From High To Low And Back Again

I make no secret of the fact that I suffer from depression. I went through an incredibly bad spell several years ago, so bad in fact that it was only the love and support of two great friends that kept me going. Since then I've had another couple of really bad episodes, where I made life a living hell for everyone here, not that I meant to or wanted to, but I couldn't see how ill I was. Just lately I've been aware that I really am going through a bad episode again, but I figure that because I recognise what's going on I can more or less cope with it most of the time. We won't go into those times when I can't.

Small wonder that my emotions sometimes feel like they're on a rollercoaster ride - one minute up, the next minute down. Leaping from euphoria to despair in the space of a minute is not uncommon!

Today I've been on a high ... despite letting certain situations get to me this week, I decided today that really I don't give a sod. So, two fingers up to anyone out there who is intent on pissing me off.

It's this dabbling in depression that makes me do and think weird things. Mum told me tonight that she has discovered that my great-great-grandparents were living in Bartholomew Close EC1 in the 1861 Census. Bartholomew Close comes off the grounds of Barts Hospital in London, where I worked for a couple of years before I moved to Birmingham. In fact (although it was a really long time ago) I have a fair idea that I would have walked up it many a time while I was there. Okay, so my first thought was that all that time I could've been walking along a road where my ancestors had been ... but then came thought number 2. Bartholomew Close is just a stone's throw from the main Post Office in London, which is where Uncle Len worked.

Uncle Len (seen here on his wedding day) wasn't actually my Uncle. He was my Grandma's cousin, so that makes him a third cousin to me I suppose. I met him for the first time when I was 16, unfortunately at Grandma's funeral in February 1984. We very quickly developed a fabulous friendship - he was a marvellous man, and I loved to hear his stories and spend time with him.

Anyway, I digress. Uncle Len spent all of his working life at the Post Office at Mount Pleasant. Even after his retirement he'd go back to visit regularly and have a wander through the grounds at Barts on his way to his 'old boy lunches'. He was also a great devotee of the family history and did extensive research into past generations of our family. Mum remarked tonight how the internet has opened up genealogy to everyone and how very easy it is to find information.

Here's the stupid bit. Uncle Len died in April or May 2000 (I don't know exactly when, because his daughter-in-law 'claimed' that he didn't have mine or Mum's addresses or telephone numbers in his address book - despite the fact that he used to ring Mum every few weeks or so. Despite working literally yards away from where his grandparents had lived, I am convinced that he never ever knew how close he was. Stupid? I said to Mum 'I want to ring him up and tell him'. Yes indeedy. Totally lost the plot there I think. However, it's true that I still miss him very much, and I wish I could give him a call and tell him about Bartholomew Close.

So, that was the low and left me close to tears. Two minutes later I was screaming with laughter at an incredibly filthy joke that Mum told me - I will save it for another day, though, cos it's very late and I need to be up early tomorrow.