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Helen died at home in December 2011. It seems that her reserves of hope had run dry. I dearly wish that Helen was still with us but know that she has now found some kind of peace. Helen had read and approved the Foreword which follows. Indeed, she had sent the entire manuscript to her publisher and was really pleased that it had been accepted for publication. I suppose that I could have gone through this Foreword, changing 'is' to 'was' but I like to think that Helen still 'is'. So, this is for you, Helen. Cheers, my dear. I've known Helen longer than pretty much anyone else. I knew Helen before she was mad - or at least before she let people know she was mad. I knew Helen before all those professionals (caring and uncaring) whose crazy-paving she's crossed. Anyway, the point is that I know Helen pretty well because she's an old mate of mine. And yet I've learnt much more about her from these poems. Helen's first book was called 'With Anger Comes Hope' but I think this collection actually conveys that anger even more effectively. Here, she is externalising her anger, voicing it, almost naming names. Screaming at the real sinners (they know who they are); swearing at the insecurities and struggles they left her with; sharing something of the fucking awful nightmares that they caused. As you may be able to tell, it makes me pretty angry too, on the quiet.

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