My new supervisor is a Consummate Bitch and she disapproves of me.  Not professionally of course, just personally.  Supervisors of therapists are like Head Teachers.  You fell desperate to please them – bring all your juiciest cases to tempt them.  The more salacious the better.

The other counsellors in the group remind me of Show dogs at Crufts. All wagging tails and wet noses.  Admitting to terrible faults just to get a biscuit – in this case a bloody garibaldi.  I mean, seriously, what is the point of that sodding biscuit unless you want to gravely insult someone.

The reasons she loathes me is because I ‘challenged’ her.  Challenging your supervisor is like trying to get an equity card as an actor. You have to act to get one and have one to act.  Challenging is up there with the brave and the beautiful in counseling and yet you can be totally ostracised if you use this card unwisely.  (cough).

S was talking about a client with a borderline personality disorder.  Now these guys are tricky fuckers – not least because 80 percent of the population fit snugly into this category, including, I might add,  most of the people in this room.  But, because they have only vague symptoms.

You know, passive aggressive behaviours, tendency to blame others, lack of honesty, anti-social habits, verbal aggression, a heavy bent towards anger – I mean, shit, I could be describing half of the estate agents in London.  But S was saying that the stress was making her drink more.

I could see Consummate Bitch (CB) wriggling her chubby arse in exhilaration.

‘So you have a drinking problem?’

(nervous pause)

‘What? Well, no, I mean it’s a couple of glasses’.

‘A week, a day, per hour!’

‘In the evening, you know’.

‘No. I don’t’, announces CB, ‘I’m not an alcoholic.  I suggest you talk to your counsellor about this immediately.

‘Hold on’, I say.

(painful silence as CB turns her Gorgon gaze towards me)

‘ You have something to say?’ says CB, but it sounds much more Teutonic and Nazi-fied.

‘You haf zomezing to zay, schwein hund?’ (ok! I made the pig dog bit up)

‘I think you’re being rather unfair!’

(fierce beam of interrogation lamp shines in face – I blink twice)

CB softly ‘ you do?’

‘Well, what’s wrong with a couple of glasses of wine a night.  I mean dealing with nutters day in day out – Shit! I down a couple of bottles’!

(Weak giggle from me – terrible gasps from the rest of the Crufts)

End of session.

I have been forced to seek supervision elsewhere due to my apparent lack of self-awareness (I disagreed with her), my booze problem (probably right about that) and being a subversive influence on the others in my group (I brought the Daily Mail in ONCE! For fucks sake).  Luckily, private supervisors are much more broad minded and this one laughs at my jokes.  Result.

I was lucky not to be sent to a labour camp.

Back next week (hic)