so often photographed the worse for wear and apparently under the influence of drink and drugs? He'd not be asked to be the font of all knowledge relating to his now out-of-control but highly lucrative and influential daughter.

Where's Mitch's self-respect? He's certainly not the first celebrity parent who's forged a career from the success of their offspring. However, isn't there something here that speaks of some kind of desperation, where he seeks the limelight on the back of a huge talent, while, with macabre fascination the world watches the slow but sure demise of that very same talent?

Wouldn't a more concerned and loving parent try anything available to help their child at whatever the cost to them? But that doesn't appear to be happening. In fact it's the absolute reverse. The sicker Amy becomes, the more Mitch's star is in the ascendant.

Mitch's assertions that 'his' Amy is 'getting better', 'putting on weight' or 'getting help' don't appear to hold water. You only have to look at her. All the signs point to her suffering from mental health problems with the attendant and symbiotic addiction to drugs and alcohol.

In many other instances when artists have drunk and drugged themselves into oblivion, fingers have been pointed towards a manager or a svengali who insists that their artist perform, so long as he/she draws in the crowds at concerts or sells millions of records. But the case does not seem to be so in this instance.

How often has Amy shown up this summer and, when she does, has it been worthwhile for the fan to spend hard earned cash to hear her? Many concert-goers will agree that, more often than not, she has been wasted and unable to hold it together sufficiently to sustain even a reasonable performance. And as to recording, even Mark Ronson, the man who produced so much of her finest material, has indicated that he can't work with her while she is in her current, seemingly manic, state of mind.

So why isn't Amy in a hospital somewhere - possibly sectioned for her own good and with someone independent caring for her, so that the inevitable packet of draw or the bottle of methodone isn't smuggled in to her? Perhaps if Mitch stopped to consider that his fame will be worthless if Amy disintegrates much further and perhaps if he started to act more like a parent, then maybe, just maybe, his daughter would better be able to take the much wanted first step to recovery.

In Spain where it's supposed to shine...

We're here to escape cold, grey, cloudy,depressing London. Only today it was cold, grey and cloudy Spain. It follows me. I seem to spend my life looking up at the sky and hope that this cloud is the last in the seemingly endless succession of cold, grey clouds that blot out the sun. I suffer SAD in the summer. I need the warmth and sunlight and blue skies and I live in a climate where you have to search out heat and not the heat from electric fires or the hugely expensive boiler system.

Tomorrow is supposed to be better. I'll just have to check out the latest news and deal with the blog and plans of being 'the' talking head of talking heads about Bipolar disorder and young people and young people and drugs. Which is prescient really, especially since there were many pieces in the news yesterday evaluating how much of a rise there is in the incidence of drug induced mental illness. I know it's summer and there was a dearth of 'news' - until today that is and the news is that the Russians now have Poland in their sights when they want to drop their bombs. But I still have to argue that mental illness and drug addiction go hand in hand. So, of course, it's really not 'news' at all.

I've written the piece that I shall circulate and hope that someone wants to pick me up on it. It's a taster really but I know that there's plenty of life in the subject and, god knows, there really has to be a way of informing the public so that they really begin to understand that the substances their kids are ingesting are not nice in any way, shape or form.