Eurovision : You Decide

Last night, I travelled to capital city to go and watch the UK Eurovision Final. For the first time since 2010, the British public were invited to vote for who they wanted to represent the UK in Stockholm on May 14th. The night didn't get off to the best of starts as the compere asked the crowd who they wanted to represent ENGLAND at the contest.

Cue confused boos...

However, six acts had made it through to the final, one of whom was chosen by the UK branch of Eurovision, OGAE UK. With the songs revealed at the beginning of the week on BBC Radio 2, there had been much discussion over who's contribution was the best, but come the live show, people's predictions seemed a distance off.

My friend Chris & I soaking up the
Eurovision atmosphere!

This was my first Eurovision national final, the first since 2010, where Josh Dubovie was left to pretty much fend for himself after being hung out to dry in Norway.

The six acts, fairly unknown to most of the British public no doubt, were Dulcima, Matthew James, Bianca, Karl Lund, Darline and Joe & Jake.

Being live at the event was an odd yet extremely enjoyable experience. Being broadcast live on the BBC, the event was very much made for TV, and bearing in mind 99.9% of the votes would be coming from those watching at home, I suppose that made perfect sense. Watching on live from behind the camera, here are what I thought of the six acts:


1) Dulcima - When You Go

Before the show began, this was one of my favourite songs. Not many people were behind me on this one, but I felt it offered something different to the usual tacky Eurovision cliché. Just like the main event, it's never great to be first up, and unfortunately, the live offering wasn't as good as I was hoping for.

It had a different folk and country twang to it, but they were just too nervous and you could feel it. It was a shame, but it was just an act that never had enough support behind it since Ken Bruce introduced it to us on Monday morning.




2) Matthew James - A Better Man

40/1 outsider Matthew James, mostly known for his part in the boy band 'Bad Boys Inc' in the early 1990's, showed us why he was an outsider with this. I have to be honest, the song was awful and I didn't particularly like his persona that much. He just seemed to get on my nerves, which may sound like an incredibly harsh opinion. But he did.

I have to be honest, I only saw the first half of his performance before I gave up and used the opportunity to go for a much-needed pee. Chris liked this song, but it wasn't for me and I don't think it was for a lot of people in the audience at the o2 Forum.


3) Darline - Until Tomorrow


So, after two very average offerings, I was really hoping this one from Darline would kick start the proceedings. It was the pre-show favourite and the audio we'd heard was pretty good. It's a decent song, even if the beginning immediately reminded me of The Common Linnets from last year.

I've just watched the performance on catch-up TV and, despite enjoying it in the arena, it really didn't sound good on the small screen. Again, you could notice the nervousness of the pair and the vocals didn't sound right. A shame, because I like the song and it sounded good live. Obviously, the voting public heard differently, and you can't disagree.



4. Karl William Lund - Miracle

The song chosen by OGAE, the UK branch of Eurovision was this offering from Liverpool's Karl Lund. OGAE members were lauding this song as the best we've had since 1997. Sorry. But no.

This is going to sound horrible, but I think whoever chose Karl at the OGAE chose him because he's a hot ginger. I can't see how the song inspires anyone at all. It starts off okay and you wait for it to kick off and spring into life but it never does. Three minutes of pure expectation of an increase in tempo, but it never comes. In fairness to Karl, he seems like one of the nicest people on the planet and reading his words post-show, it was obvious he was grateful for the opportunity. Just a shame the song didn't match up.



5) Bianca - Shine a Little Light


This was my favourite along with Dulcima before the show, but unlike the first act, Bianca really did bring her A-game. She had a cracking voice and great stage presence, receiving the biggest cheers of the night in the arena, (apart from Mans Zelmerlow pre-show!) and indeed the most favourable comments from the judging panel.

I thought this was nailed-on to win, but it didn't. We don't know how close the voting was, but I picked up my phone at the venue and voted for her. While my comment to her on Twitter about how songs about shining lights have a good history, (yes she liked it!) it just wasn't to be for Bianca in 2016.


6) Joe and Jake - You're Not Alone - WINNERS

Just in case you forget who's who...

We had to wait until the very end to hear the winning act, and on reflection, I'm pleased they won. Despite being only 20 and 21 years of age, their experience singing on TV showed, (they were both acts on The Voice UK). They were middle-of-the-road in the pre-show odds, with a catchy pop song to show off, but they performed it ever so well. I immediately received messages from friends watching on TV that they were by far the best, so the result came as no surprise. The lads, though obviously delighted, didn't go overboard with their celebrations either, acknowledging they have a lot of work to do if they are going to trouble the leaders in Stockholm.

Not only does the song have to be good, the staging and performance needs to match it. As we saw in Vienna last year, Mans Zelmerlow's relationship with his little graphic men was a big, big plus point. Joe and Jake know they will have to pull something out of the bag if they are to have any chance in May, but I will be backing them all the way.

With tonight being 'Super Saturday', where 7 nations choose their acts for the main event, we are not long from knowing every song that will be represented in May. I for one, cannot wait!

My Days

I've read a lot of inspiring pieces today. And I've written similar things to this before, but it's something I want to talk about.

It was 16 when I first started to feel depressed. Beginning my A-Levels after a fairly successful exam period the Summer before felt like a huge step. Going to school in your own clothes felt almost adult-like, but the level of education went up a notch. With other distractions, like my sexuality and a modicum of jealousy about my sister's high-flying ways left me feeling second rate and useless. Not only was I stupid, I was abnormal.

I survived though. I had a couple of moments, like bursting into tears in the middle of an IT class, surrounded by my classmates, who looked on in horror and disbelief as I was dragged into Ms Samosa's office.

"Your Dad told me he would be proud of you even if you stacked shelves in Tesco", she said.

But I wasn't proud of me, and that hurt. A lot of the feelings around these down feelings are a haze. A collection of foggy memories, bound into one very long period of pain. Yet sometimes, that period of pain was replaced by absolute nothingness. I'll explain that later.

But at school, the fear of my gay ways and fear of underachieving led me to do just that. Underachieve. Predicted grades of straight B's turned into E's, not helped by complete lack of interest or motivation in the last six months of my A-Levels. I barely turned up to school at all, trapped inside the four walls of my bedroom, crying. Every now and then, Mum would rampage up the stairs, bursting into the room to shout at me for not getting out of bed. Of course, she only wanted me to do well and give myself a chance, but my head was so cloudy, I just could not see any sunshine. When the argument finished, I'd drag myself out of bed and wipe away the tears.

And repeat.

It all got worse when I left school. My first job ended in a tearful phone call to my boss one lunchtime, three months in, when I simply told him I would not be returning for the afternoon. I went to bed and cried, awaiting the fury of my parents upon their return. My second job, albeit lasting a year, was 'the night shift phase'. Working 10pm to 6am, going home and sleeping until 9pm, before going to work. My days off were nights watching YouTube videos, occasionally trekking to the 24-hour Tesco to buy junk food. And more tears.

After a year's worth of night shifts, I figured something had to change. I threw myself at a university application, being accepted on to a Sports Development course in Brighton. Yes, I chose Brighton simply for being Brighton. I didn't research it at all. I merely chose Brighton because I could be gay in Brighton.

I had a mental breakdown and lasted one week in my University experience before finding myself back in my own bed. Crying.

I didn't move. I'd sleep for 18 hours a day, desperately wanting to fall asleep so I could dream about anything. Anything apart from living. My dreams turned into reality and my reality became a genuine nightmare. More tears.

And then, a light. A life-changing opportunity manifested out of nowhere. Six months in Melbourne, Australia playing the sport I loved? 'Dreams do come true', I thought. So I went. Flights paid for, accommodation sorted. It was a free six-month holiday in the Australian sun. Finally, my break. What could be better?

At 3am in the Australian morning, I found myself at the airport, asking for a one-way ticket back to the UK. I had a mental breakdown and lasted one week before finding myself back in my own bed.

Crying.

Because that's what this illness is. It isn't cured by dreams coming true. It takes a finite understanding of your limitations and constant, conscious reviewing of situations. It's tiring to stay well.

This experience of mine is odd. Or maybe not. I only remember a select few memories of the dark days. Very, very specific memories. When I had moved out, by the age of 21, I had lost another job and began to barricade myself inside my new bedroom. Not only was this illness killing me, it was leading me to make horrendous decisions. I felt nothing. I stole money. I did drugs. I drank myself to oblivion. I simply did not care, because I felt nothing. I didn't even feel sad anymore. I just felt nothing. I turned to all of the "quick fixes" you hear of because I'd given up hope of feeling. The only time I felt any emotions AT ALL was when I was drunk, high or buzzed from stealing. As my counsellor later said... I'd pressed the 'Fuck It' button.

As I've said many times, I cannot explain how ashamed I am of those days.

I should be dead. I make no bones about it, I should be a dead man. I am only alive because of the quick thinking of the driver who swerved out of my way and the policeman who talked me down from the edge.

Earlier, I was reading a piece from a young man who had been raped at the age of 16. I read his words and I'm so incredibly proud of him for being able to tell his story, despite never meeting him and only chatting to him a few times. Everyone has their tales. For those of you who read the words above and nod along, feeling like this is you, just know that the days you're unfortunately experiencing now will make you a stronger, better person in the future.

I'm very thankful for the people who stood by me when they could very easily have walked away. Frustrated by my lack of fight. Disgusted by my drug-taking. Run out of patience with me. A whole host of reasons why they could have walked away. While some did walk away, the ones who stayed are more precious to me than ever.

I really struggled to get out of bed this morning. I really, really, really struggled. But I did it. I was marginally late for work, but I did it. Sometimes that's all you need to kick-start your life.

Just one plus.

What Is It Really Like to Stay in a Mental Hospital?

There are many stereotypes surrounding the concept of mental hospitals. As a teenager at school, I would hear people talking about people "going crazy" and ending up strapped to a straight jacket in Weller Wing. I admit, I was one of those people. Soon enough, I was the one "going crazy".

Professionally known as 'psychiatric wards', the purpose of each is as different as the next. Some offer the absolute basic needs, designed to keep you alive. Some offer more in the way of substantive and different treatments. As I say... Every unit is unique.

On the very final day of 2012, I was admitted to a psychiatric ward after being talked down off the top of a multi-storey car park. I had been suffering from depression for a few years beforehand, all escalating in that one night of horror. I don't remember much of that night in all honesty, but I spent three days in Weller Wing at Bedford Hospital.

Was I surrounded by screaming patients? No.
Were there people constantly trying to escape? No.
Were there people locked up against their will? No.

The majority of patients are there because they want or know they need to be there. Properly scrutinised to make sure their medication is taken at the right times, with the right dosage, matched by therapies provided by a wide range of professionals.

I can't sit here and tell you a lot about those three days. The whole situation was so extreme for me to take in, that I think I've locked the memories away in a box in my brain that is impenetrable. I was discharged from that ward, the very same ward I work on now, thinking that was as bad as it would ever get.

My real experience of a psychiatric unit came almost three years later, in September 2014. It all started on a Friday night, when I snapped and ran out in front of a car with a view of it hitting me. It was a suicide attempt, all in the heat of the despair I was feeling. When it didn't, I walked to the nearby train station but fell apart before I got there. This all sounds very morbid, but it is a reality for a lot of people out there. I ended up in A&E and transferred to the nearest psychiatric bed available. At The Priory Hospital in Barnet, North London. I spent ten days in that unit.

I was an informal patient, meaning that technically I could leave at any time. But I didn't want to. I knew I had to find out what was happening and I received some very brutal home truths inside those ten days. Inside that unit, there is no concept of life outside. Sure, we had TV's and newspapers, but a lot of everyday life revolved around schedules and limits. As an inpatient, you get very close to other inpatients, who feel as isolated as you do. I felt very isolated in Barnet. It was a fair distance from home, although my parents visited regularly. Inside those four walls, I spent a lot of time writing. Poems upon poems about my inner most feelings. I also played a lot of chess with an inpatient who had sporadic angry episodes. Days dragged to such a degree, that I spent a lot of time in my bedroom staring at the ceiling, thinking. I had a lot of time to think inside those ten days. In all honesty, that's what some people need. Time.

It was occasionally frustrating. A lot of the time I would think I shouldn't have been there. I thought the staff would drop everything whenever you needed a chat or some company, but they couldn't. At the time, I didn't know this. As I am now one of those members of staff, and I appreciate the volume of work that needs to be done outside of direct patient contact. It's annoying, but unfortunately necessary. As a patient, I noticed that some of my fellow patients were being ignored by staff. I felt like the staff didn't treat us properly. I now know differently. The treatment was all very slow, with actual progress taking days to materialise.

In essence, mental health hospitals are EXACTLY THE SAME as general hospitals.

...

Reading back on what I've read so far, I feel I haven't explained it very well. To be honest, that's what life in a psychiatric unit is like. Slow. Boring. But necessary. It gives you time to think, time to assess and time to reflect. Although for some, the reality is much worse, for me, it showed me that I needed to make changes to never end up in that situation again.

You don't want to end up in a psychiatric ward. Especially if your symptoms are extreme, you can end up being sectioned, which is a different kettle of fish that I have no experience of. The stereotypes of psychiatric units, like most other stereotypes, are very misinformed. Many people leave units with a care plan and a way forward, but just like anything else, some people cannot escape the grip of mental illness.

Today is World Mental Health Day. Time to show that mental illness is real and is out there. Time to show that mental illness deserves to be recognised as one of the most dangerous health risks of the modern generation.

And this is my story.