Mental health alert!
Throughout my life I've had a continual struggle with a tendency to depression. Most of the time it's not severe, it just gives me a gloomy and pessimistic slant on reality. Sometimes it gets really bad and I spend some time living in a horrible version of reality where everyone is bad, everybody hates me and nothing good is ever going to happen. That's why I do my best to help others who struggle with depression, particularly by running "Hazel" the well being boat.
It's nearly 30 years since I was last drawn down into the maelstrom of a really bad depression. Partly that's because I can usually spot the signs now, I've learned to, and challenge the pessimistic and self destructive thoughts. Partly it's because I take a couple of St John's Wort tablets each day.
The post below was I think influenced by the fact that I had gone away for over a week and didn't take a supply of St John's Wort with me. I couldn't go home because my wife had caught Covid. I could have bought some more, but I thought I was OK. It sort of creeps up on you.
The post does reflect some of my genuine thoughts and feelings. I never feel at home in cities, I dislike the way that planners see canals as mere features rather than as water highways and I often feel like I'm on a different planet from most people. However, I'd normally express these things more positivel
I never feel at home in the centre of Manchester. "Forget me Not" and "Hazel" are tied opposite the old Dale St Basin, now a car park. The area is now renamed Piccadilly Basin. For some reason those in power like to rename things, like New Islington replacing good old Ancoats. We're tied next to the big black Dakota Hotel. A Darth Vader owned franchise I suspect.
Nothing here is cosy. It's all big and bold and impressive, and the people who constantly drift by also do their best to impress with their stylish clothes, tanned skins and estuary English accents. I feel very little connection with them.
I suppose that it's partly that they're mostly a lot younger than me. As the decades pass by you get less and less impressed by the superficial things like clothes or coolness. It's also that I'm a natural born Hobbit. I like cosy. A simple unpretentious life. I like natural things, woods, fields, water. Here everything is sharp edged. The only concession to nature here is one of those silly floating gardens that CaRT are so fond of.
Of course, in the olden days that I'm so fond of there would be little of nature. The basin would have been packed with flats loading and unloading supplies for the city. The air would have been rich with the sting of coal smoke. Horses would clatter to and fro hauling delivery carts or straining to get a heavy flat moving out of the lock. At least, though, the vessels and carts were made of wood, the buildings largely of stone and the people would have been down to Earth working people.
Our guests are young middle class people from the South. That's fine and they're nice, but I don't have any real point of contact with them, our environments are so different. One carfull was driven here from Brighton by somebody's dad. They're here for a festival.
The only people I feel a connection with are the guy who works in the hotel who came for a chat in his break, the two lads who were thinking about fishing asked asked me to take their picture, and the security man who is paid to patrol the area to discourage trouble.
It seems to me that the role of the canal here is nothing really to do with navigation. It's a sort of handy steampunk feature in the cityscape. We're temporarily enhancing it by bringing a pair of genuine historic boats into the scene for a few days.
Is it just me?
OK, so there's a few trees poking through the concrete. See what I mean about the Darth Vader franchise?
The would be anglers who wanted their photos taken.
