South London is one thing (see 18 January), but the land beyond the East End – which merges imperceptibly into deepest Essex – is another world entirely. The trains are a funny shape, you have to fight through swarms of commuters coming the other way to get to them, and they go from a part of Liverpool Street station that is kept away from public view, and go through bleak lands with the enormous construction works for the 2012 Olympics. And the signs said ‘Shenfield’ is at the end of the line – just what sort of name for a town is that? ...and where on God’s earth is it? It sounds like a cross between Sellafield (see yesterday) and Highfields Happy Hens (greencare).
Goodmayes is one of those hospitals like they don’t make them any more, in true Victorian county asylum style. The front entrance is straddled by two foundation stones – one saying that the building was started in 1898, and one celebrating the opening in 1903 – by the mayor of West Ham. Apparently, it will not make it far into its second century, as it is likely to be demolished for development in the next few years.
Perhaps I was unwittingly wise to have arrived on my Brompton – as the car park can hold unpleasant terrors for those who choose to drive there – particularly the owners of swanky cars, and other petrol heads and Jeremy Clarkson fans. Some while ago, a 'hospital guest', who was detained at the pleasure of the Mental Health Act Commissioners, decided to make some sort of protest against all the cars in the car park – and kicked all their doors in. He did it quite calmly and methodically, and then went back to his ward to sleep off all the exertion. The local police made an impressively spirited response – turning up in a fleet of five vans, each full of suitably qualified officers – to mount an exhaustive investigation. Numerous photos were taken, measurements made and people interviewed. Sadly though, it does not seem that anybody gleaned much idea of just what the protest was about. But we can’t expect police officers to be psychologists, can we?
We were warmly welcomed with tea and cinnamon cakes, and shown the colour coded highlights of the premises: a purple room for one of the project leaders, and a yellow room for the other. One of whom was interestingly described as being like ‘a satnav with the voice turned off’. The yellow room had a fish tank, excellent for mindfulness we were told, with three inhabitants: ‘brownie’, ‘cup cake’ and ‘éclair’. The previous occupiers of the tank had the interesting names of ‘fish’, ‘chips’, ‘salt’ and ‘vinegar’. It doesn’t take much imagination to think what might have happened to them – though you’d need a few loaves to feed the five thousand, if you’re starting with four goldfish.
It was too difficult to choose a single photo to portray what the service users were proud of, so they chose four: a kettle to represent the ‘help-yourself’ way the kitchen is run; an owl for wisdom, a soft animal toy for comfort in times of stress, and a remarkably effective cross-stitch of a horse (in black and red – significant colours) made by a member of the group.
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