I once flew to South Africa in the grips of a psychosis. I was at home in Bath one night when the voices in my head had me believe that Paddy Ashdown was coming to put a gimp mask over my head and then blow it off and had me in a panic. It led to the vociferous outburst on the web that had others concerned for my safety when I declared I was being attacked via submarine on a South African coast about two days later, frogmen coming up the sands to infiltrate into the nightlife as drinkers, to come and kidnap me and rendition me to Guantanamo Bay.
On the way I had been shot down, or nearly, by a RAF jet flying the Union Jack that was dispatched to arrest my flight form the country and I have annotated this in a notebook that I kept with me over the following weeks as I was subjected to the unusual distinction of being the only white man on Ward E of the Elizabeth Donkin Hospital of Port Elizabeth, South Africa.
I was on the run, from what fancies I do not know but I would have killed to have got away had I not been called to the fore by asking a policeman to “fuck off!” to his face by saying “Amandla!” to him with closed fist. When he took me down to the policestation he said to me:
“You wouldn’t like it in a South Africa prison”
but then he found me drugs, my prescription for the medicine Aripiprizole, an anti-psychotic so called, and so he sent me off to a hospital in Uniondale where I was initially assessed before being sent off to Elizabeth Donkin, where I soon made friends in Ward E.
Eventually after five weeks on Ward F I was released to the friendly custody of my friend RB who had flow up from Cape Town to collect me from the airport which was nearby and still is. The flightpath of the jets comes right over the roofs of the hospital. It was on condition that I get back in touch before I left the country so they could accompany me back to the UK but I avoided that by booking a ticket straight away to London using Air Emirates instead of my SAA ticket.