What happened to Mills and Boon?





The longer I work in mental health, the more I think some of the people who work in the profession are on the wrong side of the ward door. Now I know why they are called PSYCHOtherapists and PSYCHOanalysts.


‘You cannot judge the importance of things by the noise they make.’

Goodbye Mr Chips



Nice to see the mighty Rutger Hauer can still star in some quality trash like Hobo with a Shotgun. I was going to have a moan about him going to the dogs but what can you say from an actor who gave such memorable performances in Blade Runner, Blind Fury and Salute of the Juggar (well, scratch the last one).


What’d be the worst thing that could happen when government inspectors make a spot check of your facilities? Well, try beating an absconding patient mugging one of the inspectors during their walkabout, snatching their bag and then being arrested further down the road to the wail of police sirens. Suffice to say their feedback was less than glowing.


It’s nice to get away from the gilded shop fronts of the West End  and enjoy the eclectic objects on display outside a shop in Tottenham. This included a toilet seat, a large piece of shrink wrapped piece of water melon (£3.20), an ash tray and packet of Ostrich feathers. Stocking up for the apocalypse? This is the place to go.


Puny little guy on the bus today with a tattoo saying: ‘Every dog will have its day’ written over his forearm. It was obviously working nicely for him loaded down with shopping and a hatchet faced missus berating him.



A lot of the site I work on is empty as befits NHS hospitals these days and I like nothing better than a snoop around the empty buildings. Problem was when I opened a door  and the whole floor’s alarm system went off.

I ran for the hills like the coward I am passing some cheesed off looking security guard demanding to know if I’d seen anyone lurking around. 

 ”No, but I’ll keep an eye open,” I said with the sweat of guilt on my forehead.


Dagenham in east London takes some beating for urban despair. It has more shaved heads, tattoos and no necks than the rest of the country put togther.

You can’t tell the dogs from the owners, its parks are featureless municipal expanses of grass with no trees and cavern-like pubs designed for mass brawling and chair throwing. It’s one of those ‘what the fuck are you looking at’ places. The attached photo is one of its more picturesque sights.

A living embodiment of Mordor on earth. I’m never coming back here again. Ever.




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