The Black-Eyed Dog...

If you, like me, have ever suffered from depression, then you may have heard of Winston Churchill's name for the illness: "The Black Dog" of depression is a haunting creature who hounds your every waking moment, like a shadow that wont go away whether the sun is shining or not.
I prefer the term "Black-Eyed Dog" coined here by musician Nick Drake, a poor soul who was no stranger to depression which ultimately claimed his all too short and talented life.

A black eyed dog he called at my door
The black eyed dog he called for more
A black eyed dog he knew my name
A black eyed dog he knew my name

If you do suffer from bouts of depression or have major depressive episodes believe me I feel your pain, and I have felt it far too often and for far too long. I came very close to death on one occasion and was hospitalised after taking too many painkillers for a far too long period of time. They said I was just hours away from the final curtain. Had I not been caught in time I wouldn't be here typing this recollection now.

The black eyed dog, a black eyed dog
I'm growing old and I wanna go home
I'm growing old and I don't wanna know
I'm growing old and I wanna go home

If you ever feel so bad, so low and so without hope that you seek the ultimate solution, please take time to consider your family and your friends. There are people around you who do actually care for you and love you even though you might think otherwise. Get yourself help, see a doctor, see friends or family and tell them how you feel. Go to a hospital, go to a police station, go and be with people who can take you in and care for you and see you over the worst. It does get better, you might not think its possible, I didn't. But I was wrong.

I still get days and periods where I get the blues really bad and my thoughts always turn to suicide...always, it goes with the territory, but you just have to drag yourself out each time and little by little it does get better.

Please look after yourself...you are important and you are loved.

A black eyed dog he called at my door
A black eyed dog he called for more

On the Subject of Poetry...This is a TWAT

Ladies and gentlemen, this is the chap who gets his kicks by "hunting for sport" wild animals. There is NO sport in hunting animals with a weapon, in this case a crossbow AND a rifle. Now if he was to go hand to hand (or paw) then I would conside that to be sport. What this man does is MURDER animals for fun. This case is just one example that seems to hav caught the publics imagination, but these hunting trips go on all the time, and these animals are being murdered daily by idiots who do not value the miracle of natue and the beauty of these creatures. I sincerely hope that this guy gets whats coming to him. He deserves to be dealt with by the law in a very harsh way. I am not advocating anyone goes out and does him physical harm because that would be dropping to his level. No, he needs to be arrested and charged and given a prison sentence AND a hefty financial penalty, one that is in keeping with the horrendous nature of his crime. Then, I hope he will burn in hell!

The Last of the Romantic Poets...

I heard this first as a teenager, and over the years I've often been reminded of it (especially at work) Every now and then we all come into contact with personalities who fit this particular bill. Take a couple of minutes and give this a listen, and next time you meet one, remember these wise words from John Coope Clarke, the last of the true romantic poets....