This isn't going to be one of those gripey blogs, but I can't help noticing the lack of festive lights in West Kirby this Christmas. People complain about the Council not forking out for the decs, but that's fair enough - we'll only end up paying for it ourselves in loss of services or council tax increases.
But why have most of the shops and businesses on Grange Road not even bothered to put a few lights in the windows? How can I boast about living in West Wirral when it looks so bloomin' miserable. We house-holders do our bit with our trees and fairy lights. We might not go to the extremes of Leasowe or Seacombe where the dazzling Vegas-like lighting displays and flashing roof-top Santas may be more properly viewed as a cry for help, but come on you humbugs and get some lights up!!
Hoylake, on the other hand, is quite jolly in a pleasantly non-denominational way. I haven't looked in detail but I'm sure the shops are up for it too - after all they did make a fantastic effort at Hallowe'en: http://www.hoylakejunction.com/friday-photo-091030/comment-page-1#comment-4637
Tuesday 29 December 2009
Friday 11 December 2009
You don't have to be mad...
I’m not mad, I’m anxious. It’s a thin line and I’m about to cross it
Referred by my doctor, it takes 2 months to get an appointment with ‘Talking Changes’ – 'the Primary Care Mental Health Service' in Wirral, an unwieldy partnership between Wirral MIND, NHS, and evil pixies).
This pic was taken outside the old VCH in Wallasey, another NHS classic, but I digress...The appointment is when I’m away. I ring to say which dates I will be away between. They send a new date - still within the dates I will be away. I call again.
They send another appointment and a form about my private fears, anxieties and other issues. This will be treated ‘in the strictest confidence’. Enclosed is someone else’s form, already filled in. I’m not making this up. I’m not delusional. . . yet.
I ring, as requested, to confirm I will be there. I drive across Wirral to St Cath’s Hospital where they are not expecting me.
'You have the wrong letter.’
They tell me to come back the following week, which I do. The appointment has been cancelled. ‘We tried to ring you.’ No messages on either phone. Some usage of the word ‘tried’ I'm not familiar with. A new appointment is made. I'm asked to fill out a form which will be treated ‘in strictest confidence’. I begin to think they are messing with my head.
The fifth time I actually get to see someone. He doesn’t introduce himself. Refers me to group therapy for anxiety – two month wait.
I turn up, anxious, to the Anxiety group. It is December, freezing cold, an unlit Vale Park. No therapist. Nine anxious people shiver on the doorstep, getting more anxious by the second. (It has does occur to me that putting a lot of anxious people in a room together is hardly likely to make any of us less anxious). After an hour of phone calls and frostbite, we discover that the therapist was there at 4pm and waited half an hour before giving up on us. All our letters say 5pm. All relevant offices are still open and if it had been me I might have tried checking with someone if my entire group didn’t show up. I suggest DIY therapy but no-one’s that keen.
I finally got to the group this week – although there’s only 2 of us left now. The others must have given up, died of old age or gone bonkers. And it’s quite good really. But if I had been really struggling, if I had been on the edge, I can’t help thinking this is not the best way to go about spending the millions the government are pumping into mental health.
Mad? Some one is – and I don’t think it’s me.
Referred by my doctor, it takes 2 months to get an appointment with ‘Talking Changes’ – 'the Primary Care Mental Health Service' in Wirral, an unwieldy partnership between Wirral MIND, NHS, and evil pixies).This pic was taken outside the old VCH in Wallasey, another NHS classic, but I digress...The appointment is when I’m away. I ring to say which dates I will be away between. They send a new date - still within the dates I will be away. I call again.
They send another appointment and a form about my private fears, anxieties and other issues. This will be treated ‘in the strictest confidence’. Enclosed is someone else’s form, already filled in. I’m not making this up. I’m not delusional. . . yet.
I ring, as requested, to confirm I will be there. I drive across Wirral to St Cath’s Hospital where they are not expecting me.
'You have the wrong letter.’
They tell me to come back the following week, which I do. The appointment has been cancelled. ‘We tried to ring you.’ No messages on either phone. Some usage of the word ‘tried’ I'm not familiar with. A new appointment is made. I'm asked to fill out a form which will be treated ‘in strictest confidence’. I begin to think they are messing with my head.
The fifth time I actually get to see someone. He doesn’t introduce himself. Refers me to group therapy for anxiety – two month wait.
I turn up, anxious, to the Anxiety group. It is December, freezing cold, an unlit Vale Park. No therapist. Nine anxious people shiver on the doorstep, getting more anxious by the second. (It has does occur to me that putting a lot of anxious people in a room together is hardly likely to make any of us less anxious). After an hour of phone calls and frostbite, we discover that the therapist was there at 4pm and waited half an hour before giving up on us. All our letters say 5pm. All relevant offices are still open and if it had been me I might have tried checking with someone if my entire group didn’t show up. I suggest DIY therapy but no-one’s that keen.
I finally got to the group this week – although there’s only 2 of us left now. The others must have given up, died of old age or gone bonkers. And it’s quite good really. But if I had been really struggling, if I had been on the edge, I can’t help thinking this is not the best way to go about spending the millions the government are pumping into mental health.
Mad? Some one is – and I don’t think it’s me.
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