feast of sport

This is one of those summer weekends that brings out the sport-lover in me. True, Wimbledon has been and gone, but we have cricket, golf and cycling to gorge on at the moment, and all three seem to be bubbling up to an exciting crescendo over the next few days. I wouldn't call myself a sports fanatic as such - I'm certainly not obsessed with one particular pursuit (I've even committed the cardinal sin of changing my football allegiances, only to change them back again later on!). However, I love a good game of anything really, and when the world's best are doing battle at the highest level, the choice of 'game' ceases to matter to me - to a certain extent, anyway. What takes over at that level of competition is the sheer emotion - the passion and the glory; the pain and despair.

And so it is that some of the best cricketers, golfers and cyclists are currently conjoined in battle with their fiercest rivals. England are, much to my astonishment, in a hugely advantageous position going into tomorrow's fourth day of the 2nd Ashes Test at Lords. They've amassed an enormous lead of 521 runs with four second innings wickets still standing, and surely only they - or perhaps the English weather - could conspire to snatch failure out of the jaws of almost-certain success at this stage? The hero of the piece so far is captain Strauss, but - after the rollercoaster ride of four years ago, the country (well, the cricketing public at least) waits with bated breath.

At a wild and woolly Turnberry, meanwhile, a positively ancient sportsman, and true gentleman, in the form of Tom Watson, leads the field into tomorrow's final round of the Open Championship. With Tiger already chopped out by the cut, and a wealth of links experience to draw on, old TW may just be able to hold off the pack. he certainly thought so when he was asked that very question on BBC Radio on Friday evening: 'That's my intenttion', he stated simply.

And then down in la Belle France, the cyclists are trading blows in an epic battle of strength, stamina and willpower. The lack of drugs stories in this year's Tour has been wonderful to behold - for once, everyone can concentrate on the stars: the bikes, those nutters that ride them and, of course, the true heroine of the piece, France itself. She threw some testing terrain at them yesterday in the Vosges mountains of Alsace, but it was the cold and the rain that really did the psychological damage to many.

Today saw a tactical and political kerfuffle between the leading teams, the upshot of which means a mere eight seconds now separate the leading four riders in the Tour's overall classification (Nocentini and Hincapie are closely followed by the intense personal and intra-team rivalry of Contador versus the returning supremo, Lance Armstrong. Tomorrow sees the beginning of three tough days in the Alps - surely the stages, along with Thursday's individual time-trial in beautiful Annecy and the monstrous ascent of Mont Ventoux next Saturday, which will decide the overall winner. There is truly impressive side-show entertainment for British cycling fans, as Mark Cavendish (the 'Manx Missile') and Bradley Wiggins hold their own with the best, but it is the maillot jaune of the 'classement generale' which offers the ultimate prize, and the glory of an unchallenged finale along the Champs Elysees in Paris next Sunday.

All this, and hardly a mention of football - apart from the usual over-hyped transfer gluttony and hearsay - about which I give far less than a damn. After all, it's summer, so football's off the agenda, and almost off the telly.

appleicious

No, these are not my freshly manicured fingernails. But this electronic appliance, this gadget, if you will, is identical to my new phone - an iPhone, I believe they call it. Without belittling the strength of feeling I have for my wife, Rachel - nor, of course, my devotion to the dog and cat - this mobile hand-held device is, for a while at least, the new love of my life. It is perhaps another big reason (excuse?) why my writing has been curtailed over the last few weeks.

Not only is it sleek and beautiful, but it engages the senses of touch and sight in such a mesmeric - almost addictive - way. Combine that with the mind-boggling array of 'apps' ('Leeds chants' anyone, or Alan Partidge soundbites?) and you have a device which looks like everyone else's, but which feels - and this is the key - utterly, privately and pleasurably one's own.

The beauty of it for me, though, is in the connections it creates. It seems to bring my whole life together - past, present and a massively exciting future. I can pluck snippets of information out of the information super-highway as if I was casually spearing fish from a stream. I can email it, tweet it, post it, share it, download it, upload it, comment on it or ignore it. I can log it, store it, reply to it or trash it. I can use it, abuse it, copy it or paste it. I can skim it, dissect it, manipulate it or even create it. The possibilities are endless and, significantly for me, this mirrors what I feel about life at the moment.

Whether it is simply the process of resurfacing from my illness, the lessons I have learned about myself, or the messages I have been giving my subconscious mind through hypnosis, psychotherapy and EFT - or perhaps a combination of all three - I see the world very differently these days. it is no longer a scary place. It is a place full of wonder and possibilities. It is a place where both good and bad things happen, but where I can create my own meaning from everything that befalls me. My life is full of magic, opportunity and madness (in a good way), and I can't wait for the next instalment.

As you follow the flow of this particular post, you may get the impression that I am somehow suggesting that my iPhone might be responsible for this new-found positive outlook of mine, or even that Apple can bring happiness to the world. of course this would be ridiculous. But then, they're a very clever bunch of people, so who knows?

back to 'normal'

Goodness me - it's almost a month since my last post, and probably 6 weeks since the one before that. I guess it's some kind of blogger's block, but also a seemingly inevitable consequence of 'being busy'. However, I'm not fooling myself and realise I make my own choices these days - after all, what we do and don't do is simply a result of the priorities we attach to them. So maybe I just didn't really want to write for a while? It's certainly true that I didn't need to - not in the way I did when I was finding my path out of the abyss of depression, at any rate. But could it be that I need to write now, more than ever, precisely because I am getting back to 'normal'?

After all, what is 'normal' anyway, and isn't this a state I never wanted to get back to, given how dysfunctional the state I had thought to be normal had become? All this insight, this painful journey of realisation and self-awareness, was not accomplished so that I could merely return to how I was before. I have fought off the demons and the doomsayers in my head to reconnect with the raw feelings that are truly mine, so I can hardly disown them now - it would be like being hauled out of a deadly and foaming sea-swell, only to then shoot my rescuer (and then myself) in the head.

Yes, if I am to move forward (in the longer term) from this experience, then getting 'back to normal' is not enough. It is self-deception of the most dangerous kind. And yet... and yet it is so tempting. I feel so strong, so sharp, so ready-for-anything, so... happy! And when we're happy, naturally we want to stay happy, get more 'happy', even bathe and wallow in this new-found and long-lost happiness. In short, we have stared into the jaws of death, and rejoice to be alive once more, to have rediscovered our vitality.

And this vitality is not a trick. No, it is very real, and - in itself - can do us no harm . But, as with everything, it is what we do with it - what meaning we attach to it - that will determine whether it guides us to a healthy way of living or places us back on the helter-skelter to self-destruction. And the differences are subtle, the margins narrow. Staying on the right side of the line - the depressive's frontier between being kind to himself and piling pressure on himself - is no easy task. It's like having to keep just alongside a fault-line which lies below the earth's surface - impossible to define, uneven in form, and ready to open up and swallow you without warning or pity. We find things that work - maybe yoga, gardening, walking the dog or perhaps spending quiet time alone. But how easy it is for the self-punishing brain to turn these nurturing pleasures into painful obligations with which we can all too easily beat ourselves around the head? It's a funny old game, inhabiting an unquiet mind, and one must always be vigilant. Vigilant and accepting, relaxed and aware - and all at the same time!

So I'm glad to be 'back on the force', as the great Clouseau would say. I'm truly, genuinely glad to be back in a job I enjoy, and am equally genuinely grateful for the love and support I have received from those around me - both from those I know well, and from those who cannot - nor should not - hope to fully understand. The real difference this time around (and this is my one great hope for the future) is that I have gained a true sense of responsibility at long last.

That is to say: I realise that I - and only I - am responsible for the meaning I give to events in my life. I am therefore wholly responsible for how I feel, and if I accept this responsibility, then I will also accept my true feelings and work with them rather than feeling the need to cut them off or conceal them. This should make it easier for me to carry my true self (and especially my more vulnerable, younger, inner self) with me, rather than shutting him out. No excuses any more. No casting blame. No bemoaning my lot. The simple fact is that this is my life, and I am the only one who can live it.