A series of blogs -

It's wonderful to be diagnosed at last.  It has been a long hard journey, in all of about 12 years in contact with medics, and getting weirder as it progressed - then an enormous sense of relief at the end.

Me always always different, often playing the clown in demi monde societies, drug times, hanging round in bars with the strangest of strangest people, flicker book walks on the wild side, finding myself in realms where "The League of Gentlemen" as good as counts as documentary.

Now alone much of the time, but lucky to have a few friends.  All my friends are odd if not downright clinical, or with clinical histories, the kind of people who tend to make spectrums of their own.

Sailor vie.  My career as a cowardly cut rate version of Hunter S Thompson (with safety catch very firmly on) is now over - my impulsivity isn't good for you at my age, and all the substances are gone, except for zimovane (rhymes with zimmer frame). 

The sax playing comes in at a couple of gigs a year.  There's nothing on the wild side about sax at my age, it's a driver of sobriety and discipline.

So, it's all quiet in my world at the moment behind the lace curtains, home made bread, cups of very strong coffee, slipping out quietly in my clothes from Greenwood's, feeling louche, don't know if it shows. Onward.