He said, yes! Yes! Yes!
This is my 16th day sober and my first out of hospial... News from the detox ward and beyond will soon follow.
You'se all me best mates you is...
CD.
On a typically tedious type-setting note - Drunk in Cardiff (the blog currently known as Sober in Cardiff) uses Trebuchet because I think it's a medieval siege weapon; why is a font named after a medieval siege weapon? Answers on a comment please. . .
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Friday, March 6, 2009
Alive and unwell and drunk in Cardiff
When was the crash? Not so long ago now and I'm still in it - the binge, the out of control slide into misery and liquid lunches (they're for lightweights, liquid breakfasts, now we're talking) mid-morning crises and unconsciousness rather than sleep.
I'm unemployed again. I quit my job. Or rather I just stopped going. All because I was left on my own and couldn't cope - Mrs CD went away for a couple of stretches and I went to the pub, fell apart, ripped my little wings off and slouched in a quiet corner slurping and staring at a nasty world.
I went to the doctor on Monday. I'd written down what I needed to say because I knew I wouldn't get through it without breaking down and I wanted desperately not to forget what I wanted to say - it wasn't much and it was all too predictable; back in the pattern. Doctor, I'm depressed, I think about taking my own life every day, I get as far as writing notes and include what music I'd like played at my funeral (a favourite pub conversation this, as it happens it's Tomorrow Never Knows by JohnPaulGeorgeandRingo, Unbearable by the Wonder Stuff and Hurt by Johnny Cash - toe tapping, head nodding church clearers all).
The upshot was a sick note for eight weeks and a prescription for more Trazadone - post-dated in order that I shouldn't hold enough supplies for a serious overdose attempt. I looked it up and there's no record of a successful suicide with Trazadone, just long, long sleep. I don't want to die, at the end of the day that's what it comes down to, why I don't take the pills - and if I really did there are methods far more proven to succeed, so I have to conclude that I don't want to die. There is a part of me that just wants to vanish, maybe end up in hospital and getting some proper help - in all my travails that's the only time I've seen a psychiatrist, after a suicide attempt that left me hospitalised for a week - I got about 15 minutes of his time and he told me to pull myself together while waving a pen with the name of the antidepressant I'd necked emblazoned across it.
It's all a struggle at the moment though. All I want to do is drink and sleep, get up and do it all again. I accept now that I can't drink safely, at least not for a good long time and I'm going to ask for a detox again, even if it's an inpatient one, which I've desperately tried to avoid up to now. I'm also committed to asking for antabuse, I need to stay sober.
Sadly, I've been happier of late - happier because in going daily to The O I've made a few friends - good people who I really enjoy talking to and I have to prepare to leave them all behind (I don't think I can do the sitting in the pub with a soft drink, it's too difficult, so I have to try and fill that hole with something else.) There are things on the horizon - the support group at the therapeutic day programme, maybe AA, there are other places too. I need to contact the Fitzhamon Centre too - they do detoxes I think and maybe I can get some more successful counselling there.
That was in my letter to the doctor too (he was marvellous - very understanding and kind) that I know when I'm sober I desperately miss what alcohol does for me which is that it is the ONLY thing I have ever found that makes me content or gives me any semblance of confidence or comfort in myself.
Mrs CD is here now and has a day off today. The worst thing I face is telling my parents what I've done and how I am - they care so much (too much really, but all with the right motives). I'll probably do it shamefacedly by email because I can't face speaking to them.
The fact that I'm writing this is a positive thing in itself though. Maybe I'm coming up from the blackness. I hope so because I can't stay down there for very much longer.
Lots of love.
CD.
I'm unemployed again. I quit my job. Or rather I just stopped going. All because I was left on my own and couldn't cope - Mrs CD went away for a couple of stretches and I went to the pub, fell apart, ripped my little wings off and slouched in a quiet corner slurping and staring at a nasty world.
I went to the doctor on Monday. I'd written down what I needed to say because I knew I wouldn't get through it without breaking down and I wanted desperately not to forget what I wanted to say - it wasn't much and it was all too predictable; back in the pattern. Doctor, I'm depressed, I think about taking my own life every day, I get as far as writing notes and include what music I'd like played at my funeral (a favourite pub conversation this, as it happens it's Tomorrow Never Knows by JohnPaulGeorgeandRingo, Unbearable by the Wonder Stuff and Hurt by Johnny Cash - toe tapping, head nodding church clearers all).
The upshot was a sick note for eight weeks and a prescription for more Trazadone - post-dated in order that I shouldn't hold enough supplies for a serious overdose attempt. I looked it up and there's no record of a successful suicide with Trazadone, just long, long sleep. I don't want to die, at the end of the day that's what it comes down to, why I don't take the pills - and if I really did there are methods far more proven to succeed, so I have to conclude that I don't want to die. There is a part of me that just wants to vanish, maybe end up in hospital and getting some proper help - in all my travails that's the only time I've seen a psychiatrist, after a suicide attempt that left me hospitalised for a week - I got about 15 minutes of his time and he told me to pull myself together while waving a pen with the name of the antidepressant I'd necked emblazoned across it.
It's all a struggle at the moment though. All I want to do is drink and sleep, get up and do it all again. I accept now that I can't drink safely, at least not for a good long time and I'm going to ask for a detox again, even if it's an inpatient one, which I've desperately tried to avoid up to now. I'm also committed to asking for antabuse, I need to stay sober.
Sadly, I've been happier of late - happier because in going daily to The O I've made a few friends - good people who I really enjoy talking to and I have to prepare to leave them all behind (I don't think I can do the sitting in the pub with a soft drink, it's too difficult, so I have to try and fill that hole with something else.) There are things on the horizon - the support group at the therapeutic day programme, maybe AA, there are other places too. I need to contact the Fitzhamon Centre too - they do detoxes I think and maybe I can get some more successful counselling there.
That was in my letter to the doctor too (he was marvellous - very understanding and kind) that I know when I'm sober I desperately miss what alcohol does for me which is that it is the ONLY thing I have ever found that makes me content or gives me any semblance of confidence or comfort in myself.
Mrs CD is here now and has a day off today. The worst thing I face is telling my parents what I've done and how I am - they care so much (too much really, but all with the right motives). I'll probably do it shamefacedly by email because I can't face speaking to them.
The fact that I'm writing this is a positive thing in itself though. Maybe I'm coming up from the blackness. I hope so because I can't stay down there for very much longer.
Lots of love.
CD.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Alive and well and drunk in Cardiff
Hello clouds, hello sky, to quote my old mentor Fotherington-Thomas (look it up, you might like it!).
Cardiff Drunk has not died, lost his computer, forgotten how to type or been indulging in testing the old hypothesis (a bollocks one in Cardiff Drunk's view) that that which does not kill me makes me stronger by hacking off body parts from the big toe up. Oh no.
But Cardiff Drunk has not been happy - and is not happy now that he appears to be typing about himself in the third person, that is the road to Michael Vaughan (sorry American readers, that's a cricket thing, look it up you won't understand it.)
Well, here I am then. What's up with you? I hope you're well and I'm about to shoot round all your blogs and say hello and leave comments and all that spaz. I must admit, I went into a bit of a down for a while there - the skin, the drink, the work, the dreaded depression. But, I seem to be coming out of it.
Again the catalysts are there and easy to see - Mrs CD going away for a week signalled a bit of a booze bonanza and my mood went right down, I turned in on myself and locked the doors and hid under the duvet waiting for the sky to fall down and listening to the background buzz of suicidal thoughts rise in intensity and volume. I still managed to make it into work though and to a doctor's appointment, I missed my voluntary work though, preferring a wasted afternoon in the pub, getting wasted.
Being alone on my birthday certainly played a part too, as did the visit of my parents the previous day. I feel such a let down to them, such a thrower-away of the opportunities they provided for me and such a liar - all the old conflict comes back and guilt starts to build a small but decently-sized bungalow in my psyche with planning permission for an extension at a future date.
Mrs CD's return has helped a great deal as has the unscheduled arrival of chilly early spring. I don't believe I suffer from Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD) but the weather of late did get me down. Cold and wet. I know anyone in the oft snowy wastes of North America will be sniggering at Britain's reaction to a few inches of the stuff, but for me it was the constantly grey skies over the dog shit streets. I'm told by locals that it almost never snows in Cardiff - a coastal city in a crater - but, boy can it rain. There were lights among the gloom though - the start of the Six Nations (again, apologies Americans, but we're onto rugby union now - the closest (particularly in the dissident but related League code) we in Britain have to your odd gridiron game) with Wales cruising to victory against a disgracefully poor Scottish side - drink was taken, but socially so, in a joyfully rocking O.
I even got asked my name by one of the bar-maids: "You tend to only know people by their drink love," she said, "What's your name?" So, I am no longer Stella SA Strongbow (do all those S's hide some hidden meaning?) I am now known by my given name.
The drinking ran away with itself a little and started to head for John O'Groats with a wild-eyed look in its eye and hotel reservations in Carlisle, and, I would probably have to say that today I am a dependent drinker - that is, I will feel physical withdrawal effects if I don't drink. Somehow, I don't mind though, because I won't drink tonight - I'm coming up again. Hoorah. I seem to have got on top of the eczema for the moment, I've completed the therapeutic day programme through the community addictions unit and the dreaded end of training and actual call taking looms ever closer but my confidence seems to have dusted itself off and looked at the rubber tree plant with disdain.
If you spent it, thank you for your time. I love you all, as I love all mankind - except the England rugby union team whose demise shall be mighty and terrible to behold come Saturday afternoon.
Iechyd da, bob Cymru!
CD
Cardiff Drunk has not died, lost his computer, forgotten how to type or been indulging in testing the old hypothesis (a bollocks one in Cardiff Drunk's view) that that which does not kill me makes me stronger by hacking off body parts from the big toe up. Oh no.
But Cardiff Drunk has not been happy - and is not happy now that he appears to be typing about himself in the third person, that is the road to Michael Vaughan (sorry American readers, that's a cricket thing, look it up you won't understand it.)
Well, here I am then. What's up with you? I hope you're well and I'm about to shoot round all your blogs and say hello and leave comments and all that spaz. I must admit, I went into a bit of a down for a while there - the skin, the drink, the work, the dreaded depression. But, I seem to be coming out of it.
Again the catalysts are there and easy to see - Mrs CD going away for a week signalled a bit of a booze bonanza and my mood went right down, I turned in on myself and locked the doors and hid under the duvet waiting for the sky to fall down and listening to the background buzz of suicidal thoughts rise in intensity and volume. I still managed to make it into work though and to a doctor's appointment, I missed my voluntary work though, preferring a wasted afternoon in the pub, getting wasted.
Being alone on my birthday certainly played a part too, as did the visit of my parents the previous day. I feel such a let down to them, such a thrower-away of the opportunities they provided for me and such a liar - all the old conflict comes back and guilt starts to build a small but decently-sized bungalow in my psyche with planning permission for an extension at a future date.
Mrs CD's return has helped a great deal as has the unscheduled arrival of chilly early spring. I don't believe I suffer from Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD) but the weather of late did get me down. Cold and wet. I know anyone in the oft snowy wastes of North America will be sniggering at Britain's reaction to a few inches of the stuff, but for me it was the constantly grey skies over the dog shit streets. I'm told by locals that it almost never snows in Cardiff - a coastal city in a crater - but, boy can it rain. There were lights among the gloom though - the start of the Six Nations (again, apologies Americans, but we're onto rugby union now - the closest (particularly in the dissident but related League code) we in Britain have to your odd gridiron game) with Wales cruising to victory against a disgracefully poor Scottish side - drink was taken, but socially so, in a joyfully rocking O.
I even got asked my name by one of the bar-maids: "You tend to only know people by their drink love," she said, "What's your name?" So, I am no longer Stella SA Strongbow (do all those S's hide some hidden meaning?) I am now known by my given name.
The drinking ran away with itself a little and started to head for John O'Groats with a wild-eyed look in its eye and hotel reservations in Carlisle, and, I would probably have to say that today I am a dependent drinker - that is, I will feel physical withdrawal effects if I don't drink. Somehow, I don't mind though, because I won't drink tonight - I'm coming up again. Hoorah. I seem to have got on top of the eczema for the moment, I've completed the therapeutic day programme through the community addictions unit and the dreaded end of training and actual call taking looms ever closer but my confidence seems to have dusted itself off and looked at the rubber tree plant with disdain.
If you spent it, thank you for your time. I love you all, as I love all mankind - except the England rugby union team whose demise shall be mighty and terrible to behold come Saturday afternoon.
Iechyd da, bob Cymru!
CD
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Better by bits
Long time no blog and all that. I've not been in the best of mental or physical health and as a consequence have had little to say for myself.
Things get a little better though - the plan to rename this blog Itching in Cardiff is receding as I get to some sort of grips with my eczema.
Nothing much else to say to be honest. I went off on one a little over the last week or so - drinking six days out of seven last week. This week has been better and I haven't had a drink since Sunday now. I won't drink today either as I have to get up early tomorrow to go to the doctors' then to work to make up what I missed in my illness then, hopefully, off to volunteer in the afternoon. It's my birthday and it's likely I will allow myself to celebrate this in the pub - even if I am celebrating on my lonesome, but I've met a couple of nice people in The O of late and will hope they are there to pass the time of day.
Next week I go back to the Therapeutic Day Programme for three days to complete the course.
Hopefully I'll be able to blog more after my blip too.
The main danger is that Mrs CD goes away today, working until Sunday, that's been the worst trigger for me to go off on a bender in the past and a successful few days will be remarkably good for me.
If you spent it thank you for your time.
CD
Things get a little better though - the plan to rename this blog Itching in Cardiff is receding as I get to some sort of grips with my eczema.
Nothing much else to say to be honest. I went off on one a little over the last week or so - drinking six days out of seven last week. This week has been better and I haven't had a drink since Sunday now. I won't drink today either as I have to get up early tomorrow to go to the doctors' then to work to make up what I missed in my illness then, hopefully, off to volunteer in the afternoon. It's my birthday and it's likely I will allow myself to celebrate this in the pub - even if I am celebrating on my lonesome, but I've met a couple of nice people in The O of late and will hope they are there to pass the time of day.
Next week I go back to the Therapeutic Day Programme for three days to complete the course.
Hopefully I'll be able to blog more after my blip too.
The main danger is that Mrs CD goes away today, working until Sunday, that's been the worst trigger for me to go off on a bender in the past and a successful few days will be remarkably good for me.
If you spent it thank you for your time.
CD
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Love the skin you're in - busy days - fear of despair and the crash
I haven't written for a while - and I'm hugely grateful to those readers who took the trouble to ask, "What's up Cardiff Drunk - normally you're a noisy bastard so why now you are so quiet?"
Things are a little tough in the world of Cardiff Drunk at the moment.
It started simply with doing more. I started on the day therapy programme (DTP) through the Community Addictions Unit (CAU) (we live in a world of acronyms and initials in recovery-land (RL)).
The programme was fine - and its contents confidential - but I managed to get there every day, I managed to speak a little in a group environment, which I find tough. But the chief fly in my ointment is the condition for which I've been prescribed many an ointment.
I don't know what this is any more but I know I want it to go away because it's destroying any improvements in my mood achieved through lower levels of drinking and having a routine of work and therapy. I stopped taking the Trazodone to try and see if that might be the trigger for the rashes and dryness and itchiness and pain. My hands improved slightly and I thought it was getting better, but I've gone back to it over the last two days just to get some undisturbed sleep.
Things got really bad. The eczema on my face - if eczema it is - became infected, redness became scab and self-consciousness spiralled into fear and self-loathing. I went to the doctor as an emergency and the infection has now pretty much cleared up. But the underlying malaise remains and remains a threat to my equanimity.
I'm back at the doctors' tomorrow morning when I'm going to make a fairly desperate plea for a solution. The dryness gets worse by the day and it seems to be spreading, today my thighs flared up with what looked like veins coming through the skin, the skin on my hands is thick and the blood seems to vanish from their surfaces. I can see some of this as an allergic reaction to washing powder - though I didn't change it around the time when the problem started - so today I've got a new brand: I'm terrified of the consequences this change might have. And, why is it on my face and on my hands if this is the case?
Perhaps I'm over-treating the problem and I'm taking a bath a day which is probably just drying things out even more - I'll have to try and get back to showering. I'm washing with aqueous cream and I'm worried this is clogging up my pores and making the redness worse, but I'm terrified of using shower gel or soap.
I'm close to despair to be honest. I've missed two days of work and when I've been there I've been so distracted that I'm not taking much in and I'm terrified I won't be able to cope when I go live on the call centre - it all feels too much. (Do you get the point that I'm terrified yet?) I'm going in today but dreading what I've missed and that I'll have to catch up, possibly at the expense of not completing the two week TDP.
The drinking has gone up too. Nearly disastrously this week with no work or TDP to fill my time. I've found myself drinking for five days solid to yesterday, and drinking too much - I'm determined now to have today, tomorrow and hopefully a couple of more days off it but I know now it'll be a physical struggle and suicide has come into my thoughts again.
Sorry to be so down - things probably aren't as bad as I imagine, I'm not in the disaster zone yet and I'm doing better at helping myself than I have done in the past.
I hope you're OK.
If you spent it, thank you for your time.
CD.
Things are a little tough in the world of Cardiff Drunk at the moment.
It started simply with doing more. I started on the day therapy programme (DTP) through the Community Addictions Unit (CAU) (we live in a world of acronyms and initials in recovery-land (RL)).
The programme was fine - and its contents confidential - but I managed to get there every day, I managed to speak a little in a group environment, which I find tough. But the chief fly in my ointment is the condition for which I've been prescribed many an ointment.
I don't know what this is any more but I know I want it to go away because it's destroying any improvements in my mood achieved through lower levels of drinking and having a routine of work and therapy. I stopped taking the Trazodone to try and see if that might be the trigger for the rashes and dryness and itchiness and pain. My hands improved slightly and I thought it was getting better, but I've gone back to it over the last two days just to get some undisturbed sleep.
Things got really bad. The eczema on my face - if eczema it is - became infected, redness became scab and self-consciousness spiralled into fear and self-loathing. I went to the doctor as an emergency and the infection has now pretty much cleared up. But the underlying malaise remains and remains a threat to my equanimity.
I'm back at the doctors' tomorrow morning when I'm going to make a fairly desperate plea for a solution. The dryness gets worse by the day and it seems to be spreading, today my thighs flared up with what looked like veins coming through the skin, the skin on my hands is thick and the blood seems to vanish from their surfaces. I can see some of this as an allergic reaction to washing powder - though I didn't change it around the time when the problem started - so today I've got a new brand: I'm terrified of the consequences this change might have. And, why is it on my face and on my hands if this is the case?
Perhaps I'm over-treating the problem and I'm taking a bath a day which is probably just drying things out even more - I'll have to try and get back to showering. I'm washing with aqueous cream and I'm worried this is clogging up my pores and making the redness worse, but I'm terrified of using shower gel or soap.
I'm close to despair to be honest. I've missed two days of work and when I've been there I've been so distracted that I'm not taking much in and I'm terrified I won't be able to cope when I go live on the call centre - it all feels too much. (Do you get the point that I'm terrified yet?) I'm going in today but dreading what I've missed and that I'll have to catch up, possibly at the expense of not completing the two week TDP.
The drinking has gone up too. Nearly disastrously this week with no work or TDP to fill my time. I've found myself drinking for five days solid to yesterday, and drinking too much - I'm determined now to have today, tomorrow and hopefully a couple of more days off it but I know now it'll be a physical struggle and suicide has come into my thoughts again.
Sorry to be so down - things probably aren't as bad as I imagine, I'm not in the disaster zone yet and I'm doing better at helping myself than I have done in the past.
I hope you're OK.
If you spent it, thank you for your time.
CD.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
The Daily Happy.
Today's Daily Happy takes us to Liverpool, home or several popular beat groups, including these silly old sausages, who for a long time seemed so predestined for third division status they were nicknamed the Doo Badleys...
Here though are the lovely Boo Radleys with Lazy Day...
Here though are the lovely Boo Radleys with Lazy Day...
My first ever meme.
I've never done a meme, chain letter or whatever, but unrepentant egoist that I am the Interview Me one promised much exiting navel gazing, so I emailed Anybeth of Swimming in Clear Water (link on the side bar, take a look it's a very good blog) to join in.
This is how it works. Anybeth has emailed me five questions, which I will answer, you, dear reader are then invited to email me - cardiffdrunk at gmail dot com and I will send you five questions. (I hope at least one of you does.)
Here goes.
1. What is your first memory as a child?
The first defined and definite memory I have is of being at Playgroup and terrified. I'd somehow lost my mother and was running through the building desperately searching for her in absolute fear - I found her in a walk in cupboard where I seem to remember her doing something with a tea urn.
2. If you were on death-row, what would be your last meal?
I'm sure I wouldn't be able to eat. I hate the death penalty and am very glad it is gone from this country. However, I guess the question amounts to what is your favourite food. I'm struggling actually to come up with a definitive, this is the one, meal combo. I would start with grilled fresh sardines I think; continue to a very good steak with superlative chips and move onto fresh fruit salad and then cheese - all washed down with a syrupy red wine.
3. What is your favorite place you have visited?
The place that really had the greatest effect on me was Paris but most specifically the Palace of Versailles. I like my history and was blown away by the enormity of the building and the use of architecture to say I AM THE ABSOLUTE MONARCH, GAZE UPON MY HUGE FACADE. As I keep mentioning, I'm only partly Welsh, but I do get a genuine feeling of heraith (a feeling of longing, most often used about the Welsh country by exiles) when I'm away from the mountains for too long - seeing Snowdonia in the distance hits me in the chest. Close to my childhood home is a place that is undoubtedly beautiful, but it is its associations and memories which make it particularly special to me - it's called May Hill and if you ever get the chance you should go there.
4. What is your favorite book? and why?
Yoiks. That's really tough. Just one - I could probably do a list of ten more easily, in fact I think there's a list on my profile. I've just had a look and it's a list of authors. The Long Goodbye would be up there for the beauty of the writing, He Died With His Eyes Open is my favourite Derek Raymond but has its fault. Foucault's Pendulum really had an effect on me and Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas and Slaughterhouse Five had a big impact on my formative years. But, pushed into a corner I'm going to have to go for American Tabloid by James Ellroy because it's a magnificent piece of story-telling which rattles along at an extraordinary pace, I also think it's Ellroy's best work in his stream of consciousness ratatatat style.
5. What do you like, and dislike, about where you live?
Well, what do I like. I like our house, which is small and perfectly formed but which we've done a pretty good job of turning into a comfortable and pleasant home. I like Cardiff's compactness - I can walk pretty much anywhere, I like a lot of the people, who seem open and friendly and I like some of the pubs. We're 20 minutes away from the seaside and not much further from beautiful countryside. Dislike? Some days the area in which we live can bring me down, the kids in hoodies hanging round drinking, the refugees from life arguing in pubs, the empty buildings, the brothel, the drug addicts, the kids next door screaming until one o'clock in the morning - they're about four and six years old. Most of all, I like living in Wales.
Thank you.
This is how it works. Anybeth has emailed me five questions, which I will answer, you, dear reader are then invited to email me - cardiffdrunk at gmail dot com and I will send you five questions. (I hope at least one of you does.)
Here goes.
1. What is your first memory as a child?
The first defined and definite memory I have is of being at Playgroup and terrified. I'd somehow lost my mother and was running through the building desperately searching for her in absolute fear - I found her in a walk in cupboard where I seem to remember her doing something with a tea urn.
2. If you were on death-row, what would be your last meal?
I'm sure I wouldn't be able to eat. I hate the death penalty and am very glad it is gone from this country. However, I guess the question amounts to what is your favourite food. I'm struggling actually to come up with a definitive, this is the one, meal combo. I would start with grilled fresh sardines I think; continue to a very good steak with superlative chips and move onto fresh fruit salad and then cheese - all washed down with a syrupy red wine.
3. What is your favorite place you have visited?
The place that really had the greatest effect on me was Paris but most specifically the Palace of Versailles. I like my history and was blown away by the enormity of the building and the use of architecture to say I AM THE ABSOLUTE MONARCH, GAZE UPON MY HUGE FACADE. As I keep mentioning, I'm only partly Welsh, but I do get a genuine feeling of heraith (a feeling of longing, most often used about the Welsh country by exiles) when I'm away from the mountains for too long - seeing Snowdonia in the distance hits me in the chest. Close to my childhood home is a place that is undoubtedly beautiful, but it is its associations and memories which make it particularly special to me - it's called May Hill and if you ever get the chance you should go there.
4. What is your favorite book? and why?
Yoiks. That's really tough. Just one - I could probably do a list of ten more easily, in fact I think there's a list on my profile. I've just had a look and it's a list of authors. The Long Goodbye would be up there for the beauty of the writing, He Died With His Eyes Open is my favourite Derek Raymond but has its fault. Foucault's Pendulum really had an effect on me and Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas and Slaughterhouse Five had a big impact on my formative years. But, pushed into a corner I'm going to have to go for American Tabloid by James Ellroy because it's a magnificent piece of story-telling which rattles along at an extraordinary pace, I also think it's Ellroy's best work in his stream of consciousness ratatatat style.
5. What do you like, and dislike, about where you live?
Well, what do I like. I like our house, which is small and perfectly formed but which we've done a pretty good job of turning into a comfortable and pleasant home. I like Cardiff's compactness - I can walk pretty much anywhere, I like a lot of the people, who seem open and friendly and I like some of the pubs. We're 20 minutes away from the seaside and not much further from beautiful countryside. Dislike? Some days the area in which we live can bring me down, the kids in hoodies hanging round drinking, the refugees from life arguing in pubs, the empty buildings, the brothel, the drug addicts, the kids next door screaming until one o'clock in the morning - they're about four and six years old. Most of all, I like living in Wales.
Thank you.
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