Abscence makes the heart...

Well, Ms Monkey is still feeling slightly guilty at neglecting you all. During February I have had honoured guests to stay and, as it was a birthday celebration, I felt that sitting with my nose in my laptop may have been a tad rude. As I managed to squeeze in at least two hours of The Damned over the weekend (I see people so rarely these days that my Goth tends to runneth over) I feel that I would have been on thin ice to squirrel myself away for a couple of hours to wax lyrical......besides, there were cocktails and birthday cake that required my undivided attention!

One of the lovely things about seeing friends is
 the opportunity for scintillating conversation

It's always lovely to see old friends; I regard them as my family. My close family have all passed away now. I have an uncle, somewhere in London, but we are not in contact and an Aunt and Uncle, with cousins, in the wilds of Canada. I also have some second cousins, several times removed, who I meet up with occasionally and exchange the odd email with. But I am basically an orphan, alone in the world...woe is me (although it doesn't half make events like xmas pass without a hitch!)! And so my friends are my family, we pick each other up and dust each other off, whenever we fall....I seem to fall a lot but they are wonderfully indulgent (and Ms Monkey's past involves a lot of 'daring do', when perhaps it should have involved a little 'daring don't'!).

It was my dear friends McMarkie and Juice who came down to visit. Markie has always been the little brother I never had; although he spends more time looking after others than the description suggests. It was his 41st birthday this weekend (I suppose I should ask him if I am allowed to say his age....ah well, what's done is done) and it was decided that the weekend would be spent sipping [sic] cocktails (quaffing is not really the etiquette for cocktails, but hey, do I look like Miss Manners?), going to the tip (Adios broken tumble dryer, Welkomen and Bienvenue newish tumble dryer - see The delights of housework) and wandering along the beach......tide permitting.

Shaken or stirred? Nah, blend it to within an inch
of its life!

I will be writing an entry regarding those wonderful cocktails, there were some oldies and a few new ones that we tried, which are well worth passing on and perfect for finishing off those left overs  from xmas.....if you still have any.

One thing I always tend to do, when friends are down is push myself. I still want to do all of the things I used to do....not necessarily all the things. (Downing an entire bottle of vodka on the way to a gig and not remembering most of the evening, until coming round on the floor of a public toilet is one of the things that can stay very firmly in the past! There are others, but somethings cannot be spoken of in polite circles....and not so polite circles!)


Sadly, I am not able to do all of the things I used to, although a visit to the beach is a must. Needless to say, disabled access to the beach in question is non-existent, so no chance of using my wheelchair! And so, walking is a must. Unfortunately, these days, I can no longer manage 'walking pace' and snails tend to hair past me on the straight. I, therefore, spend quite a bit of time walking on my own, until the party of intrepid explorers notice that they are down on numbers!
Although not the closest beach to chez Monkey, our favourite beach on the North Coast has to be Gwithian. It is part of St Ives bay, but remains untouched by the usual plethora of 'Kiss me Quick' tourist tack shops. It boasts a toilet, life guard hut, surf shop and two small cafes. But mostly if has miles of sand and a collection of interesting rock pools; stacked with fish and crustaceans, who patiently await the mandatory poking and prodding of small children (and not so small children! Ms Monkey is known for her persistent attempts to catch anything that scuttles or swims, whilst ignoring the constant litany of 'this is boring' from her small brood).

This is why I live in Cornwall! Not sure what Lolli has seen, but she's not noticed that wave behind her!

To the Lighthouse. Godrevy Lighthouse, made famous by Virginia Woolf

During the winter, this stunning bit of the coastline is open to our four legged companions (during the summer they are only allowed on in the evening, which is incredibly annoying as it means that the only part of the beach available to mutts is down a precarious cliff side descent, which anybody with a fear of heights or any type of mobility problems would be unable to tackle. I have tried reasoning with the dog wardens that I just want to use the stairs and 100 yards of beach to pass through but have been threatened with a £200 fine. Bloody jobs Worth's if you ask me!). Because Lolli cannot be trusted on a beach with sand dunes (she has a tendency to bugger off looking for rabbits and only coming back when she's good and ready....which can be in fifteen minutes or, on one occasion 5 hours) this beach is ideal for her. It is her dream to one day catch a seagull (although it will have to be a lame, flightless, blind and hearing impaired seagull).

Having a lovely time. Wish you were here....but only if you have cocktails!

Until next time dear friends xx

An apology

It has been too long dear reader, since I was last here and I must apologise for my neglect but I have had a flare up of my condition. And so, I feel I must put my serious head on for a little while and tell you a little of my story.

I suffer from two health problems which lead to my disability; I have chronic pain syndrome as a result of polyarthropy, caused by what they believe to be multiple-connective tissue disorder. In other words I have faulty wiring which causes my immune system to attack all of my connective tissue (that's the white stuff that isn't muscles and fat). You think your joints pop? Well mine crackle and crunch and grind! I feel as if I have gone rusty and all of my joints ache constantly (except my back....so far that's good....shhh). I try to stay active, as much as possible, but the pain is restricting...I also have a tendency towards inflamed bursa...these are sacs that cushion the joints and bones; typical inflammations are those of 'house maid's knee' or tennis elbow'. I have them under my heels and on my 'sit upon', which makes both standing and sitting painful, I am also prone to tendonitis as a result of favouring certain joints when I'm in pain.

So with all that you won't be surprised to learn that I have clinical depression as well, although to be fair, that was a condition diagnosed before my physical problems really started. People seem to die around me, a lot! (you have been warned) And it was not dealing with these deaths that triggered the depression in the first place....Now it's like an old friend (a not particularly welcome one, who overstays their welcome and has far too many annoying habits) who comes to visit at the most inconvenient times. Now let me be straight about this, depression is not 'feeling misereable' and a bit listless. Depression is crushing; it's rigour without death, an all encompassing ennui. 

Depression fluctuates, for months I plod along with low levels of depression, I can muster the energy to do a few of the day to day things needed for survival. I managed to obtain a reasonable degree (2:1), over the last three years, although not without additional support and countless extensions. But I was determined to finish it, even with another death in the family just towards the end. The fact that I handed in incomplete assignments at the end of the course should have warned me that things were going to explode at some point. Depression is a constant battle and the minute you relax it swamps you like a dark cloud. With me, I shut down and retreat. I sleep for twelve/thirteen hours a day. I don't contact anybody; I can't even bring myself to use a telephone. I stop dealing with the day to day stuff, bills don't get paid, clothes don't get washed, meals don't get cooked....life just grinds to a halt. And that's when the guilt sets in...followed by the paranoia; until even this becomes too much effort. Life becomes a constant battle against inertia. Just being alive requires every ounce of energy and difficult tasks (such as writing this or eating, for example) get pushed to one side.

Churchill, a famous sufferer of the condition (although how he managed to deal with it, run a country and win a war I have no idea!), likened his depression to a black dog, with whom he would fight. It's an interesting allegory. I often liken mine to being stuck down a well, on some days you can climb up high enough to see the daylight, but on others the sides are slick and you cannot get a purchase on them.

So, if Ms Monkey is not about for a while, do not take offence. Sometimes the world is just too big a place and Ms Monkey needs to sit in a darkened corner, listen to dark music and eat lots of chocolate (dark chocolate of course!). I hasten to add, this does not make me an emo.....I have no desire to slice lumps out of my flesh, no desire to throw myself dramatically from a cliff top and no desire to be miserable! Besides, emos weren't invented when Ms Monkey was a 'young thing'!

Until next time mes amis xx

Matthew Johnstone. Copyright SANE