Fire Alarm Madness

………an air raid warning siren appeared to explode in my left eardrum. Retreating quickly to kitchen, I remembered that it was the fire alarm test morning, and that for fifteen minutes the alarm would be turned on and off by serious looking, blue-coated hospital engineers with red clip boards who were apparently unconcerned that the main display board had clearly shown ‘fault’ for six or seven weeks. They were also oblivious to the fact that some patients climbed the walls while this performance was going on, and that by the time they’d finally concluded that the alarm was working, most people on the unit were probably too deaf to hear it. It was a superb accompaniment to the workers’ drills and hammers, and my mind felt as though some fiendish oriental torturers had exposed my brain tissue and were now stretching my neurones on a rack. It could not possibly be any noisier, and yet this was supposedly a haven for mentally unwell people……www.windowsofmadness.co.uk

The Asylum Toilet Block

I told the unit manager that the drains were still smelly and he reminded me for the third or forth time that the system was far worse at his last unit. There, the plumbing had old, small bore pipes which were never intended to handle hospital waste, so the decision was made to pressurise the system with a pump. This was cheaper than laying new pipes, and should have propelled waste material through to the main sewer more efficiently. Instead, the pipes could not take the pressure and waste matter from one toilet area ‘backfired’ through adjacent pipes – blowing toilet seats off their hinges and pebble-dashing the inside of the entire block……windowsofmadness.co.uk

Managing Madness

Richard was a cubist painting on legs, dark-suited in all weathers, slicked back and moustachioed. Unlike his fellow male managers, who advertised their wild individual personalities with a coloured tie each, he preferred to cultivate a full set of John Bull mutton chops, leading to his affectionate nick name – merkins. He was quite personable off duty, but a notorious pigeon-brained bureaucrat on the unit, bobbing and weaving his way through the working day like an old sparring partner on autopilot, but never quite nimble enough to dodge the fatal uppercut. To everyone’s ill-concealed amusement, his habitual failsafe expression was always “don’t worry, I’ve got it in hand”.
It was an obvious Freudian confession…..www.windowsofmadness.co.uk

Madness and Medication

The medication round was reasonably uneventful, with only one stentorian refusal, five clumsily dropped tablets, two tablets spontaneously dissolved in a poorly dried medicine pot, one lady who specialised in ‘slow motion’ tablet taking (ten minutes), and a temporarily missing person. Drilling and hammering continued to reverberate around the unit, and I began to wonder whether the doctor would prescribe a painkiller for me, but instead the unit manager arrived and said:
“Everything going to plan, eh?”
“Yes”, I replied “but it’s the plan which seems to be the problem.”
“Don’t worry, we’ll get our reward in heaven”
“I won’t wait here for it then, Richard.”
“The patients always come up trumps, anyway”
“Trumps are usually only the start”….www.windowsofmadness.co.uk

The Ageing Rockers’ Special Executive

It was without doubt an absolutely stunning view. A full moon had appeared amongst a myriad of twinkling stars as if by magic, and the crowd roared. It was of course the day of the 24-hour televised ARSE concert and Woody (Rock God) Willie had just turned his back on the audience and dropped his kegs, to the smiling approval of his fossilised chums in the vast, smug band.
“Hello, is that the ARSE donation line?”
“Yes, it is. Please state your pledge.”
“I pledge never to watch this self-indulgent garbage ever again.”
“Pardon?”
“And, by the way, if Woody (Rock God) Willie doesn’t retire soon, he’ll be listed under palaeontology, not pop.”
“I’m afraid that’s an ageist comment sir, and I should warn you that this call is being recorded.”
“My objections are not in regard to his age directly, but rather his complete inability to sing in tune anymore”.
“I’m afraid that’s a slanderous comment sir and I should warn you that this call is being recorded. As a matter of fact, Mr. Willie could never sing in tune to start with.”
“Well…..he never could play a musical instrument that’s for sure, apart from that one time he stretched some chewing gum between his teeth and plucked it like a Jew’s harp.”
“I’m afraid that’s a racist remark sir, and I should warn you that this call is being recorded. Now, can I have your credit card number please?”
“Is there anything I can say which isn’t classed as discrimination and prejudice?” I asked.
“Providing you humbly accept the axiomatic de rigueur principle that all human beings are equally intelligent, equally talented, equally valuable, equally attractive and equally deserving – yes…… In fact, you’re allowed to talk endlessly about that.”
(pause)
“Sir?”
(silence)
www.windowsofmadness.co.uk

Working with Madness

Within a short time, the workmen had roped off the main staircase so they could make the banisters higher, closed the smokers’ lounge for redecoration, and locked up the male toilet for ‘extension work’. Half an hour later, one patient had hit another because he couldn’t get into his usual smoking area, one confused lady had become entangled in the ropes barring the staircase as she attempted to walk upstairs by the only route she could remember, and one man had used the carpenter’s tool bag as a lavatory because he couldn’t get into his usual toilet. This patient then underlined his point of view by going outside and bombarding the two scruffy white vans with flowerpots. Luckily, there were so many dents in the vans already that no litigation was likely, and the builders tolerantly shrugged it off. They were destined to get used to this reception anyway, and no doubt they were receiving double pay for the job. All the radios were turned up to combat the ambient row, and I could just make out someone saying:
“The body of a women who hanged herself in a Paris art gallery was mistaken for a modern sculpture for a two days”,,,,,,,www.windowsofmadness.co.uk

Escaping the Asylum

“Have you ever made a list of all those things you want to do before you die?” asked Sidney.
“No, not really. Have you?”
“I spend most of my spare time doing it actually.”
“Oh.”
“I’d like to swim with dolphins of course.”
“Of course.”
“And to go to Hollywood.”
“Naturally.”
“And to have an intimate dinner party with some witty TV celebrities.”
“Yes?”
“Well….that’s as far as I’ve got, Steve.”
“That’s it?”
“Er….yes. I think so.”
“You may as well die now then, Sid.”
“Ha ha ha ha!” we laughed.

Thoughtfully…….www.windowsofmadness.co.uk

The Mad Hatter’s Tea Party

When they went upstairs the others were already adding the morning harvest to a Waldorf salad. There were quite a few dubious specimens with blue tinges and strange shapes, but the majority had that familiar phallic profile, so they ate them and waited for take off.
After twenty minutes or so, the tingling started and everything seemed funny. Some people began to smell a lot and a twist of fear ran around the group, as they reassured themselves with grins and sniggers. Somebody began picking their nose and the disturbed nostril swelled like a crater, while others swung their cigarettes around to leave bright orange arcs hanging in the air. There was some broken wind from the salad, and it fell on them like giant fly spit.
They were painfully inarticulate, then silent, experiencing periodic waves of euphoria and nausea, as the outside world shrank to a vague penumbra, and the room drifted like a raft in the beyond. Pink Floyd played, and they rode the rhythms of breath and heartbeat, while the wallpaper illusions shimmered and changed. Distinctions between object and subject began to blur, and they felt the thrill of disembodiment, loosing the feeling in arms and legs, swimming in the air, entering the music, leaving egos behind. Fragmenting.
But all too soon their minds sprung back into place, alcohol and joints were passed around, conversation returned, and they stepped back from the edge; personalities restored to what they weren’t.
They looked through the window and saw the zebra crossing, rising to the centre of the road in a perfect half circle; like a hill…….www.windowsofmadness.co.uk

The Predictable World of Madness

Whenever the drains were disturbed by heavy rain, the wonderful scents of hydrogen sulphide and methane wafted lazily in through the windows, while the central heating would invariably provide staff with heat stroke in the summer and hypothermia in the winter. The leaking roof was guaranteed to set of the smoke alarms at the dead of night, and loose slates blew around like giant razor blades whenever the north wind howled. The patients regularly broke windows, pictures and toilet bowls, ripped bathroom fittings of the walls, kicked holes in plasterwork, and stubbed cigarettes out on the carpets as a matter of course. They also went through two specially treated lounge suites a year because the fabric was eaten away by urine; polluting the whole room like a child’s stink bomb. The bills were horrendous I’m sure, but we could only guess at them while the managers sat in Nirvana and poured taxpayers’ money into the bottomless pit…..www.windowsofmadness.co.uk

Smoking in the Asylum

The Smoking Room
For many years the smoking room could be immediately identified by its fire door, which was invariably wedged open with a soupspoon, or flattened against the wall by a convenient armchair. Now, a splendid extractor fan had been installed to provide ventilation and the fire door was generally shut (box ticked). However, because people forgot to turn the fan on, the room was almost always fog-bound on entry and sometimes residents could only be identified by the whites of their eyes.
After fifteen years of replacing burnt carpets, management had decided to tile the area and it now resembled a rather cold changing room at the public swimming baths. The chairs were scorched leatherette, with parallel brown lines running down the arms like notches on an outlaw’s cudgel. Cigarette ash covered the floors in drifts of grey snow, the walls were stained a bright nicotine-yellow, and the aluminium ashtrays remained pristine and empty. There was always a collection of seven or eight scummy half-empty cups on the floor – the arcane mysteries of washing-up continuing to baffle most residents.
This was the haunt of hard men, where solitary self-poisoning was occasionally augmented with sanguinary violence, as tab ends were rifled from buckled bins, and pecking orders ferociously restored. One window was nearly always boarded up, adding to the charm.
Just as a single, hard pea could always be found somewhere on the dining room floor, the smoking room would always yield a shard of broken glass to the assiduous cleaner, looking in a corner….www.windowsofmadness.co.uk