Somewhere...

This was taken from my little window in my flat - a view of the downs.

Ouch!

I have tooth ache ...

Cluck Cluck Cluck .....

An interesting week-end.

On Saturday I entertained a handful of friends, and amazingly, there were no arguments!

However, it may be said that I 'over hostessed' them. I love entertaining but I cluck.

I worry if they are warm enough, if they are comfortable enough. If the music is too loud or not loud enough etc etc. Is the soup too salty, not enough flavour and on and on and on.

On Sunday another gathering of lovely people.

They were wanting to take my friend out to lunch for his birthday. They came to my town and so immediately I felt personally responsible for everyone having a good time, that wherever we went it would be my fault if the surroundings, service or food were anything other than perfect. I fussed and flapped and worried and probably made everyone feel uncomfortabe with my over felicitations.

It was, however,lovely to see them all and I pray they forgive me for being such a mother hen!

The best thing about the week-end was a conversation with my youngest son.

My goodness he amazes me!

He is a teacher at a London college for 16 - 19 year olds. Recently there was an observation, pre-offsted, of the teaching standards and abilities at the college and my son achieved a grade one, which apparently is pretty good.

Also his proposal for the college to do a foundation degree , for the first time ever, in Sport Science, has been given the go ahead.

He also is very involved in the promotion of his college in relation to the 2012 Olympics and Paralympics. He has actually been quoted on the official website !

Where does he get the energy for all of this, as well as his ordinary teaching I wonder?

He certainly doesn't get it from his mother!

I am so proud of him!

I may delete this by morning

I don't want to look like Joe Brand - much as I love her...

How many times do I have to stand by with a friend while men chat her up and tell me how much they fancy her and to be told I look like Joe Brand and they not even think or care that I might not like to be told that? Then, when I am bored with standing there being ignored, I decide to go outside to have a fag, I get a text saying "come and rescue me, he won't take no for an answer" I am thinking, chance would be a fine thing that anyone would want any answer but no from me! But I go back in and rescue the 'damsel in distress' and she says "What kind of friend are you leaving me on my own with a weirdo like that? Please don't leave me." So I don't. Obviously, after a while, he comes over again ( a bit the worse for wear in the alcohol department) so she tries to hide behind me and I stand between them and he says " that is really weird" and I say (trying to make a joke of it) "well I am a bit weird." He says "I understand you trying to protect her but that is truly weird."

So now I am a weird Jo Brand look-a-like. Great!

Well this friend ( who was in the refuge with me, is now a bit freaked out and wants to go home) I understand this, but so much for my evening out which doesn't happen very often, so we leave. I haven't had a drink because I am driving ( she offered to put me up for the night and then couldn't at the last minute because family needed the sofa) so I take her home. ( We sit in the car for a while and she gets upset saying "why do only weirdos find her attractive") I commiserate thinking apart from, the as for mentioned weirdo person who told me I looked like Joe Brand, nobody had spoken to me all evening, anyway I hug her and then drive home.

Where I live I have a permit to park in only designated areas. When I arrive back all the spaces are taken. So I have to park in a car park and pay for a ticket to take me through until ten o'clock the next morning.

I go off to bed feeling pretty fed up and I know I have the electricity people coming the next day somewhere between 8.30am and 5 pm and also my landlord is coming in the morning to mend the door on the freezer compartment on my fridge. So I set my alarm and go to bed.

I am up at 7.30, to make sure I am dressed and breakfasted by 8.30 just in case. At 11 am I suddenly remember the car ( f-ck!) and low and behold I have a parking ticket. I wait in all day for the electricity people and they don't come. I can only assume they forgot or, more than likely, came when I was parking the f--king car.

I may look like Joe Brand but right now I do not have her sense of humour.

'Ode to 'Bright Star' ...'

I went to see this film at lunch time today.

It was stunningly beautiful to watch (the lighting was perfect) and the performances of the two lovers, Keats (Ben Whishaw) and Fanny Brawne (Abbie Cornish), were totally believable and very accomplished.

Their conversations and letters about love were interwoven with Keats' own words and vision, and the cinematography matched the beauty of his poetry.

Jane Campions film was based on Andrew Motion's biography of Keats and I for one will be putting that on my Christmas list.

There isn't much story to tell that isn't already known and therefore I can't ruin the plot for anyone but if I have one criticism it is the ending when Keats goes off to Italy and dies. I could spoil the film by telling you why I felt the end was lacking so I will leave that for you to discover and to agree or disagree as you see fit.

This is a tiny criticism which, to my mind, unbalances the film a little. But apart from that my favourite poet's un-consumated love and tragically short life is beautifully represented in this film.

'The Lord of Misrule'

There are very few occasions when I find myself lost for words to describe something, but Lewes Bonfire night is one of those occasions. In my limited life experience I have never seen anything like it.

There is a carnival atmosphere, a strange primeval, latent pyromania. The sight of crosses burning and torches being carried by row upon row of marching people is reminiscent of a 'Witch hunt' or 'The Ku-Klux-Klan'. It is exciting, creepy, exhilarating, scary, and on one occasion I picked up a burning torch that had been thrown to the ground in a desire to be part of this fire crazed parade. I was quickly shouted at to 'PUT THAT DOWN' from one of the marchers who unbelievably seemed to have some kind of chaotic organisation in order to avoid accidents. He then marched on with his comrades lighting bangers and firecrackers and throwing them on the road to resemble the sounds of bombs, grenades and gun fire. Following each group of marchers were people pulling metal trolleys full of discarded burning torches. It was a truly amazing sight.

This parade started at about seven o'clock and finally finished about 2.30 am this morning.

There are six or seven different bonfire societies in Lewes and they all had their own firework displays, and these were absolutely spectacular. The sky was lit up with thousands of stars and comets in blue, gold, red, green and silver. Also the downs were vibrating with deafening booms like maroons.

Having written the above I am still at a loss for words to describe this event. But the best I can come up with is that for one night only Lewes is taken by a kind of 'Madness'.

Memories I can no longer share

I didn't have a good relationship with my dad. He was a disciplinarian of the Victorian kind and I a rebel of the 60's kind. But a good memory I do have is one reminiscent of this time of year.

When my children were small we lived in a tiny terrace cottage. We had one of those long thin gardens that apart from the odd low fence were open in regards to other gardens in the row of terraces. Each bonfire night, traditionally, we had a small bonfire at the end of our garden and the usual sparklers, fireworks, sausages and baked potatoes for our small family gathering.

On this particular occasion my dad was recovering from a heart attack and was off work. He arrived at about six in the evening with two little 'guys' that he had made for my two small sons. They were made out of old sacking and stuffed with old cloth and he had drawn faces on them and each was attached to a stick that they could hold. I was deeply touched by this gesture and the time and effort involved.

My youngest son was about a eighten months and my eldest was about three. Because of his ill health my dad stayed inside with my youngest son who was scared of the bangs. I remember him standing at the kitchen window with my son in his arms watching the fireworks through the glass and the pleasure and excitement that my boys had with my family that night.

My parents are both dead now and my sons were too young to remember and their dad and I divorced a long time ago.

As the years pass I realise that one of the saddest things about divorce is there is no-one to share those memories with. There is no-one there to say 'do you remember such and such that we did, do you remember that holiday or that Christmas'. I think it is probably sad for my boys too. There is no longer a shared family history. I try to keep the memories alive but it is not the same.

Those were some of the happiest times of my life and I feel bereft because I cannot share the memory of them with my sons and their father.

Sunday

I visited the little village of Rottingdean just outside Brighton. A 'picturesque' village and home to the house and gardens of Rudyard Kipling. I wandered around the gardens which were very pretty and peaceful and then I visited the Church of 'St Margarets' Where most of the windows were designed by Burne Jones (Kipling's uncle) and created by William Morris (Burne Jones's Friend)

Burne Jones lived in a cottage opposite the church and as I walked through the quaint village lanes I was touched by an attractive melancholy that stayed with me for the rest of the evening. History is fascinating but can throw up strange and totally human emotions born from a sense of connection and yet distance from those who went before. If that makes any sense?






A Sunday lunch in the pub 'The Plough' and the witty companionship of my old English Tutor, made for a leisurely and mellow Sunday.

Thursday

The lovely thing about living where I live is that the river is tidal. The lady that I clean for has a garden that backs onto the river. Since I have been working for her I have seen a cormorant flexing its wings on the mud flat at the end of her garden, last week there was an Egret fishing and shoals and shoals of grey mullet. A few weeks ago it was a grey heron and this morning two kittiwakes sitting on her garden wall. It certainly makes cleaning windows a more pleasurable experience.

Apart from that I am bored bored bored!!! I need to be challenged, I need my brain to explode with ideas. I am so tired of my own company and yearn for the old University days. When not doing my voluntary work, or cleaning houses I am watching day time TV for goodness sake! The high point of my day is '60 minute makeover' or 'Britain's best dish.' Right now I am waiting for 'The Archers' on channel 4 and then 'Front Row.' There is a folk evening tonight at a local pub. I haven't got the courage or the confidence to take a look even though I used to sing in Folk Clubs.

I am lonely, I would like to have somebody to cook for, somebody to be there to talk to of an evening. Ho hum, bad day at black rock. I wonder, anyone out there feel like this? Would be nice to feel that others acknowledge that being on your own, although at times extremely comfortable, is pretty ---t a lot of the time.

Right, lamb cutlets, broccoli, cabbage, new pots and mint gravy just for me. Woo Hoo!!!

Un-sung, until now

When I was little, in a field near my home was a horse called Tommy. He was a bit wild and one day as my sister, myself and some friends were running across his field he started to chase us. I was the youngest and the slowest and had the littlest legs, I tried to keep up but I tripped and fell over. Suddenly from out of nowhere came a young lad who whisked me up literally from under the horses hooves. He saved me from injury and possibly worse. He later became a close friend to my brother and has been my hero ever since.

Today I learned that he has died very suddenly from cancer. It is very sad, I will never forget him. RIP Bob, my hero!x

Is praise a necessity?

Today I returned to my voluntary job after a weeks holiday, before I went away I re-designed a training brochure on body language for Age Concern. Upon my return I was greeted by an empty office but on my desk was a thank you card. It said and I quote "Thank you so much for your lovely work on our training piece. It is brilliant. Hope you had a good holiday and see you soon."

I was astounded. Never in all of my years in paid employment have I received such as missive. I was embarrassed, touched and puzzled.

Why is it that praise and support and encouragement is not in such supply in paid employment. OK I am not that naive, I realise the need for competition and the fear that too much praise might breed complaisance. But for me, who has been struggling to get paid employment for so long, it gave me hope, it helped my self esteem, it made me feel humble, supported and appreciated for probably the first time in an employment situation.

I can't help feeling it is a shame.

I'd always believed I had a reasonably happy childhood ...

until seeing this ...

It's my party and I'll cry if I want to ...

On Saturday I had a birthday gathering of five of my closest friends, these friends are all intellectuals and as such bicker endlessly. The evening began well with a glass of fizzy and some olives at my flat. Then a table booked in my favourite restaurant for dinner. All went well except that three of us were drinking and three of us weren't. It began to get a little raucous and my friend and I burst into song much to the mortification of one of my sober friends who made it clear that we were extremely embarrassing. I was a little miffed by this as it was my birthday and I was having fun and thought him a bit of a party pooper, but my other friend took umbrage at his grumpiness and made it clear that she was not having any of it and made things very awkward until she finally had to have it out with him outside in the street. There was an uncomfortable atmosphere and she was also not happy with her partner for not standing up for her. I sat in the middle of this thinking for goodness sake get over it and lets just have a nice time. I love all of my friends individually but as a group there are some very tricky personalities to negotiate.

This is just one of many similar occasions over the years and every time I think why do I organise these things.

But I suppose it makes for a colourful evening.

Most amazing thing of all was that the worst one of them all wasn't even there - you know who you are (-;

A Wonderful story - Chagall

Yesterday I visited 'All Saints Church' in Tudely in Kent. The Goldsmid family Commissioned Chagall to create a window in memory of their daughter who died tragically aged 21, The mother was a Christian but the father was a Jew, Chagall also a Jew came to the church and found the windows were plain glass and decided to do every window, it took him 15 years in all until just before his death in 1985 aged 98, it is absolutely magical, the colours are fabulous, well worth a visit (((-:

Full Moon tonight from my balcony...

Woo Hoo!!!

The purple demon is back on the road. Yes, after three car free years, I am again mobile. Yay!!!

Back in the days when I first bought my beautiful, shiny, purple baby it was love at first sight. After years and years of old bangers I now was to be the proud owner of a gorgeous, metallic purple, sporty number. She had alloy wheels, a body kit, an aerofoil and lowered suspension and a larger than average exhaust pipe which gave her a deep fruity voice. She shone, she growled, she attracted many an envious glance and I fell deeply, truly in love with her. Then I fell on financially hard times and my, previously envious, youngest son bought her from me. It broke my heart to lose her but at least I knew she was going to a good and loving home.

Now she is returned, she rattles, she groans, she stumbles on occasions and her paintwork is a little shabby, but oh the joy to have her back is just delicious.

It is strange because I was suddenly reminded of a poem that I adored as a child.

We had a set of encyclopaedias and inside each was a poem or a short story and being short of reading matter I used to hunt them out on winters evenings and read these little gems. The much loved poem was 'The Little Doll' by Charles Kingsley and it sums up pretty well how it feels to have my car back.

I once had a sweet little doll, dears,
The prettiest doll in the world;
Her cheeks were so red and so white, dears,
And her hair was so charmingly curled.
But I lost my poor little doll, dears,
As I played in the heath one day;
And I cried for more than a week, dears,
But I never could find where she lay.

I found my poor little doll, dears,
As I played in the heath one day:
Folks say she is terribly changed, dears,
For her paint is all washed away,
And her arms trodden off by the cows, dears
And her hair not the least bit curled:
Yet for old sakes' sake she is still, dears,
The prettiest doll in the world

male domestic violence part 2

http://www.csulb.edu/~mfiebert/assault.htm

This might be of interest to anyone interested in male domestic violence.

Starting anew

I have been mulling over the idea of leaving this blog behind me and starting up a new one. After all I am no longer, in theory, on the run. However, my story of the last few years is still a big part of who I am. Besides which I am still haunted.

I have not had a relationship since the whole ghastly mess, and it is something I would dearly love to have. If for no other reason than it might help to wash the nasty taste from my mouth of having slept with a 'Sex Offender'. It is not a nice thought is it? I thought so.

When I read about women who have lived with, sometimes been married to, this kind of offender for many years and they say they knew nothing about that side of his character, I now see it as perfectly possible. Often they are blamed, they can be hounded, spat upon, have abuse hurled at them, have their home defiled (if it wasn't already) yet they have done nothing, in fact they too are victims. They have been lied to, deceived, duped and had everything they believed to be good turned into something shameful and degrading.

To find out that someone you care about is a monster, a defiler of women, a calculated predator and who has all the time slept in your bed, can only make one feel dirty, ashamed, disgusted and also culpable.

Oh yes, afterwards all those little warning signs that you rationalised to yourself, make sense. But at the time there was always an explanation and because of that you blame yourself. You tell yourself that an intelligent woman should have known, should have recognised those signs for what they were. Well an intelligent woman is what I am and as such I must have known, somewhere deep inside of me I must have been lying to myself as much as he was lying to me.

So now I am still haunted, by my own culpability as much as at night in my dreams, of him touching me, of him kissing me and it makes me sick to my stomach. So maybe it is worth keeping this blog going. Maybe if you have had similar experiences you might be able to help me find a way through this. If you have come through it perhaps you can tell me how you did it.

I have been seeing a Cognitive Behaviour Counsellor who tells me there was no way I could have known. Of course it doesn't help that he looks like Crista Berg and so far it hasn't helped.

Which is why I would like a lovely man in my life to help me see that people can be what they appear to be. It will help me to regain my trust in men and give me something to look forward to, something to help me to see that I am not just a vulnerable woman to be taken advantage of.

I have come through living in a refuge, I have come through losing my home, I am strong and a woman worthy of loving a man.

Men who suffer Domestic Violence.

I was listening to 'Woman's Hour' on Radio four this morning. On the show there was a man talking about his experience of terrible domestic violence at the hands of his wife. His suffering was absolutely appalling and sadly there is very little funding in place to help men to escape to a place of safety.

For those of you who are new to my blog, I spent nine months in a ‘Women's Refuge’ and for myself and the other women I shared this time with; it was a place that offered safety and huge amounts of support and advice. (Please see my early blogs to read my story). Thanks to the help that I received from 'Refuge' I am safe, I have a roof over my head and have discovered an ability to paint that I had no idea I possessed. Because of my key worker’s encouragement I now have sold three paintings and have two others hanging on display at my local ‘Art Cafe'.’

I feel very sad that there is so little help in place for men who suffer such terrible cruelty. The argument is that it would take away some of the funding that is available for women's refuges. I understand the concerns and certainly would not like to see women suffer as a result but surely men should be allowed the same support as women. One of the problems is that men rarely speak out about their suffering. They feel ashamed and emasculated.

As you probably know the first women's refuge were started by Erin Pizzey back in 1971 in a little house in Chiswick. It was, and still is I believe, funded solely by charities.

Maybe it is time for a man to stand up for his brothers and start a 'Man's Refuge. A man will understand men's fears and encourage them to voice the terrible abuse that they are suffering without prejudice or judgement. Also if his children are suffering from violence they too should be allowed to escape to a place of safety with their father.

Perhaps this is already happening? Please feel free to comment and to put me right if I am making incorrect assumptions.

A mixed bag...

'Revels' at the week end. First the orange cream (which I, and most other people I know, hate) coming back from a lovely break with my sister and family down in Hardy country. Then the malteaser, a few hours of sunshine, delicious but over far too quickly. Then the chocolate toffee, chewing over problems with a friend, hard work and some of it difficult to resolve. Then a chocolate treat, lunch out with friends, sweet and unexpected. Lastly the peanut. an exotic morsel in scrumptious surroundings. A Flamenco evening at my local 'Art Cafe'. The final piece of candy delight was to see two of my paintings hanging in that same 'Art Cafe'.

arctic explorers

arctic explorers

Never mind Agnes, it's just our age...

All pictures from the very best of the National Geographic 2009 - captions by Girl on the Run.

mum, do you like my eye shadow?

Mum, Dad, look I can fly

It is advisable not to put candles on the window sill

Cala lilies - I keep trying ...

I am to have a poem published...

I entered this poem for a competition, I didn't win but I was a runner up and as such they want to publish this poem in an anthology called 'Poems by Moonlight'. They are United Press Ltd. Not sure if this is a scam and is just vanity press. They offer me a reduced rate to buy the anthology that my poem is in. I want to feel pleased but think it is not what it seems.

Today I walked in Ypres

Today I walked in Ypres
The sky was as blue as the best autumn day
Leaves shook and shivered
Many thousands had fallen
each
golden and precious
and yet
had rotted where they fell
detritus upon the muddy earth
and we walked upon them
ankle deep
in Ypres

A friend indeed...

What is friendship really? I am not entirely sure how far to stretch the adage of " a friend in need is a friend indeed."

It has always been important to me to be willing to give of myself to my friends. Whether that be my company, time, comfort, being on the end of a telephone or practical help if I am able.

But when do you stop giving?

When you are tired?
When you feel they are stronger?
When you are stretched so thin that you need to have a rest to restore yourself?

But this might just be the moment when they really need you the most.
This might just be the moment that they will feel rejected if you walk away.
This might be the moment that they fall apart.

When are you being a supportive friend and when are you just colluding in prolonging their agony?
When is it good to be there at their every call and when are you just being used and exploited for being a soft touch?

As you will know from my previous blogs I have been easy to exploit in the past and I know I need to grow a few extra skins and get street wise. But my friends mean a lot to me and I do believe I should be there for them.

It's a hard one to call!

Gain and Loss...

Well, on Wednesday my money finally arrived. After many many days of frustration it has finally plopped unceremoniously (except by me) into my bank account. I stood in the centre of my little flat and I shouted at the top of my voice and then I cried and cried with absolute relief. It is over, it is finally over.

That evening I went to Waitrose and bought a 'decent' bottle of wine, an extra sweet pineapple, some raspberries and some clotted cream. All expensive, all deliciously decadent and all consumed with relish.

Since then I have dined on mince and slices of quince
Which I ate with a runcible spoon;
And glass in hand, on the edge of the sand,
I have danced by the light of the moon ...



I have a very close friend who is suffering very badly from tooth decay. His problems began as a small boy when an accident caused broken teeth and nerve damage and an ongoing problem. He used to keep a close eye on them with constant regular trips to the dentist in the times when dental care was free. But since then, as he is very low earner, he has been unable to do this. This is a terrible indictment of our times. The problem now is past repair and his only choice is to have all his teeth removed. He is not a vain man, but the thought of false teeth is depressing him dreadfully.

At the moment he finds eating very painful and is losing weight at a pretty rapid rate. He desperately hopes that he will win the lottery so that he can have dental implants. This is his dream. Even having dentures will be difficult for him to afford. There are many jobs that he would apply for (having a brain the size of this planet) but his appearance would be a real problem. He hardly smiles because of self consciousness

I wish 'Jim'll fix it' still existed because I would put him forward for a makeover. It makes me very sad and angry on his behalf.

The financially disadvantaged only have the choice of rotten teeth or a mouth full of plastic. Not much of a choice really.

It is Cold.

It is cold.

I sat there drink in hand
the others had left, I was sad
but I thought
drink up and go out into the cold again

You came in, a stranger, a big man,
almost ugly, with a battered, used face.
And I thought
drink up and go out into the cold again

You talked to me and bought me a drink
we smoked and you bought me another
and then I
drank up and went out into the cold again.

But you followed me and asked me for my number
and I said no, so you gave me yours
I walked away, but I was smiling
and I didn't feel so cold.

One day I saw you, taking cash from a machine.
We smiled and said hello
and I hurried away, shy
and then was sorry that I hadn't stayed to talk.

So I texted you, and you were glad
and we started going out.
You were different, a rough diamond,
unpolished and bemused, and I started to feel warm again.

But I didn't know you. You would not share your past.
You told me your life had been bad and you wanted to start again.
Then one night, they took you away.
And I was out there in the cold again.

I believed in you, and I visited you in that place.
You said there had been a mistake
and it would all come right again.
You expected me to leave and so I stayed.

But then the police came
and told me what you'd done
No, I cried, it can't be true.
But it was and so I left you.

But now you will not let me go
and I am trapped and you are free
now I am in a prison
and it is very cold inside.

Patience.

I have discovered over the last eighteen months that I am an extremely patient person. I did not know this, in fact my parents always suggested the opposite. I have waited and waited and waited for my flat to sell, have lost most of the equity I had in it and still I wait.

I loathe and despise Mortgage Companies, Estate Agents and Solicitors!!

They never phone when they say they will.

They say they have sent letters when they obviously haven't.

They say they have not received letters when they obviously have.

There is always a break down in communication or a person off sick or a lost file or even all three companies have burned to the ground losing all traces of my details.

They still have my money and I am still struggling to manage financially.

I have never felt so angry in all of my life. The helplessness and frustration is physical and I want to smash them in their nasty smug faces.

Tomorrow I go to Belgium to visit my sister. I swore I would not go again unless I could pay my way and I only agreed to go because of the promise of this money. So off I go on the charity of my family once again.

Please please please give me my money so I can get back my self respect and start my life again...

Nasty rotten virus.

I have been proper poorly, this is the first time I have ventured out this week and I am still feeling pretty shaky. I can't decide if I still have a temperature or whether I am just having one of my many 'tropical moments'! But at least today I can breathe!

However in my poorly-ness I have read a pretty inspiring book and written the first three paragraphs of a short story so I suppose it was worth it.

I will tonight consume my first alchoholic drink for a whole week and I am very much looking forward to it!

Cheers!

At last!

Well my flat has finally been sold !!!! It has only taken 18 months of trauma and frustration for me and a total lack of concern, in fact total indifference from the Estate Agents and the Mortgage Company. It was sold on 13th February and I have only just found out. This was only when I rang the Estate Agents to find out how things were going. I didn't even know it was under offer!! I have only lost £80,000 on the sale so I shouldn't really complain .....

An explanation

A good friend advised me to explain the reason for my previous post. A poem entitled 'A Possibility' He suggested that Blogs are a place to share experiences and sometimes a place to receive support.

Two weeks ago, my son and his wife, the couple whose wedding last summer I so happily posted about, lost the baby that they had so excitedly looked forward to. The baby died in the womb and this was a terrible shock for them. This would have been my first grand child. I am so sad for my son and his new wife. I cannot imagine how they are feeling at the moment. For myself, well the poem says all that I need to say.

A possibility ..

Each tiny hand
with finger curled
each candy toe
with pearly nail
each downy arm
and chubby knee
sadly now can never be.

time will ease
the wish of you
and everything
you might have been
you've gone but
in my heart
your candle flickers
still, unseen.

Respite is over.

Well apparently, two weeks ago he went on trial for 'sexual assault on a young woman'. The trial went on for a week to result in a 'Hung Jury'. On Monday there was a retrial and the prosecution collapsed because the alleged victim was unable to testify for a second time as the ordeal was too much for her. He was released as a free man on the same day.

Result - another woman walks in fear on the streets of Brighton.