PREAMBLE

For those not in the know Drogo is the Patron Saint of mental illness. And, inter alia, broken bones, cattle and unattractive people.So if you are ugly with a broken arm and mental illness then Drogo is your man.

I hold my hand up. I suffer from something which was once called mental illness but now is more often referred to as mental health problems.I have a diagnosis of bipolar (which was once known as Manic Depression) and get to take a fistful of tablets to keep the worst of it at bay.On the whole they work but sometimes I slip one way or another. Downwards is cheaper. Upwards and I develop a predilicition for spending money on things that I am certain I need and must have now.Unfortunately the email facilitates this. For a while I was addicted to ebay but have managed (more or less) to cure myself of that curse. Downwards and I tend to hermit myself.I fantasise about sitting in the cupboard under the stairs but there is too much junk in there to get in.

Once upon a time I was a solicitor but I became ill and was retired on the grounds of ill health. There is something quite demoralising about being retired in one’s mid-twenties.Although I have a sneaking suspicion that it might make for cheaper car insurance.Nowadays I do voluntary work at the local psychiatry unit. When I  started I was part of a team now I am the activity department. Sadly my talents for art and craft are minimal (my 3 sisters seeming to have inherited what skills there were.)My forte is driving patients to the post office to pick up their benefits. Oh, and dishing out cigarettes.