Across the pond

It is a grey morning in Dorset. The top of Stonebarrow Hill is obscured by dark grey cloud and it is drizzling with rain. But I am humming one of the tunes of my childhood and enjoying the luxury of a cigarette before breakfast. Not all depressed. The weather is a relief after the baking heat of the last two days when the thermometer has been pushing into the eighties. Feelings of well-being, of being at peace with the world are welling up inside me. I am momentarily irritated by the yelping of a small dog but even that reminds me of the prevailing silence, such a contrast to the perpetual noise of the cities and towns I have lived in for most of my life.

Moments later a seagull squawks loudly but it is music to ears, which still remember the perpetual noise of the heavy lorries on the Stafford Road in Wolverhampton. And I watch the bird as it spreads its wings and glides gracefully down towards the sea. I share its joy in silent effortless flight. As if on cue the silence is well and truly shatttered by the coastal helicopter which has a decibel count which must equal that of at least dozen of the lorries of my youth.

But even that does not disturb my tranquillity, which is only partly due to the powerful, though short-lived, effects of the nicotine drug. Readers of this blog should be told that I am still thinking about giving up smoking. This morning I was doing precisely what the NHS SmokeFree hotline recommends, smoking a cigarette with full awareness so as to equip myself to prepare a plan to kick the habit.

The result was the opposite to that intended by the medics. My Lady Nicotine is almost certainly killing me. But not just yet. Meanwhile her caress is spreading a glow throughout my body and inducing feelings of bliss as I make the long exhalation to clear the smoke from my lungs.

As I start this paragraph I find myself reaching unconsciously for yet another cigarette. This time to help me forget my hunger pangs, because I have not yet had breakfast.

So I must pause. But before I log out, I must tell, you that the weather has changed dramatically. The cloud has lifted from the hill and the ocean is shimmering in the sunlight.

It is good to be alive, even when you get out of breath when you walk up hill.

And as I write I realise that as well as coughing hourly for the past three weeks I have been depressed without realising it, because these days my depression is not a black dog oozing despair, but more like a dark grey cloud obscuring the sunlight and nurturing gloomy thoughts. Now I am moving into a manic phase, which is like riding a frisky horse.

So I had better build up my strength before I gallop down to the sea.

Bacon, eggs and tomatoes.

Can’t wait.

See you later.