Beer fume worries

Letter arrives inviting me to to selection day (why don't they use email? A lot less expensive for a charity). Trouble is, I'm going to a wild party the night before. Will I be breathing beer all over the selecters? Oh dear...

Bed and bedability

Remarkable to get feedback and comments so quickly - how do people find this blog when there are so many millions out there? And comments into my email too - thank you people - you know who you are!

Been musing on how the Samaritans set-up works. Crucial to the whole idea is that you never work alone; there's always at least one other person on duty. At the initial meeting, I noticed a rather dinky little bedroom with two single beds side by side. These, said the Director, were for people working overnight shifts "but they're rarely used because we have so many calls coming in". How do you go to work the next day after being awake all night dealing with suicidal people? What if you have to chair a crucial meeting? Fly a plane? Teach a class?

One person - a woman of a certain age - asked a question. "The two people working an overnight shift... would they be of the same sex?"

"No. Could be the same or different."

"But... the beds... they're rather close together..."

The Director laughed. "We can rig up a blanket between them if you like. Last overnight I did, between calls, me and my male companion spent the night discussing masturbation..."

I get the feeling that the Samaritans aren't particularly uptight people.

Also that it would be a perfect opportunity for early-morning sexual hi-jinks. If, of course, you were feeling remotely horny after speaking with profoundly depressed and worried people for several hours.

Hunt the vegetable

I'm invited to the introductory meeting. It's night and quite hard to find the place. About 20 people there. Most ages and types - from students to little old ladies. Only one black person and no Asians at all. Why? Maybe the name Samaritans puts them off - sounds severely Christian, though in fact the organisation has no religious affiliation whatsoever.

The Branch Director is a woman of about 35 and dressed in a smart business suit. She explains what the Samaritans do and how they do it. It's the only voluntary organisation open all the time. Phone volunteers have to do three to four hours a week minimum, plus an 'overnight' every few weeks. Most do more. Plus there's all the fund raising, admin and so on. It's made clear that volunteering is a serious business. They don't take everyone who applies - you get in only after a gruelling interview. Then there's weeks of training in areas such as active listening (and, I suspect, to prepare volunteers for some of the truly awful things they're going to hear from callers). You don't go near a 'live' phone for six months.

It's interesting and often bizarre stuff. Over 6,000 suicides a year in the UK. Huge growth in numbers of people emailing problems - and they're trialling a texting service. (How will that work? "I h8 life n wnt to kll myslf"?). And - this had never occurred to me - they get a lot of sex calls. "The thing is, we never put the phone down on people," said the Director. "And there are a lot of woman volunteers. So it's a cheap way for people to get their kicks.

"I remember my first ever call as a Samaritan. I picked up the phone, hoping to help someone who was depressed. "Hello, Samaritans," I said. The man on the other end said, "Hello. Did you know I have a carrot up my arse?"

At the court of King Wimp

Samaritans are basically trained volunteers who provide emotional support to people who are feeling so hopeless, they're thinking about killing themselves. People get in touch by phone, 24 hours a day. There's a lot of emailing too, but you can contact them any way you like. It's completely confidential, non-judgemental, and they don't offer any advice.

I want to be on the end of the phone when a grief-stricken person calls at 3 am.

I want to help him - without 'giving him any advice'.

How the heck do I do that?

What gives me the right to talk to someone out of topping themselves?

Why do I want to do this - when I could be sleeping, drinking, mating or anything else?

Am I going to be able to cope with a young girl ringing to say she's taken an overdose and she's calling to say goodbye to a stranger?

I'm King Wimp. I cry at sad movies. I feel my eyes prickling at The Sound of Music. Reading Cider with Rosie aloud to my son can reduce me to helpless tears. Am I really up to talking to suicidal people? Or will I dribble and blubber so pitifully, they'll have to start soothing me?

Anyway, I haven't even been selected for training yet. They may well see through my veil of bluff bonhomie and drive me from the building, taunting me for my lack of moral fibre and possibly throwing household objects. I suspect these Samaritans can be brutal when they choose.

On being bad

So I work in advertising, not the cuddliest of industries. I use every guile-drenched means at my disposal to sell you - yes, YOU - everything from ice cream to computers. It can be a lot of fun but... it's not exactly good, is it. Farmers are good. Nurses are really good. The people who dropped everything to fly out to help the tsunami victims are mind-numbingly good. But copywriters... as a breed, we're actually quite bad.

This blog's about my attempt to be a bit gooder by joining the Samaritans.