Went to see a Talking Therapies Counselor, who was the Lee Johnson of therapists.
Firstly, there was lovely paved parking for all the employees, but the patients have to park on the street and pay a meter.
Then the receptionist with a face like a smacked arse was more interested in getting you to use hand santizer. "Gosh, is this door a time portal, is it 2020 again?!"
The 'therapist' did nowt more than ask a few questions of how often I felt certain things and shuffled me out of the door as quick as she could. Then she used the Bank Hols as an excuse to say it wasn't worth doing the last session.
She assured me that I looked much happier than my first session; even though five minutes before I'd literally said I'd been having regular thoughts of being better off dead.
Would've been better off saving the parking meter money and buying a book off Amazon. World of f***ing frauds and chancers.