Being at The Priory means I have less opportunity to socialise (not that I did much before) because I have to rely on the Chief Psychiatrist for a lift home.

It’s only fair that I keep him informed of any plans that I have; last minute arrangements tend to throw his whole world into disarray.

‘I’ve been invited to a Chamber’s party tomorrow night……..’ I tried to say as nonchalantly as possible in the car on the way to work.

Silence.

‘Yes, it should be quite a good do. It’s a James Bond theme apparently….,’ I continued, trying to generate a bit of interest and, ultimately, determine whether there was a lift home on the cards.

Silence again. I didn’t want to ask outright as it didn’t seem polite so I left it there and didn’t mention it anymore.

At work, I got a couple of calls asking if I was going.

‘It’s a bit late notice,’ I said. ‘It’d be difficult getting home.’

‘Don’t be silly, you can kip at mine!’ came the immediate reply. But I knew what that meant. A long train journey or cab ride to an unfamiliar destination whilst completely off my trolley and then trying to get to The Priory on Saturday.

Which would mean asking for a lift from the Chief Psychiatrist.

‘Thanks for the offer but I think I’ll take a raincheck. I’ll come to the next one though,’ I said, trying not to sound forlorn.

Next morning, the Chief Psychiatrist dropped me at the station as usual.

‘What time do you want picking up tonight?’ he asked, as I was getting out of the car.

‘Eh?’ I responded.

‘Aren’t you going out?’ he said.

‘Yes…but….I thought….’ I hesitated.

‘Well, you only have to ask me if you ever want picking up anywhere’