Benefit Street, Brighton.

People paid good money to go and see the inmates of Bedlam.  I'm thinking of charging for personal appearances on the bus, in the shops, etc. (Imagine if we all did that! They'd soon see how many of us there are and be bellowing for Something To Be Done.)                                   One of the most common comments people make  since I left The Regency Town House is "You're so brave." Not, I hasten to add, because I've left the Town House, but because I tell people why I left. I also hasten to add, to anyone who has said those words to me, that I appreciate what you're saying, and the spirit in which it was said. But it just isn't true. I never have been. Oh, I don't deny that I've done things which might seem brave: dragging my kids from one continent to another with a couple of private detectives one step behind might seem brave - but it wasn't. I was petrified the whole time. It took nearly a year 'till we were saf

                                          My parents were of the school - rather as if they were straight out of a Wodehouse chapter - which quite naturally used the phrase "Navel gazing". It was an eclectic grouping of everything from deep psychiatric therapy to "finding oneself" to "meditation"...well any form of prolonged thinking about oneself. Not that my parents were averse to spiritual or metaphysical contemplation. Just not about oneself. As the nuns confirmed that paying too much attention to oneself was the very epitome of vanity, I think I've always thought of it at least as self-indulgent.  As if putting too much thought into why I'd been so upset about something someone had said to me, would be like wolfing down an entire, £1.00 slab of chocolate. Oh, I've done it of course. Just as I've wolfed down an entire, £1.00 slab of chocolate from time to time. And I've felt the same kind of sinking, sick guilt after having

I expect what I mean is: what is it that stops people from seriously  doubting that they are anything other than "normal". People are constantly shrieking things like "AGgghh! You're driving me Mad!" "Hell! Now I'm losing my mind!" "I'm going insane!" They might even legitimately feel that they are - the levels of stress they've gone through are overwhelming their thought-process. It's madness-for-a-moment. They accept that the human condition is to do mad things, and behave in mad ways, but that this doesn't define a person as "mad". So then, how does one know when one has just enough eccentricities? phobias? aberrations? How many of the afore-mentioned are the tip-over point into lunacy? How do we - you - me  know   what the acceptable "norm" is? Lest this sound for a moment disingeuous - it's prompted by genuine feelings: I'd thought I was starting to get though the fog and,