Thirty years ago psychiatry was rocked by the revelation that nine sane volunteers had faked hearing voices and fooled thier way on to locked wards. Has diagnosis improved since? Psychologist Lauren Slater repeats the experiment

Into the cuckoo's nest

"I do my preparations. I don't shower or shave for five days. I call a friend with a renegade streak and ask if I can use her name in lieu of my own, which might be recognised. The plan is to use her name and then have her, later, with her licence, get the records so that I can see just what has been said. This friend, Lucy, says yes. She should probably be locked up. "This is so funny," she says.

I spend a considerable portion of time practising in front of my mirror. "Thud," I say, and crack up, no pun intended. "I'm, I'm here ..." - and now I feign a worried expression, crinkled crow's-feet at my eyes - "I'm here because I'm hearing a voice and it's saying thud", and then, each time, standing in front of this full-length mirror, smelly and wearing a floppy black velvet hat, I start to laugh. If I laugh, I'll obviously blow my cover. Then again, if I don't laugh, and if I tell the whole truth about my history save for this one little symptom, as Rosenhan and company did in the original experiment, well, then I might really go the way of the ward. There is one significant difference in my re-test setup. None of Rosenhan's folks had any psychiatric history. I, however, have a formidable psychiatric history that includes lots of lock-ups, although, really, I'm fine now.

I kiss the baby goodbye. I kiss my husband goodbye. I haven't showered for five days. My teeth are smeary. I am wearing paint-splattered black leggings and a T-shirt that says, "I hate my generation."'