The shrink arrived at the house this morning. I was in great form and told Moonstone how well I'd been doing. Despite my good news, she asked all the usual boring questions at the pace of dripping treacle which seemed to last a century. I told her it was all good, I was happy, busy doing stuff, making sweet music and enjoying doing the radio stuff. How we'd been on holiday, how I was reading for the first time in ages. That I now listen to audio-books in bed so I'm not restless through the night. Despite all this, Dr Moonstone Woodstock sat smiling, pausing ages between questions. It was all I could do to contain myself, she was like in slow motion. She obviously asked about my drinking... and I obviously lied... "21-28 units per week". She asked how I thought my mood was, "fine" I said... "between 1 and 10?"... "right in the middle I replied". She thought I was "a bit on the edge" and asked about my usual warning signs of buying guitars, lack of sleep etc. I told her I was absolutely fine. "Well when do you want me to see you again? Six months? Or do you want me to discharge you?" she asked... Yowza!!!..."Discharge sounds good". "If you stay on the books you can contact the team directly for support, if I discharge you you will have to contact us via your GP". "Support?" I asked incredulously. "The only thing I've ever asked for is medication and you all invariably deny it. While you are more than happy to prescribe me drugs which make me grossly obese or give me diarrhoea or headaches, if I ask for anything that might actually make me feel a bit better you say I can't have it because it's addictive or not while I'm drinking or let's wait a while longer because you're stable at the moment or there's not much evidence for it helping". Subsequently I opt for discharge... then remember my pending DLA application and ask if maybe I should stay on until that's sorted out, "no, they don't ask me, they ask the GP about that"... zoiks, OK, bye! Moonstone then spoke to Mrs Mo, asked her if she thought I was high at the moment, Mrs Mo sided with me and said no it was just my normal exuberance although she did express some concern about my overactive imagination. Moonstone asked her if I should be discharged or reviewed in six months (can't a psychiatrist make a fucking decision based on her own observations...errr.... duh... it's not my job). Mrs Mo opted for the 6 month review and agreed to call the team should she be concerned in the interim. I just want my fucking benefits and be rid of the psychiatrist forever. Get outta town you muthas.
The shrink left and then Mrs Mo went to work. At lunchtime the letterbox clanked and there was a thud on the carpet. I danced along the hall and glanced down just in case a CD had arrived. No, no CD, just a pile of mail, mostly junk, election flyers, supermarket leaflets, white envelopes, all the usual trash. I was about to ignore it, I don't bother with mail nowadays. However, one brown envelope caught my eye, I stopped and looked down.... DA DA DAAAAAHHH.... four letters caught my eye... oh no.... "DVLA". I bent down, picked it up and did something I haven't done for ages... I opened the letter.
"Dear Insignificant Bastard
We have decided that your current driving licence will be withdrawn from 26 May 2010"
Absolutely no explanation why. Am I too mad to drive? Who the fuck knows. According the Norwegian bloke that sends these, "Mr Drivers Medical Group", I can apply for a temporary licence which will run for one year. However, they are not giving me this automatically. As well as filling in fucking forms, I have to go and have a photograph taken and have it signed by someone who isn't a relative. I hate all this shite. I don't want to do it but I know if I don't jump through their fucking hoops they will make it even harder for me to get my licence back in the future. I'm not sure what I'll do. Oh what the fuck, maybe I should follow Springsteen's superficial creed, who apparently thinks that life is just about Cars And Girls... well that is if you believe the crap that Prefab Sprout.