A Confession for the New Year

To steal a favourite quote "sometimes you eat the bear, and sometimes, well, he eats you."

Earlier in the year I had a brief episode, flirtation, whatever you’d call it with General Anxiety Disorder. Working in a sales environment that you don't believe you're suited to had taken its toll. A panic attack in the park at 6:30am whilst walking the dog and thinking about the working week pretty much signaled the death knell for my sales career.

Don’t get me wrong this had been on the cards from day one the only surprise to me and was that it had taken 5 years for it to go completely tits up.

At that time I decided against any medication, I thought pills were a step too far for me. I registered with the Primary Care Mental Health Trust and pretty quickly had a telephone assessment. You have to fill out a questionnaire about how you’ve felt over the past 2 weeks. It’s multiple choices and designed to categorise you – Depression, Anxiety, Phobia and how these are impacting on your life.

I fell into the general anxiety category and was offered Cognitive Behavioral Therapy. I was to be reprogrammed, well when they had an appointment that was. In the mean time I was to stay away from the medicine cabinet and sharp objects.

If I’m being truthful the CBT was a waste of time for me, I knew the problem and by the time I’d had my first session I’d pretty much resolved to leave my job and start my own business.

Slightly knee jerk, masking deeper issues maybe? Hindsight is a fucking wonderful thing unfortunately foresight may have been more useful.

The rest of the year has been pretty well documented already in another blog.

Business due to open, Dad dies that week, fall apart for a bit, pick self up, open business, get Scarlet Fever, get laughed at for disease, reopen business.

From that point it’s a bit of a blur really, I can only liken it to sliding gradually into a pit that you can’t get out of and you don’t know why you’re in it in the first place.

I can look at the year and think yes that was mightily shit but other people have it tougher and don’t fall apart. 

Am I predisposed to mental illness? Was it an inevitable outcome?

I have no answers all I know is the so called Black Dog has bitten me.

http://www.upworthy.com/what-is-depression-let-this-animation-with-a-dog-shed-light-on-it

My slide was gradual initially but really gathered pace October onwards. 40 was looming over me, along with Christmas and the New Year. Being self-employed although really enjoyable brings its own stresses.

Ever since I quit my job there was always the nagging doubt that I’d let everybody down and that my decisions were all wrong. How could they be anything but wrong when you can't trust the brain that keeps you awake all night telling you that everything is shit and the next day something bad is going to happen. 

I call it my sense of impending doom – the worst superhero power ever. Spiderman gets ‘spidey-sense’ to warn him of the danger he’s about to face. I get a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach that keeps me awake.

As I slid down I found myself withdrawing, everything was an effort, I had no motivation or inclination to do anything. The smallest things became huge. The thought of having to go to the supermarket before work would send me into apoplexy. For fucks sake it was only the supermarket and it didn’t matter what time I got to work. Yes my boss is a major tool but I can deal with him.

Deep down I knew what was wrong I just wouldn’t or couldn't admit it. 

I continued not to sleep, I drank more and as my wife put it 'found no joy' in anything. No matter how ‘good’ the day had been the inevitable doom feelings would appear, just like Groundhog Day without Bill Murray and the cute furry animal.

Now don't get me wrong I’ve always liked to think of myself as miserable; Woody Allen and Larry David are my heroes or anti heroes as it were. I can relate to their neurosis and grumpiness, I actively embraced them. I've never done cheery and don't really understand those that do, cheeriness is masking something if you ask me.

But as a close friend put it, 'if you’re not even enjoying being miserable anymore' then you know something’s wrong.

This was very true. So I made ‘that‘ doctors appointment.

And there I sat, one doctor’s appointment later, head against the steering wheel, tears streaming down my face and a prescription for Prozac in my hand.

40 years old and diagnosed with depression. 

To be honest I felt ashamed. In my head I was one of ‘those’ people, the pathetic type who couldn’t cope with everyday life. I hated myself, thoughts that I’d let everyone down were overwhelming.

I’d failed.

I'll be honest I didn’t know if I was going to take the Prozac, was it an easy fix? Almost a coward’s way out? Being reliant on Anti-Depressants really didn’t make me feel warm and fuzzy inside.

A lot of the issue was that I really didn’t know what to expect from the pills, the thought of waking one day with the urge to skip down the street humming a merry little ditty was enough to make me want to stay depressed. It would be blindingly bleeding obvious to anyone who had ever met me, even fleetingly, that I was on the happy pills. And I didn’t want that.

Throughout all of this I wasn’t looking for a magic wand to make everything better, I just wanted to feel like me again.

The advice sheet that comes with the Fluoxetine (Prozac) is extensive. It doesn’t make great reading either for those suffering from anxiety or depression. Mainly that it was likely to make you worse before better and if you were feeling suicidal it would heighten this.

As a side note I’m lucky that I’ve never had those feelings, yes I’ve wanted to do a Reggie Perrin and escape but never to harm myself.

So back to the extensive list of side effects, the ones that mainly caught my eye were:- Priapism - a prolonged and painful erection known to last for up to four hours 

Loss of libido 

Just a perfect fucking combo, all dressed up with nowhere to go.

Well that was something to look forward to.

I did take some advice, it was a big step but I spoke to my in-laws who are retired GPs and have been really supportive.

I had it in my head that they were of the generation to tell me to pull myself together and stop being so pathetic, after all it was what I was telling myself over and over again.

Anyway the long and short of it is that I did take the Prozac and I’m about 5 weeks in.

There have been side effects but thankfully nothing in the trouser department. My main one was yawning in the initial weeks I couldn’t stop yawning for neither love nor money.

Plus increased insomnia, I get 4 hours broken sleep occasionally but it's worked out really well what with The Ashes being in Australia I've been able to watch or listen to most of play (and I wonder why my mental health is shot!) The impending doom has waned a little but creeps up occasionally.

I haven’t skipped nor felt the urge to, which is good.

I can’t tell you if I feel better I really don’t know. I’m numb to things almost devoid of emotion, which I've been told is a result of the Prozac.

I did survive turning 40, Christmas and New Year – just. It wasn’t great but it’s done.

The thought of the year ahead scares me, I don’t subscribe to the idea of things can only get better. I’ll need a hell of a lot of convincing on that one.

I do think I’ve fucked things up to some degree but that’s ok isn’t it? If I feel I’ve hit the bottom of my pit then I can start to climb back out of it.

I'm not asking for sympathy, not even a kind word. I haven't written this because I'm proud, I'm not wearing mental illness as a badge of honour but I'm learning not to be ashamed of it either.

So that’s my 2013, you’ll forgive me if I don’t make any resolutions or plans. At the moment as cheesy and clichéd as it is I take it one day at a time.

Ax

Not Quite Four Weddings & A Funeral

So it’s been a while since I last rambled, moaned, whined, ranted or whatever you want to call it. Most of you were probably glad to see the back of the ‘here’s this week's blog – read it if you want’ tweets. Well sorry to disappoint.

I was the never the most prolific blogger, ten posts and bang I was gone. To be honest prolific has never been a word associated with me, thinking back there was that one season for Wigton Moor Under 9’s where I scored about 30 goals. But as they say even a blind squirrel finds a nut occasionally.

Why the hiatus then? Three months and no expletives fired in the direction of TV chefs or councils? It’s not like there hasn’t been plenty of ammunition. Listening to my favourite baking lothario make yummy noises in the direction of a dough-eyed philosophy student can surely only be one more muffin tasting away from landing him in trouble of the Yewtree kind. (See what I did with dough, clever hey?!)

No not even that, which in the past would have given me weeks worth of material, could stir me from my inactivity.

Here goes then.

My last attempt at this blogging lark saw me waiting for the council to make a decision as to whether or not I deserved a place in their market. Well after about four months of little or no contact they finally told me I’d been successful. Not quite the 4-6 week timescale but then did we really believe local government would work to a deadline?

By this time I’d decided to look elsewhere for premises not actually thinking I’d get the place in the market.

The paperwork was signed and my tenure as premier pie maker in Leeds was to begin on 26^th July 2013. Here’s where things took a slight turn for the worse.

This next part of the story isn’t a 'woe is me' cry for attention nor is it some macabre marketing ploy.

Slight turn for the worse may be an understatement, as my Dad died on July 23^rd 2013.

There we have it 3 days before I was due to open the business and on Mrs.L and my 13^th Wedding Anniversary.

Not that these events have any bearing on anything, I mean stating the bleeding obvious but there’s really never a good time to lose a parent.

Though the timing of the wedding anniversary did lead me to wonder if it was the final comment on me marrying a non Jewish girl, I’m joking of course. My parents have always liked Mrs.L far more than they like their miserable grumpy son.

At the point of his death and until very recently everything pretty much stopped, for the first time in a very long time I ran out of words. Nothing seemed very funny anymore.

I don’t do emotion, I’m not very good at it but this did kick me right in the nuts.

It led to a period of reflection and I guess made me question my own mortality.

Leading to two answers :-

Firstly I am getting old, something which has been reiterated to me today when my barber suggested he ‘tidy up’ my eyebrows, a service I thought reserved for the more senior patrons.

Secondly I don’t believe in God, not that I’m getting into this one it’s a personal (non) belief and I don’t hold anything against anyone that does. That’s not strictly true but calling all believers fools seems a bit harsh and I wouldn’t want to offend. I would but won’t.

I did find that it’s probably harder not to believe than it is to believe especially at a time like that.

As I said this isn’t a "My Dad Died So Buy A Pie" marketing ploy, no that comes later.

A month later I managed to open. 

Feedback has been good, if you discount the guy who tweeted to say his pie contained dog excrement and onion. I resisted the urge to say it was the special of the week. I try to keep a modicum of professionalism on my business twitter feed.

Things were going well until the Scarlet Fever hit, sounds like something out of a 19^th Century novel doesn’t it? Sadly not. I actually managed to contract Scarlet Fever, fuck knows how or where from. Head to toe in a rash and laid up with a course of Penicillin for 10 days. I felt sorry for myself, while many people asked whether Rickets, TB or Small Pox would be next?

So there you have it the story of my blogging absence, apologies that this isn’t funny, although many may argue that there’s no change there then.

I’m back open now, the adage what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger seems to hold some truth. Death and disease haven’t stopped me and fingers crossed there won’t be any famine.

Here comes the gratuitous plug in the form of our catchphrase, “Eat Pie So My Kids Don’t Have To!” The poor buggers get the leftovers each week it’s got to the stage where they’d rather go hungry than see another Chicken, Ham & Leek.

A recipe for this blog has been a tough call, should it be pie related or something for my old man? Obviously the latter won. (Pie related doesn’t sound quite right, what could possibly be pie related apart from pie? – good to see I still know how to waffle.)

In fact bollocks to it, there’s no recipe this week. 

Go and buy Fish and Chips from your favourite Chippy, cover them in salt, vinegar and ketchup. Serve with white bread and butter and drink a cup of tea. Afterwards go and smoke a cigarette. 

It’s what my dad would have done and it never did him any harm. Oh, on second thoughts, don’t smoke and eat fish and chips in moderation.

A

x

Me & Dad the late 70's

Pie Dreams & Cake

Lemon Butter Cake

Well you could say it’s been an odd couple of weeks but odd doesn’t really do it justice.

No I haven’t encountered extra large babies again leaving me speechless or attended parties at soft play centres which would no doubt have had me turning the air blue.

N’s School Sports day did provide some light relief. It’s a small village school and parents are encouraged to attend and give moral support.

N did well managing to finish in the top 3 in all events. This may have been down in no small part to the fact that there are only 3 girls in her class but who am I to piss on anyone’s bonfire? Don’t answer that.

She did however win the egg and spoon race, so all the hours of training we’d put in weren’t in vain.

In her age race my younger daughter M sprinted to a 30 yard victory over the other nursery children, she’s pretty much a year older and double the size of the rest and as she went on the G of Go the others stood on the start line either crying or filling their nappies.

I looked on proudly, trying not to be one of ‘those’ dads who takes the sporting endeavour of their child a little too seriously, I failed. Apparently booing the other kids and then unfurling the union flag and doing a lap of honour around the cricket pitch with your 4 year old in celebration isn’t the done thing, who knew?

Unfortunately I was cajoled into taking part in the Dad’s race and as I took my place alongside the others, all young skinny bastards, I heard the little voice saying – Don’t fuck up, don’t embarrass your daughters, don’t pull a hamstring, don’t slip another disc. Ok I may be a hypochondriac but it comes with my heritage.

Needless to say riddled with these self-doubts I didn’t win although I did avoid the ignominy of last place beating someone’s grandad. I think a ‘short head’ is the sporting phrase used to describe my margin of ‘victory’ over him. In your face old man!

No my odd couple of weeks actually involves something a little more important.

I’ve resigned from work and am now officially jobless.

Please don’t worry this isn’t some thinly veiled cry for help or a begging blog for you to send money so the family Vino don’t go hungry. It’s safe to read on.

Do people really believe and respond to those emails you receive? You know the ones informing you of inherited cash or asking for help and that the person will pay you back as soon as they’re back on their feet? One hit my inbox a few months ago telling me I’d been left £120k to help me continue my wonderful Evangelical Christian work. I mean I may be a lot of things but a preacher of the good book definitely isn’t one of them.

That said I am quite happy to attach my bank details to the bottom of this blog and if you feel that you’d like to spare a few quid I’m not too proud to accept.

No this was an actual conscious decision to leave a steady job with a good income but that said, a job that left me thoroughly miserable and if I’m being honest it would probably have been easier to live with Saddam in his bunker than me for the past few months.

So on a level of keeping my sanity it was an easy decision to make however on the level of not knowing if I’m going to have to sell the girls to Madonna to pay the mortgage leaves me a little petrified if the truth be told. The main problem with this is I’m not sure the girls are ethnic enough for Madge.

I haven’t quit without a plan for the future. That would be completely bat shit crazy.

No…

I have a dream. Now I’d like to say this is as grand as Martin Luther King Jnr’s dream of a racial equality for all. It’s not.

No mine is the lesser known I have a dream speech, given to various friends and relatives over the last few months, one where I tell people my dream of making Pies and Cakes for a living.

I’d also like to say it was initially as well received as MLK’s speech. It wasn’t.

I am however happy to report that Mrs. Vino is fully behind the venture, it was hard for her to see the job I was doing making me ill. Though I think really she likes the idea of being married to Little Ribston’s very own Alan Sugar, either that or she really loves to eat pie and a lot of it.

So the last few weeks have seen product development in full swing. Pies and cakes are being baked on a daily basis and waistlines are expanding. I’ve also been distributing them to anyone with a mouth that wants it filling for free and funnily enough there are plenty of those around.

I should be able to give you further information and news once the Council fulfills its commitment to process my food application in the timeframe they set. Although if having a very close friend working for the Council is anything to go by I’m not filled with confidence that this will happen and I’m not holding my breath. Not that I’m bashing the Council in any way I’m sure they’re very productive on the days that they do some work.

The sign that will hopefully one day hang over the door

In honour of my prospective venture here’s a lemon butter cake recipe that may adorn my menu in the near future.

It’s from Dan Lepard, yes I know I go on about him a little too much which obviously has nothing to do with him responding to me on twitter but trust me his recipes are really very good.

Lemon Butter Cake

Ingredients

2 Medium Eggs – Separated

150g Caster Sugar

100g Unsalted Butter – Melted

125g Condensed Milk

100ml Lemon Juice

Grated Zest of 2 Large Lemons

275g Plain Flour

2 Tsp Baking Powder

Icing

Grated Zest of 1 Large Lemon

100g Icing Sugar

25ml Lemon Juice

Method

Set the oven to 180c

Line a Loaf tin – preferably 19cm long, I used what I had and it was perfectly fine.

Beat the separated egg whites with an electric mixter until they’re frothy and then gradually add 25g of Caster Sugar and whisk to a soft meringue consistency.

In a different bowl beat the egg yolks, remaining caster sugar, melted butter, condensed milk, lemon zest and juice.

I didn’t grate the zest if I’m honest I just I zester and had short strips of the zest – it made no difference.

Sift the flour and baking powder into the mixture and beat until smooth.

Fold the egg whites in to this carefully and quickly as not to lose the air from the mixture.

Spoon into your tin then smooth the mixture out.

Bake for 40 – 50 minutes or until a skewer comes out with only a few crumbs. Mine took just under 40 minutes but then again my oven enjoys cremating things.

Let your cake cool and then ice it.

To make the icing beat the zest, icing sugar and lemon juice in a bowl until smooth and cover the top of the cake. If you don’t let it cool the icing becomes runnier and will come down the sides of the cake as well. I know this from experience.

Enjoy

Ax

Follow me on twitter @Vino_73

The Great Leeds Bake Off

This Saturday saw the Family Vino attend the inaugural Great Leeds Bake off to celebrate the Leeds Loves Food festival. Belts were loosened in anticipation and daughter M was ready to run a critical eye and mouth over the entries. Mary Berry has nothing on my 4 year old who will readily critique my efforts, happily telling me they’re too dry or tasteless – of course having already consumed 3 pieces.

The preview said to join us at The Arch Cafe for an afternoon of cake delights, to enjoy eating competition cakes and drinking lots of Yorkshire Tea – two slices or ten slices, eat as much as you like!

I viewed this more as a challenge than a tagline so skipped breakfast and lunch in readiness. In the interests of research I intended to sample as many entries as possible; it wasn’t just gluttony, though the fact I wore elasticated trousers may say differently.

Now I have to confess I didn’t enter, this may come as surprise to those who follow me on Twitter and Instagram and are bored senseless with my seemingly endless cake tweets and photos.

I’d like to be able to give a grand excuse as to my baking absence but I can’t. Plain and simple I bottled it.

Anyone who has read my blog will know my feelings on cake competitions. According to the local W I I’m annually the second best baker in the village, I could say that doesn’t rancor with me but I’m not going to lie to you.

The Arch Cafe is in the Grade 2 listed Bradbury Building, adjacent to St. Johns Church. The building also encompasses the newly refurbished head office of Age UK Leeds who own the cafe, and all the profits go directly to support their work with older people.

The competition itself comprised of 3 categories: -

Leeds Loves Food

Vintage / Retro

International

The criteria for the competition was that the cakes would be judged primarily on taste and interpretation of the category rather than the aesthetics.

The judges were Clandestine Cake Club founder and cake recipe book author, Lynn Hill, and Masterchef Vivek Singh Kashiwale of the 1875 Restaurant in Menston.

The support shown was fantastic and the organisers wanted me to give special mention to the sponsors who donated fabulous prizes for the winners and for the raffle, namely Clandestine Cake Club, 1875 Restaurant, Hobbycraft, Greggs, Tate and Lyle, and Yorkshire Tea.

In total there were 36 cakes entered across the 3 categories, which I have to say was a great effort and made me feel less guilty for not entering myself.

The entrants were as wide ranging as had been hoped, from 5 year old children upwards. One entrant, Jon Clarke, was even accompanied by a BBC3 camera crew documenting his journey from working at a doughnut shop in the Metro Centre to becoming a baker. This will be broadcast later in the year.

True to their word and the brief the judges sampled each and every entry, revealing they had to taste some twice, just to make sure. I think the phrase Lynn used was sugar rush after judging had finished. There may have been more eye-catching cakes but the winners were indeed chosen for their taste.

Once the winners had been announced we got to dive in and dive we did – headlong into Chocolate, Coffee, Saffron, Raspberry, Beetroot, Carrot ….you name the cake and I’m pretty sure it was there. To be honest I lost count of the number we tried and think N and M would still be there, faces awash with buttercream, had we not dragged them away.

Most of all it was a fun event, with a great spirit of community, for a good cause raising in excess of £500 for Age UK Leeds. Who needs to climb Kilimanjaro to raise money for charity? I’d rather eat cake all day long. As Mrs. Vino commented, there are definitely worse ways to spend a Saturday afternoon.

So well done to all concerned and here’s to next years Great Leeds Bake Off, who knows I may even put my reputation on the line next time.

The Full piece with photos can be found here The Culture Vulture