renaissance man
The trouble with depression is that it turns one’s focus resolutely inwards. When it’s turning outwards, towards a world of interaction, that is most likely to help restore equilibrium.
Trouble is, my psycho-social battery is at 0%…
It seems to me I’m currently hitting the wall, so to speak. I simply don’t want to do anything. Hence the desire – and, more unusually, ability – to sleep for marathon stretches.
Whilst I’m now technically out from under the dread weight of false-allegations made against me. I’m also really not. Those lies had a profound effect on my already fragile mental health. And they totally trashed my teaching career.
Ok, so I’d wanted out of teaching for a long time. But not in the manner in which it transpired. The every cloud has a silver lining/always look on the bright side of life view is a good one. And helps me pull some good stuff out of the bonfire.
But damage has been done.
And I suspect my current hypersomnia is related to all this stuff. I’ve often talked here about my preference for sleep or oblivion to the soul-enervating grind of daily life. Well, I turned in 8.30 pm last night. It’s 12.30 pm the following day. That’s 14 hours. For almost all of which – hallelujah! – I’ve been asleep.
Right now I’m obeying the diktats of mind and body. Going with the flow. My mind and body beg me to sleep. So I do. But I don’t think this is a sustainable long-term type of behaviour.
Anyway, the time has come to get up. Get dressed. And get out and deliver. At least my job is bearable; mainly thanks to the short/flexible hours. The low pay is another matter altogether.
Ever since childhood I’ve wanted to dig underground. Indeed, I did so. Which I’ve written about elsewhere on here. But I’ve never worked on the scale I’d like to. Maybe I never will? I don’t know…
But here’s a post on a guy who did. I’ll be honest, he’s clearly an eccentric, or nutjob, even. And if I do ever go underground, as I dream of, I’d hope it’s not in the same ‘hillbilly heap’/mental patient style.
That being said. Teresa and I are clutter-bugs…
Anyway, I discovered this story today. Here’s an interesting article on it, and related matters.
Sadly, but predictably, some folk wish to make more of all this than is actually credible, e.g. the above (from a website calling itself ‘undertheradarcases’, or something similar).
Here are some images of Lyttle’s house, in Hackney, which fell into disrepair. And some of the ‘catacombs’ he dug.
I ought to credit Karen Russo for a number of the subterranean images. Russo talks online about trying to make a film with/about Lyttle, but having to abandon the project, due to his aberrant behaviour – racist, misogynistic, she claims – towards her.
Lyttle’s final years sound awfully tragic. Evicted from his home, forced to live at the top of a tower block (to prevent further tunnelling!), and faced with bills he obviously couldn’t pay, for work the council allegedly carried out make his property safe (removing stuff/filling in holes, etc.).
I’ve read that he knocked through a joining wall in his high-rise prison – his compulsion diminished, but not vanquished – and descended into paranoia and ill health. Eventually dying of ‘natural causes’, in 2010, around the age of 79.
It seems typically heavy-handed that The State should do this to a guy nearing his end. I recently read about an Australian law enforcement fiasco called Operation Painter, in which elderly vulnerable folk were also treated abominably.
In my opinion they should have left him to die in peace, in the home that he clearly loved, in his own weird way. All their brutal interventions did was steal an old man’s home and make a misery of his final years. Way to go!
In 2012 Lyttle’s former home, inc. what remained of some of his tunnels, was bought by artist Sue Webster, who had the place renovated. Read more about that here.
Sometimes it’s as much as I can do just to cover the most skeletal of basics. Earn a few bob. Eat a bit. Sleep.
At times such as this aspirations and motivations seem to evaporate. I’m left wondering… ought I fight against how I feel? or just go with the flow?
Anyway, dinner in my belly, showered, and in bed before 8.30 pm. Don’t even want to watch anything, or read. Just want to sleep!
Today we visited Lyveden, a National Trust property we’d not been to before.
We started with a picnic lunch in the car. Very nice!
Lord Robarte’s Regt. of Foote, of The Sealed Knot, were ‘in residence’. I’ve been wanting to get into the whole ECW era again, for quite a while. This was a nice point of re-entry.
Teresa seems to enjoy it all as much as I do. Which is great!
I got to have a go on the drum, pictured above. What fun! I must make my own ECW marching drum. And to handle the muskets. Ditto musket-making!
Later on we had a hot chocolate, in the café. I like the dinky wee models that are on display there.
And then we walked up to the ‘Bield’, or ruin. Which one can explore internally. There’s even a spiral staircase up to a viewing platform.
What fun, to explore.
We also ‘visited’ the turf maze. The only issue there is, you can’t see it from the ground. Believe it or not, it’s pictured below…
We then returned to the house and camp, just in time to see Lord Robarte’s Regt. parade and drill a bit more.
And then, finally, we headed back home…
Teresa looking gorgeous, as we play a hand or three of rummy.
Another shut church. Hey ho…
Looks intriguing, inasmuch as the main nave and tower are almost separate.
Later the same day… spotted this beauty of a steam beast, in March. I asked whither were they bound? A wedding, came the reply!
All Saints is pretty huge. And has lots of what appears to be Victorian era stained glass.
I couldn’t get a very good shot of the main tower end glass, as it was behind locked doors. The above two snaps were taken from the pulpit.
These two little lights were also hard to photograph, being small and high up.
There’s some impressive carving on the pulpit. Sadly there’s a fair bit of damage. But I tried to capture the best but, in my snaps.
Teresa accompanied me to work today. After my first/midday shift, I’d planned on lunch at Elsie’s. But she was shut, alas. So instead we had lunch at Yarwell, at a little café in a marina there.
We ended up having baked potatoes, with baked beans n’ cheese. And a little side-salad. Much the same as we’d have had at Elsie’s, to be honest.
Mind, they do everything that bit better at Elsie’s. and there are no mindbending knickerbocker glories to be had at Yarwell, either. Still, it was very pleasant.
So, as is quite often the way, when one door shuts, another opens.
Later in the day, during another (second/later) shift – Teresa stayed home this time – I was directed through this pretty little ford, in Alconbury:
I also passed numerous churches I’d like to have explored. But I did’nae have the time.
I must return to these environs, on a churchical exploration mission.
Teresa and I are re-watching this. We started but didn’t finish it, once before. Our attention kind of petered out, I guess.
I have issues with all of the adaptations of Tolkien, from Rob Inglis’ one-man-show readings, to the Peter Jackson trilogies.
But, in the end, I’m giving this Amazon version another go. And, whilst it shares many of the issues of other adaptations – basically almost nobody can bear to leave Tolkien’s work as it is, or was – I have to confess, I’m enjoying it.
There’s something wonderfully hypnotic and calming about watching a fire burn.
I’d allowed myself to get hot n’ bothered, on a particularly irksome Amazon delivery route. And was feeling über gloomy, on my (late) drive home.
But a delicious meal, cooked by my delicious wife, a cup of tea, and a fire? And all was once again well with the world. The simple pleasures, eh? Surely the best?
Ok, so my tiresome work shift wasn’t entirely awful:
Watching this gorgeous family of ducks cross the road was lovely. Why did they cross? To get to the other side… why else?