Girl On The Run - I'm a Survivor.

Funding for Older People's Charities

2011-07-15T10:46:00.004+01:00

It has been a long time since I last posted but I have been busy busy busy. I am proud to be still working for a charity for older pople. But there is sad news I'm afraid. There are several services we have not been able to get funding for. Those include toe nail cutting, befriending and advocacy. As a result we are going to have to charge for these services or lose them altogether which would be a great loss to older people in the community. Also the latter would mean, almost certainly, redundancies for important and valuable members of staff.

For many house-bound older people, receiving a 'befriender' into their homes is the only person that they see from one month to another. A friendly face to chat to them, make them a cup of tea, listen to their worries. It is vital to their well being. Also the Advocacy Service offers them a voice when they have no voice, a person they can trust, who will stand up for them and confront people they do not have the strength or confidence to confront. To help them with form filling, help them to understand difficult documents, to protect them from bogus people or neighbours who might take advantage of them. It will be a sad loss indeed. How can we ask these people to pay for this service when they often are already in debt or confusion and in need of financial help and advice?

Fund raising is the possible answer, but on an enormous scale. The local authorities, because of the cuts, cannot fund these services anymore, as a result, this is a sad day for the older members of our society.

And so to work ...

2011-03-12T01:06:00.003Z

It is really hard to believe but I have been offered a full-time paid job!!!!

After years of depression, anxiety, lack of confidence I finally managed to pull off two interviews in two weeks, the first I came a close second, apparently, and the second I was offered the job. It is nothing short of a miracle. Not well paid but at last I will be solvent again. A fully paid up member of society.

I don't say it is not going to be hard but I will do my best and hope in time I will pick up the basics. Anyway it is cause for celebration.

So cheers everyone xx

Women's Refuge Chief Hands Back OBE

2011-02-16T17:49:00.003Z

http://www.guardian.co.uk/society/2011/feb/15/women-refuge-chief-protest-cuts

So the vulnerable are to be hit again, this time not by a husband or lover but by the 'Big Society' I wonder how you would feel Cameron if you had watched your father beat your mother to a pulp?

If you have then you should be ashamed. If you haven't then you should still be ashamed.

Take the time to read the comments attached to this link, some of them take my breath away.

The worse and the best of weeks

2011-02-14T20:52:00.003Z

Those of you who have followed my blog from the beginning will know my story. Last week began a whole new chapter. The man, that I was escaping from when I entered the Refuge, has been charged with rape and his poor victim tragically died. The cause of her death is not yet known. Further tests are being carried out. He was originally arrested for her murder but has not been charged. Her injuries were found to be as a result of being raped. This poor woman was a mother of three children and it is believed she may have met him on the internet. I am in shock and can't believe that I ever had anything to do with such a monster. It makes me feel unclean and tarnished for life. But I am being self pitying and what I am really is very lucky. My heart goes out to this poor women's children because he has ruined their lives too. I hope he goes away for a very very long time.

The good news is that I have applied for two full time jobs. Both are local, one is at the office where I do voluntary work. Keep your fingers and toes crossed for me and I will keep you posted. I haven't worked for such a long time, I can't remember what it feels like to have a wage coming in.

Art-is-an enigma

2011-01-20T14:03:00.007Z

Since leaving the Women's Refuge I have been steadily painting. I have even sold a couple. I would very much like to sell more (if they are good enough) but it is difficult when one has limited income to a) frame them and b) find an outlet.

I have received praise from friends and acquaintances but art is very personal and subjective. I am self taught and therefore I have had no training in technique, as a result, my paintings would be considered 'Naive' or 'Primitive' and as such I have no idea of how to price them.

I did have an outlet at a local cafe, but there has been a change of management and art is no longer something they wish to display on the walls. I am not particularly knowledgeable about creating my own Web Site, I have dabbled but got confused, so I gave up.

If anyone who is reading this can be of some help I would appreciate a little advice.

A walk by the river

2011-01-13T09:44:00.005Z

Sunday was a beautiful day. Blue sky and a real warmth from the sun. I have been pretty inactive since Christmas so I decided to go for a walk along by the river in search of Sammy. I donned my jacket, scarf and gloves and my exceptionally attractive green walking shoes and set off.

To get to the river I had to walk through the town. I was feeling a little self conscious with regards to my attire. Stripey purple socks over leggings and of course the above green shoes. I wished for a dog as a companion and as an indicator of my purpose.

I managed to pass through the town unnoticed, in fact I did the noticing, I noticed several others dressed in similar attire. All had dogs.

The path through the wood was very wet and muddy, slipping and sliding my way through I came across a family. A young boy was crying because he had got his boot stuck in the mud and therefore his sock and jeans were soaking wet and caked with gunge. I heard him wail through his tears ' This is the worse thing that has happened to me in all my life'. Chuckling I carried on my way.

Ahead of me I saw several rabbits hopping into hiding , passing through the boggy area that leads up to the river bank I spotted a Reed Bunting among the reeds and rushes. On reaching the river two swans were feeding on the mud flats and as always gulls and crows weaved and called above me. The sun was warm and I felt at peace with the world.

I strided on keeping a close watch on the river in case of a sudden dog-like head surfacing. I passed the moored boats, which seemed to be a favourite fishing ground for Sammy last year, but sadly no sign of him. I walked on for a further mile or so with only the sighting of a couple of dippers to brighten the river landscape. I decided to turn around as my tummy was rumbling and the vegetable soup that I had made earlier was definitely calling.

On the way back, beside one of the little riverlets, I spotted a heron, it seemed like a garden ornament in its stillness. Passing Sammy's feeding ground once more I stopped for a while and ate a few squares of chocolate. But finally I decided he wasn't coming and it was time to call it a day.

On re-entering the High Street, no longer self conscious because my green walking shoes were now a satisfactory muddy brown, I decided to treat myself to a coffee and a read of the Sunday Papers in 'Bill's'. The coffee was good and strong and as I cast my eyes around I noticed the woman from the Sainsbury's Ads and her daughter on the table next to mine. I observed them for a while then downed my coffee, sneaked an article from the Observer Review into my pocket and headed for home.

Bah! Humbug!

2011-01-01T12:09:00.005Z

Well that's that then. Another year over (thank goodness) This year has GOT to be better than last.

How ungrateful I am. Last year brought me the best gift of all, a new grandson. So why the Bah! Humbug, you might ask? Well, the new government reduced my benefits by half and the possibility of finding work by 100000000 per cent. I have not managed to stop smoking. I have not managed to lose 2 stone. I have not managed to find the man of my dreams and I have not managed to improve my social life.

I spent New Year's Eve alone AGAIN! I went to bed at eleven. No parties to go to. No-one to go to the pub with.

Today I feel very down and just glad the whole thing is over and done with.

Think yourself lucky, you might think. You have a roof over your head and a lovely family. Well yes, and that makes me feel even worse. I have many things to be grateful for but I just feel downright miserable.

I did try. I put up decorations, bought everyone a present however small. I lit candles and tried to make my home pretty and welcoming but somehow this Christmas it just didn't work. Try as I might I just couldn't rise to the occasion.

So goodbye 2010 and good riddance. Hello 2011, umm well, lets see shall we...

Man's best friend ...

2010-12-09T11:21:00.009Z

Sadly, just recently, my brother's much loved dog 'Adelaide' died. He lives alone and works alone and Adelaide was his 'pal'. She was adored by all the family, there was just something special about her. Casper, his cat, is also very sad, they loved one another and shared a basket. My brother has had to put a cushion in the basket for him to cuddle up to at night.

He has now decided that he would like another dog and apparently he is looking for an Irish Terrier. I have searched in vain on google. I think my searching prowess is pretty lacking. He is looking to find one in the South East. If there is anyone out there who is reading this and knows of any breeders in this part of the country then could you let me know. I long to see him with a dog again. He lives in a very rural part of East Sussex and has always had a dog. He said that he went for a walk the other day and turned back because there didn't seem any point without 'Adelaide.'

Quote of the week ...

2010-12-08T01:05:00.004Z

From the first ever episode of Coronation Street

Ena Sharples " hear you're from Esmerelda street then - mmmmm very bay window round there "

Two feet of snow here...

2010-12-01T15:27:00.001Z

The reason I write ...

2010-12-01T13:42:00.004Z

When I started this blog it was as a result of having spent time in a women's refuge and I wanted to tell my story to help other people in abusive situations. Since then I have blogged about the aftermath of my experience, the repossession of my flat, my struggles financially, my depression and my coming out from under it all bit by bit. My painting, my beautiful grandson, the support from my friends and family. The pleasure and humour that I get from the world around me and all the little bits and pieces that go to make up an ordinary day in my life. For those popping in for the first time, especially those who have experienced or are experiencing domestic violence, please read back to the beginning of this blog. It might help you to see that there is a life after violence. Speak out, don't suffer in silence, get help today, you can escape!

Press on my 'Refuge' link and find out how. They are there to help you and they will. They are amazing women who will be with you every step of the way. Get help today!

What a drama...

2010-11-29T15:43:00.004Z

One afternoon thirty five years ago my sister was visiting my mum in the village of Blackham in East Sussex. My mum was complaining that since the village school had closed and the attendance at the local church had reduced considerably there was no longer a 'heart' to the village. My sister, being an organised and innovative soul, suggested that what the village needed was a Drama Group. I was duly contacted and roped in and as a result the Blackham Country Players was born.

At first the members were an odd assortment of characters from the village or connected to the village in some way. These included people aged from 8 to 80. My great Aunt was the aforementioned Octogenarian who had considerable trouble remembering her lines. So ingeniously we gave her a fox fur collar to wear with her lines written on the inside so that every time she forgot her lines she could adjust it about her shoulders and read the forgotten words. My sister was the Producer/Director, my dad the Stage Manager, my mum and I acted and my brother helped back stage. When we did a pantomime, and we did many over the years, my sons and my nieces and nephews played the parts of an assortment of villagers, fairies, elves, goslings etc. etc. I played Magicians, Dames, Principle Boys and many many comic parts over time. My mother had perfect comedy timing and often stole the show.

When the group started it was all about fun and bringing the village together but as the years went by the standard of acting improved so, as well as a yearly panto, we would put on plays. These were mostly comedies but occasionally we would tackle something of a serious nature.We entered a couple of times for a local drama festival and did extremely well winning Best Set, second in Best Drama and also second in Best Comedy.

We started on a shoe string sewing together old bed sheets and dying them for the backdrops and the stage was absolutely minute. Many hilarious incidents occurred off stage and on over the years. Collapsing scenery, rubber noses dropping off mid sentence, a beanstalk that refused to grow, there was a sixty year old Tinkerbell in Peter Pan played by one of the village eccentrics who later played the part of a wicked witch. She had a bit of a problem with personal hygiene and brought the house down by waving her wand and proclaiming loudly

"...and now my nasty smell has broken"

Sadly my sister went to live in Belgium after about 8 years and my dad died in 1984 but I stayed with the group until my mum died back in 1997.

However I am delighted to say that the group is still going strong and on Saturday evening I went back to watch them perform and they did what they do best, they made people laugh. I am so glad that even after all this time Blackham Country Players is still all about the village and having fun.

And yes, my sister did bring the 'heart' back to the village by starting up this Drama Group. Village communities are dying everywhere but this is one that is very much still alive and kicking.

Two handsome/cool Dudes!

2010-11-25T17:29:00.008Z

My youngest son Adam and his hoody nephew Joe (my grandson) Both so gorgeous (-:

I was just thinking, I wonder if it will snow tonight? The clouds were pink earlier and it is certainly cold enough. It would be so magical if my grandson's first Christmas was a 'White' one. Of course he will be too young to appreciate it but I'm sure it would make it very special for my eldest son and his wife. I will be visiting them on Christmas day and whatever happens it will be very special for me too, especially after all that they have been through. Poor little Joe is still suffering badly from 'Baby Reflux' and has had three fainting episodes as a result. They have been referred to a specialist and hopefully he/she will get to the bottom of it. If anyone reading this has any experience of this condition I would appreciate your comments.

When I think about how wonderfully caring and loving my son and his wife are with each other and with Joe it makes my next paragraph all the more poignant and all the more important. So please read on.

Talking of things white, today is white ribbon day. A day to recognise and think about those who are victims of 'Domestic Violence'. www.womankind.org.uk/white-ribbon-campaign.html

Last night brought good news for sufferers of abuse, new legislation will go ahead to remove a perpetrator from the home for up to 4 weeks following an assault or fear of one, see link below :-

http://www.independent.co.uk/news/uk/home-news/new-powers-to-tackle-domestic-violence-2142971.html

If you are a victim of Domestic Abuse, please take heart from this new legislation, it will give you a breathing space and enough time to make plans and to get help. Always remember, there is help out there. See the link on my Home Page to REFUGE. Always ask for help and tell somebody what is happening. Even though 'the abuser' might try to convince you otherwise you do not deserve it!!!

Old friends...

2010-11-16T23:39:00.004Z

When I was at Grammar School I had two very close friends, we hung around together, borrowed each other's clothes, swapped each other's boyfriends, planned to change the world and swore unending friendship. When we left school we went our separate ways. I stayed in touch with one ( Deb) and lost touch with the other(Gina). Over the years Deb and I learned that Gina has MS and try as we might to find her she proved very elusive. Lo and behold on my birthday this year I got a card with her email address on it via Deb who is the only one of us who has stayed at one address all these years.

I was delighted and we have corresponded ever since. It is wonderful to be in touch again after all this time. She speaks nothing of her illness and I respect that and have not mentioned it either. I have however, told her of my depression, it is part of who I am and as such I think it is important to talk about it. She may think that I have little to be depressed about, in comparison to her health problems I know I should think myself lucky, actually on good days I do think myself lucky. On bad days I don't.

'Despair' by Edvard Munch.

But right now I think myself so very lucky to have found her again. I hope she stays in touch this time.

Trying to be a good nanny...

2010-11-05T09:18:00.007Z

My week end was a strange one. Because I live quite a long way from my grandson and because times is 'ard, I have to stay with my son and daughter-in-law when I visit. This is both good and bad. It means I get to spend two or three days with gorgeous little Joe but this inevitably puts a strain on a household adjusting to a new baby.

Joe is suffering from both colic and, more problematical, reflux. This means that to lie on his back causes him to get all choked up and is very distressing for both him and his parents. The result is he has to be kept upright. This means that at night he sleeps with one or the other of them and because of fear of smothering him they take it in turns to stay awake.

They are both absolutely shattered. Before Joe was born they lost two babies in a particularly distressing way and this adds to my daughter-in-law's anxiety. My son does most of the night shifts so that his wife can get some sleep. She is breast feeding and this is the only time that Joe sleeps for very long as he cries a lot during the day due to his colic. How my son manages to do his job amazes me. He looks dreadful, he does all the cooking and shopping and makes sure that his wife gets rest at every opportunity. He is such a good husband and father I am in awe. But I worry that something will have to give.

When I stay I try to help as much as I can. I tried doing the night shift but my daughter-in-law was so worried that I would fall asleep she couldn't sleep either so it was a wasted attempt. I did the washing and cooked the evening meals and took Joe out as much as I could to give her a break but I was very aware that having another person in the house was putting a strain on things.

If I were to live nearby I would pop in and out when it suited them, as it is, I will have to stay away for a little while to give them space to work things out by themselves. I will miss Joe and I will worry about them all but at present I think this is the best thing to do.

AWWW

2010-09-27T10:04:00.003+01:00

Just because every time I look at him it makes me smile (-:

Little Joe

2010-09-21T22:59:00.004+01:00

On 12th August 2010 my beautiful grandson Joseph was born. He was long awaited as my son and his wife had previously lost two babies. He weighed in at a magnificent 10lb 1oz to the utter joy and delight of us all.

I cannot begin to say what his birth has meant to me, it has been one pure golden light at the end of a very long tunnel and I will bring you bulletins on a regular basis about his progress.

Unfortunately he is suffering from a lot of tummy pain at the moment and this is causing him and his parents some distress but he has been prescribed something by the doctor for reflux and so we are hoping things will soon settle down. Lack of sleep is causing anxiety for the mum and this in turn is causing my son concern for her.

The first few months are always hard with a new baby, especially the first and I wish them all the luck in the world with this marvellous little miracle.

Nature's Bounty

2010-09-19T17:12:00.005+01:00

I have been having a tricky time just recently. I had my incapacity benefit suspended after a medical assessment under the new government ruling. At the time my Housing Benefit and Council Tax Benefit were also suspended. I therefore had no income of any kind which has been very worrying. I have been to the Council Offices, the CAB, the Job Centre, everywhere and anywhere in order to understand what benefits I should now apply for pending an appeal. The letters were all so ambiguous and I didn't know which form to fill in.

At the same time I had an exploratory procedure to determine whether some post menopausal bleeding was anything to worry about. The procedure showed up a thickening of the womb lining and I had to have a general anaesthetic to take a deeper look and a biopsy of the lining.

This has all been quite traumatic and on the day before my operation a friend was diagnosed with Prostate Cancer. This brought my own concerns to the fore and I was a bit emotional that evening.

The next day I heard that my Housing Benefit and Council Tax benefit had been re-instated which was a relief as my rent was pending. I went off for my op and the doctor says everything looks fine and although they took a biopsy he felt there was nothing to worry about. This was a great relief too.

So yesterday, a friend and I went for a long walk in the sunshine along the river Ouse, we saw Egrets and a Heron, shoals of Grey Mullet and Dippers skimming the water. The trees through the woods are starting to change colour and there is an abundance of berries of every kind. Blackberries, Elderberries, Rose Hips, and some beautiful translucent scarlet berries which I have since discovered are Guelder Rose Berries.

I even caught the sun on my face and I felt really lucky and glad to be alive on such a day.

Because of having to go into hospital I couldn't attend a friend's launch party for the Somerset Arts week Exhibition . She is an artist of the most exquisite kind see here . The Exhibition is from Saturday 18th September until 3rd October,11 am till 6pm. (closed Mondays) here

Escape to the country ...

2010-07-20T22:58:00.003+01:00

I have recently had the pleasure of visiting my sister down in Dorset. It was a lovely yet emotional visit. My poor niece, who is suffering from some mysterious illness post Glandular Fever, made heroic efforts to be sociable and accompany me on sight seeing trips which of course she found exhausting. My son, who is at present suffering from a broken heart, also joined us and allowed me to be motherly and caring and although it was hard for him was comforted by being surrounded by a loving family. My brother and his daughter also came down and also my musical young nephew.

The week was clouded by fear for my sister's very poorly dog cocoa. Who at twelve and recently diagnosed with a tumour suddenly refused food or drink. Everyone prepared themselves for the worse when we took her to the vet but after a stay overnight and an anti-biotic rallied to her usual lovable self. Apparently she had an infection and all is well for the present.

While I was there my sister lent me a book which I have recently, reluctantly finished reading. It was a rare treat. An uplifting little book which was a cross between Cold Comfort Farm ( A favourite novel of mine) and a true historical account of life during occupation in WW2.

The Book is called The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society, and was written by Mary Ann Shaffer (deceased) and finished by her niece Annie Barrows. It is a delightful story written in letter form, it is both warming and sad and also very funny. I felt as if I had actually met all the characters. I loved it!

I hope to return to Dorset very soon. I have such a wonderful family. When I am with them I feel as if I am in a book!

Seraphine

2010-06-28T22:17:00.006+01:00

Last night I went with a close friend to see a film called 'Seraphine', it is a French film with subtitles, it is based on a true story about a simple cleaning woman in Northern France who has a rare artistic talent (played brilliantly by actress Yolande Moreau). Her canvases are discovered by chance by a famous German art critic, Wilhelm Uhde (Ulrich Tukur), when he happens to move to the area. He is already a champion for artists such as Picasso and Rousseau.

He begins purchasing and championing her work, though sadly his efforts on her behalf are interrupted by World War I.

After the war, the artist and her patron are reunited, with Seraphine finally achieving the fame and riches commensurate with her talents. Unfortunately, she's unable to handle her new found success and begins to suffer a devastating emotional unraveling which results in her admittance to a psychiatric hospital where she remains for the rest of her life.

Her name was Seraphine de Senlis and this is an example of her work, she made her own paints out of animal blood, flowers and candlewax and had no training at all - I think they are amazing.

Women's Aid

2010-06-15T00:54:00.001+01:00

http://www.womensaid.org.uk/default.asp

Football violence --- in the home

2010-06-14T13:38:00.006+01:00

I haven't posted for a while but this morning I heard some disturbing statistics, apparently, during the world cup in 2006, 25% more women reported incidents of Domestic Violence. Probably due to frustration and extra alchohol consumption.

Please, please, please, if this is happening to you then do get in touch with someone, there really is a lot of help out there if you can be brave enough to ask for it. Ring the Women's Aid Helpline, (I will find the number and put it up on here)

here

or contact 'Refuge' the link is on the right hand side of my home page. If not you can always send me a message in confidence, I am here to help if I can.

Don't despair!!! xxx

Killing time

2010-03-18T14:33:00.002Z

Those of you who read my blog regularly will know that I am not working. After graduating from University this was originally not for want of trying. Then due to endless rejections and growing debt I became depressed and then found I couldn't work. The growing anxiety made attending interviews almost impossible. At this time I met the man who, in my early posts you will remember, was the reason for this blog's origin and title. As a result of becoming involved with him I ended up in a women's refuge. My depression at this time, as you might expect, became more acute. Then my home was repossessed and I lost a huge amount of money. I am now in a tiny one bedroom flat which I rent. I like my little flat but it isn't mine and I will probably never own a property again.

I would dearly like to believe that I will one day get a job that I enjoy and that will earn enough money that I can really enjoy the lovely things in life again. Things like holidays, the theatre, visiting people and places and buying lovely clothes and treating my sons and my friends.

Now this post might seem like a self pitying ramble, we all know people who are much much worse off than I am. I have my health, my children, friends, a roof over my head, I am surrounded by lovely countryside, I live in a pretty town. All of these things are great and I know I am lucky in many respects.

But the continual penny pinching, the always counting the days to my next benefit payment, the constant decisions as to whether I can have a bottle of wine or some decent food or neither is very wearing on my well being as well as my self esteem. I do a couple of afternoons as a volunteer for Age Concern and this helps me feel in a sense that I am working for my supper. But I no longer feel part of ordinary society. I can't afford a contract telephone and anyway because of the repossession and past debts wouldn't get a contract anyway. So I have a pay as you go mobile which is expensive and at times inconvenient for those who wish to contact me. All of these things serve to make a person feel isolated from the rest of society. I am in an awkward place to get tv channels so I can only get two channels clearly.

I am writing this blog because there must be thousands of people like me, or worse off. I AM lucky because of friends and family. Some people don't have these. I don't have a partner which can be pretty lonely at times, in fact I don't think I have much to bring to the table, but I don't live in a high rise flat where I am scared to step outside my door. There are many bad things said about those of us who are on benefits, But it is no great shakes believe me. My sense of purpose, focus, or even my sense of who I am has disappeared. I no longer have many choices and with that comes a sense of hopelessness.

I am having some cognitive behavioural therapy in the hope that I can get over my anxiety and go through an interview. I am on anti depressants and they help me to keep on an even keel. But at 55 my chances of getting a decent job are not that likely.

Things happen to people in life, and my friends would tell you I have managed pretty well considering, so for those people who believe that the unemployed are scroungers and are better off than those that are working long hours for a low pay, I would say, you just try it.

Love is in the air.

2010-03-01T23:50:00.005Z

A while ago I lived in a big detached house with a half an acre garden, which was full of wild life. Common visitors were squirrels, hedgehogs, foxes and badgers. Birds of many varieties I fed regularly. On moving to my tiny flat on the second floor in the middle of a town, there has been very little wild life to see. There are of course gulls and crows and the odd little sparrow and last summer swifts regaled me with their intricate areal displays. But I am rather delighted to say that a pair of ring necked doves have taken up residence under the base of the fire escape just outside my kitchen window. I have been intrigued over the last week or so as to what they were up to, flying in and out of what seemed to be a very small gap and then at the weekend they were arriving with twigs in their beaks and appear to be building a nest. They are a sweet little couple who bill and coo in the, ever so slightly warmer, approaching spring air.

I believe these doves mate for life and this makes the story even more romantic. I will keep you posted over the next month or so as to the progress of this, quite handsomely dressed, obviously happy, pair of newly weds.

A geat band with an interesting message...

2010-02-21T17:26:00.001Z

I thought this song and video would be relevent to the subject of Domestic Violence.

I'm so excited

2010-02-04T15:24:00.003Z

I am sooooooooooooo excited. I have just spent half an hour watching a SEAL playing in the river!!!! He was just swimming around and diving and coming up and looking up at me (-: I was about 10 yards away. I just sat on a jetty and watched him for ages. Woo Hoo!!

I had been at work (cleaning) and the lady I clean for came rushing down the stairs saying, quick Sue look in the river, but he had gone )-: So I got her binoculars and I could see his head bobbing around in the distance. When I finished work I walked along the river bank and sure enough there he/she was (-: Fab !!

My mobile took a poor photo, looks like a tadpole )-:

The intelligence of birds ...

2010-01-04T08:43:00.003Z

This morning I was up with the lark (well nearly). Why? Because I had to move my car. There had been a hard frost overnight, the pavements were all spangled and it took me a good ten minutes to clear my windscreen.

I returned to my little flat, out of breath because of the cold air. It felt warm and cosy and I made myself the first cup of tea of the day and sadly smoked my first cigarette.

Most mornings, after breakfast I throw the left over crusts and crumbs out onto the flat roof below my window for the gulls and crows.

This morning, I guess they must have seen my light on, as I was enjoying the above cup of tea and cigarette, there was a loud tapping on my window.

Oy, you in there, tap tap, we're hungry ...

Ring out the old...

2010-01-03T23:13:00.004Z

Well it has been a while, not sure why. Christmas I suppose and all the leading up to it. Well it is over and not to sound too humbug I'm glad.

Last year had its moments of great sadness for my loved ones and I am pleased it is over.

One momentous thing that happened just before it ended was that I sold a painting. It was my first original sold to the general public and (even better) it was for reasonable money. It was an exciting and delightful moment. A real acknowledgement that others like my work. I'm pretty chuffed actually.

There is a lovely cafe, just around the corner from my flat, which has kindly allowed me to hang two of my paintings on the wall. They have been hanging there, among many others painted by local artists, for the last three months or so. It was of 'Sunflowers in a Terracotta Pot.' I therefore have done better than Vincent, even though there is no comparison, in selling at least one of my paintings before I die.

Just think how things come about. If I had not gone into 'The Refuge' I would never have realised I could paint. Thank you dear Alison!

The New Year will hopefully bring more of the same as the money is pretty useful. I intend to join an art class to learn how to be more free and experimental and to learn new techniques. I am self taught and my work is pretty naive.

A sad note is that I heard today that the above mentioned cafe is to close. She just couldn't make it pay. It is moving to Hove, so I hope to pop along there sometime in the future. If you are ever out that way, take a look. It is called 'The Artisan', the food is good and the staff are really friendly and the arty ambiance is really lovely. I do hope it works out for her.

I do hope the New Year brings better things for my loved ones and, selfishly, for little ol me too.

To those who are reading this my best wishes go to you too.

Happy New Year! xx

Somewhere...

2009-12-05T13:52:00.001Z

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

Ouch!

2009-12-02T22:48:00.001Z

I have tooth ache ...

Cluck Cluck Cluck .....

2009-11-30T21:53:00.004Z

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

2009-11-17T23:43:00.002Z

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' ...'

2009-11-10T17:29:00.006Z

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'

2009-11-06T13:05:00.004Z

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

2009-11-03T22:55:00.002Z

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

2009-10-27T20:08:00.005Z

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

2009-10-15T18:22:00.003+01:00

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

2009-09-25T00:06:00.003+01:00

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?

2009-09-23T19:43:00.002+01:00

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 ...

2009-09-23T00:22:00.002+01:00

until seeing this ...

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

2009-09-08T13:52:00.005+01:00

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

2009-09-07T22:15:00.009+01:00

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...

2009-09-05T00:46:00.004+01:00

Woo Hoo!!!

2009-08-31T00:17:00.004+01:00

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

2009-08-25T20:26:00.001+01:00

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

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

Starting anew

2009-08-25T12:53:00.006+01:00

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.

2009-08-20T15:19:00.005+01:00

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...

2009-08-19T00:11:00.009+01:00

'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

2009-07-15T22:57:00.000+01:00

arctic explorers

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

2009-07-08T19:40:00.002+01:00

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

mum, do you like my eye shadow?

2009-07-08T19:36:00.001+01:00

Mum, Dad, look I can fly

2009-07-08T19:26:00.001+01:00

It is advisable not to put candles on the window sill

2009-06-13T18:16:00.001+01:00

Cala lilies - I keep trying ...

2009-06-04T21:29:00.003+01:00

I am to have a poem published...

2009-06-01T19:28:00.002+01:00

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...

2009-05-12T15:15:00.004+01:00

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...

2009-04-27T14:31:00.003+01:00

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.

2009-04-11T11:27:00.002+01:00

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.

2009-04-07T14:50:00.003+01:00

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.

2009-03-26T17:37:00.003Z

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!

2009-03-19T16:32:00.004Z

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

2009-02-23T15:10:00.002Z

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 ..

2009-02-20T14:24:00.002Z

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.

2009-01-23T16:31:00.002Z

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.

A moment of respite

2008-12-09T19:05:00.004Z

Well, I am free to roam the streets of Brighton once more.

I was contacted by the police on Friday to inform me that 'The Perpetrator' has been taken into custody until at least the 5th of January 2009.

This means that I can freely visit my friends in Brighton and even press my nose up against a few shop windows. I can wander through the North Lanes and stroll along the sea front without fear. It is a good feeling.

But...

I hope the crime he has been arrested for has not been against a woman.

I would hate to think my gain has been at another's expense.

2008-12-01T19:57:00.008Z

Baby P , I despair...

As you know I have personal experience of abused women. The women that I came in contact with, in the refuge, had experienced domestic violence on a daily basis and also extreme controlling behaviour. After escaping domestic violence, their choices were very limited, after a time they will be offered council housing (temporary) which can be for six months or up to two years.

One example, that i experienced, was one of the women, a woman who had been subjected to violence for 22 years, the flat she went to had been lived in by a person with 13 cats and five dogs. To move in she had to scrub ( and we are talking about a person who suffered from OCD ) dog and cat poo from skirting boards and under doors, the floor boards were absolutely soaked with animal urine, the place stank.

Eventually, after six weeks, the council had to replace carpets, floor boards etc etc. She was in a state of despair.

She had left her home and three children because her partner threatened to kill her. She lived in terror of him finding her. She could not tell her children where she was in case they let it slip where she lived. She had already changed her name. He had totally poisoned her children against her and they blamed her for leaving him. She had already returned three times because her children had begged her, as a reward for this he had beaten her to an inch of her life.

When in a refuge, these women are alone in a new area having escaped from a violent partner. The children beg to see their dad again, they do not understand. They have often left a comfortable home, their friends and all that is familiar to them. They have left behind their children's schools and friends and the alternative, for some, is very depressing. They try, for the children's sake and for their own safety, to start again. The reason these women are in a refuge is because they have no supportive family who will take them in.

They often over discipline their children. I worry that when they leave the refuge and are alone in an isolated flat this may be exacerbated. Because of financial deprivation, the loneliness and the reasons listed above, the majority of these women go back to abusive partners.

What can be done?

This can't be right...

2008-12-01T13:05:00.002Z

Life at the moment, could be better.

As I explained in my earlier posts, my home was repossessed back in March of this year. I was, at that time, in a women's refuge and this was a very difficult time for me.

At the time of repossession my flat was under offer and the sale was progressing well but this was not enough for the mortgage company to halt the repossession and because they insisted on getting three further valuations, which took a considerable length of time, my sale fell through.

They then revalued and re marketed the property and in April they had a new buyer, I was waiting to exchange contracts for 6 months and then, at the last minute, the buyers withdrew.

Since then the bottom has fallen out of the housing market.

I was informed last week that for the last nine months I have been liable for mortgage payments even though my home has been repossessed and this will be added on when the property is finally sold. Also I am liable for all ground rent and maintenance payments on the flat.

If this wasn't bad enough, the fire escape has now been condemned and therefore no-one will get a mortgage on it until it is fixed. This is the Free-holders responsibility but will be taken from the leaseholders maintenance payments. I will therefore be responsible for my portion of the costs. Even though my flat is on the ground floor and doesn't use the fire escape.

All the time it is not sold I will still be liable for the continuing mortgage payments.

Because the flat is now worth considerably less than its original value. My £2,500 debt has turned into nearly £100,000 and I will be left with nothing at the end of it.

When I got into debt it was because I was suffering from anxiety and depression and was therefore unable to work.

It feels like I have been penalised for being ill and for my lack of ability to cope at that time.

Surely this can't be right.

How I am managing to keep going amazes me. There is only so much a person can manage. I am now at the end of my rope.

Shake me up Judy ...

2008-11-10T18:20:00.006Z

Friday morning, I was rushing to get to my handy-woman job and I slipped and fell down four stairs. My boots are a bit worn so I believe this is the reason. I was a bit shaken up.

I travel on the train to this job and I am deeply engrossed in a book, after a few stations I look up and the man in the booth across from me has an enormous hole in his jeans and everything (and I mean everything) is hanging out. I ponder on whether this is accidental and come to the conclusion, as he obviously is not wearing any underpants, that it is not. I was very shaken up.

I arrive at my place of work, my job for the day is to paint the loft hatch. I collect the wooden steps from the garden, I climb up them and three steps give way they are rotten right through. I was even more shaken up and had a bit of a painful knee.

Saturday, I spent the day helping a friend to move house. In the evening we went out on the town. On the way TO the pub, (having bought a new pair of boots in a charity shop for 3 quid) I slipped on some fallen leaves and fell a--e over t-t in the street. (exceptionally shaken up) and hurt the other knee.

Went to the pub, there was an Irish band playing, being a little the worse for a few drinks, I was attempting to do a, Michael thingy person of the flying mane and hands behind your back, type of dance. Lost my balance and fell into the speakers!!!!

Really, really shaken up and extremely embarrassed.

Sunday - spent most of the day in bed recovering.

2008-11-04T15:25:00.007Z

I took this last week. It is of Tyne Cot Cemetery in Ypres, just before sun set, the autumn sun set the landscape aglow with gold, it was very moving ...

Today I walked in Ypres.

2008-10-29T23:41:00.005Z

Today I walked beside the river in Ypres, where I took this photograph and I was inspired to write the following poem.

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

The Aftermath ...

2008-10-26T14:40:00.003Z

It has been a while since I posted. Apart from the fact that I have a head cold which is annoying me at the moment, I am actually doing fine.

I have settled into my bijou flat and can say goodbye to the refuge and hopefully the past experiences forever.

I have continued a friendship with one young woman who is still at the refuge and, for her, the nightmare continues.

Part of me is loath to mention the negative experiences we went through because I want women reading this, who might be in abusive relationships, to know there is a safe place for them to go where they will be looked after and supported.

On the whole this is true but one has to bear in mind the things these women have been through and which very often leaves them damaged in some way.

There has been a family at the refuge, a woman of 59 (an alchoholic) her daughter and grandson (12 years old) They are very damaged and as a result are a destructive force at the refuge. They have a very currupt and twisted view of life and spend all of their time causing trouble for the other residents. ( Apparently I was a spy employed by the refuge to 'grass' on everyone) My young friend, who is a person of some integrity, has been falsely accused of many things and in turn ostracised by the rest of the residents. She is basically a good and kind young woman who has coped amazingly with her three year old daughter under the circumstances. It hurts me very deeply to see her so unfairly treated.

She is a strong young woman, small and feisty, but she has found this really tough. It is such a shame because before this family arrived the women there were lovely, it felt like one big family, everyone mucking in and supporting each other and a lot of laughter and tears were shared.

I have spoken to the key workers on her behalf (she was scared to herself in case this made the situation worse) They were very understanding but said there was nothing they could do unless she made a formal complaint.

Even if she did and they were moved on, it would just become someone elses problem at another refuge.

I guess families like these are what prevent some women from entering a refuge. It is a shame, and in my experience unusual. Most women who enter refuges have already had a really awful time and they just want some peace and privacy. To have to deal with other abusive characters is the last thing they need in their vulnerable states of mind.

Hopefully, my friend and her adorable little girl will soon find a new, safe home and I will continue to support them if I can.

Back in the world of telly viewing.

2008-09-22T13:36:00.004+01:00

I have now got a signal on two channels on my TV, BBC1 and ITV1. This has enabled me to watch, both 'Strictly Come Dancing' and 'The X Factor', this weekend.

Both highly watchable for a woman with nothing better to do on a Saturday evening.

SCD - I love the grace and beauty of the professional dancers and of course the frocks.

XF - Yes, it is great fun to watch wannabe pop stars make a fool of themslves but this week-end left me feeling more than a little uncomfortable. An enthusiastic young man attempted a Michael Jackson number. Although the panel of judges were kinder than usual in their comments regarding his performance. I felt this young man was exploited in order to provide 'good' TV. There is a thin line between entertainment and exploitation and in this case I felt the line was crossed.

Last night I watched 'Tess'. I have pondered long and hard over whether I really wanted to watch this terribly tragic tale unfold one more time. But as a Hardy fan I felt compelled to do so. Inevitably I ended up wiping a tear or two from my eye and telling myself, "my life hasn't really been that bad considering ....."

nowhere to hide.

2008-09-18T17:15:00.003+01:00

The child runs and runs,
She sobs, she rages, she screams,
In silence.
There is no hope, just the star spangled sky
And the damp, dark hedgerow.
There she huddles, just for a while.
Heedless of any happy hearth, gentle eyed,
Loving hand or tender hearted home.

She knows only harsh words, hard slaps, whip cracks, bone snaps.
Probing fingers, boozy breath,
Broken bad tooth, snarling, sneering mouth.
Rough trousers rubbing.
Grunting and pain.
Silent suffocation.
No mercy.
Slamming doors
Banging chairs.
Slaps, cracks, snaps
And trembling, tumbling, terror
And running, running, running.

The earth feels sweet and cool;
Her lip bleeds and drips on the cool earth
Her skin is pricked by barbed brambles.
She is glad.
The night folds gentle arms around her broken body,
The dark is kind,
There are no demons in this soft blanket of silence.

She hears a terrible sound.
It is a long drawn-out howl of agony,
A deep moan of terror and hopelessness.
Somewhere an animal is caught in a trap.
Somewhere a creature is dying
The fearful sound comes from her own throat

A New Home.

2008-09-11T14:14:00.004+01:00

Well, i'm in!

My flat is very bijou, especially as it is currently piled high with very large boxes that I have nowhere to unpack.

These boxes contain :-

Books (Mine)

Amplifiers, speakers, videos, football trophys, University folders, more amplifiers, more speakers, one television, one record deck, 4 Meccano sets and board games such as Cluedo, Pictionary, monopoly etc. One enormous box full of electrical equipment that I haven't the foggiest notion what any of it is. (These are all my sons who can't get down for a fortnight)

Oh and 3 old computer monitors et al......

In the meantime, in my tiny living room, I have to stare at them, fall over them and continually curse them and rue the day that I ever had children.

In the foyer, because I no longer have an outdoor space, are one concrete birdbath on a grecian style stand (that nobody can lift)

One huge bright blue tub (that nobody can lift)

2 old computer monitors (that nobody knows what to do with)

and two garden chairs.

On the upstairs landing are twenty five empty flat pack boxes and 19 rubbish sacks full of packing paper which I don't know what to do with as I no longer have a car.

Life is great when you are no longer on the run......

Refuges are there to help.

2008-08-31T14:00:00.005+01:00

Women's Aid

I have found a tiny flat to rent and will be leaving the refuge a week on Monday. It has been a very tough, frightening, frustrating, depressing, hilarious, enabling and enlightening nine months.
When I came to the 'Refuge' My heart ached and still aches for my home and the life I left behind and my loneliness is still profound. It was a world that I would never have thought I would ever have first-hand experience of, at first, for me to be there, was totally incomprehensible.

However, I now know it has possibly saved my life and it has definitely given me courage. I now believe that I can probably deal with most things that life can throw in my path. .

As I leave this strange environment, I am truly sad to go.

Some of the women I will miss, but mostly I will miss my key-worker who has been a tower of strength to me. She alone understands the traumatised mind of the woman fleeing from a man who has stripped her of her self-esteem, robbed her of her pride, her home and of her possessions. She will stand beside you shoulder to shoulder and get every single thing you are entitled to. She will give you tissues when you cry, make phone-calls on your behalf when you are too shaken to lift up the phone. She will write letters for you. She will fill in forms. She will come with you to the doctors, the solicitors, the police, the counsellor and the court. She will help you find a place to live that is safe and she will talk to your new land-lord on your behalf. She will fight every single corner for you.

Then one day you will emerge from the refuge a stronger, braver, woman, your pride in tact, your abilities reinforced and with your head held high you will say to the world. Bring it on!

Goodbye dear A, and thank you. xx

'Ode to Melancholy.'

2008-08-25T16:08:00.009+01:00

I was looking around at blogs on depression and I found this little gem of a blog. I really like the little gothic story 'The Grave Girl' Unfortunately I couldn't post a comment but I really wanted to, because it made me smile. A Blog about depression and it made me smile!

It is worth a look (-: Here

Last night I watched the film The Lives of Others for the second time. It is a sparkling jewel of a film. It is haunted by a piece of music called “Sonata for a Good Man,” composed for the film by Gabriel Yared, it is a suspenseful, ethically exacting drama, beautifully realized by the writer and director Florian Henckel von Donnersmarck, Yared’s piece is melancholy, elegant and complicated, as is the story and the acting is magical. The film was made all the more poignant because of the death of one of the central characters played by Ulrich Muhe, shortly after filming had finished.

It is a work of fiction set in Socialist East Germany 1984, before the wall came down. It is a time when the Stasi spied on everything and everyone, when neighbour spied on neighbour and even friends and family were suspicious of each other.

It is a film about Good Men, the human spirit and how love and in this case, art, can transform even the most hardened of Stasi officials. It is about writing, it is about acting, it is about music and it is about truth. It is about how this one man, who listens in on the lives of a writer and his actress girlfriend, rediscovers his integrity and in turn his true self.

I really enjoyed watching it for a second time and liked the fact that watching it with a friend who hadn't seen it before made the pleasure all the more sweet.

2008-08-22T19:23:00.003+01:00

The Good News!

Last night a very good friend had his sixty fifth birthday party. I am staying with him at present which is lovely. It is so good to be away from the refuge. I gave him a present of one of my paintings which he said he liked very much. He said the painting was very accomplished. Praise indeed! The one I have posted on here is one of my very first attempts and I have been playing around a bit since with techniques and colour.

All of this is totally self taught, so I have no idea if I am doing the right things. I must, however, at some point go to an art class of some kind, I want to learn about light and shade and how it works in painting.

In the mean time I nourish myself with his compliments and strive to improve.

The Bad News!

My week, up until last night, has been really horrible. I learned that the price of my flat is having to be reduced by £50,000 which will leave me very little.

At present, the depression I suffer from, stops me from working, so this is quite a blow. How do I bounce back from this on top of everything else?

I like to think of my depression as a creature that lives symbiotically, feeding on my pain, a life sucking parasite that one day, when I am happy, will just drop off, a shrivelled black thing, like a tick or a flea.

2008-08-18T19:57:00.006+01:00

In order for me to post freely on my blog. I have taken off my photograph. In order to speak openly I have to be anonymous.

A good buddhist friend of mine sent me the book 'The Artist's Way' I expect you have heard of it. Her desire was for me to continue to write even though I was in my enforced imprisonment. I mentioned this to my key-worker, however I also mentioned that I felt inspired to try painting by way of therapy. I had always felt a desire to have a go at painting.

That very evening, outside of my bedroom door at the refuge I discovered, canvasses, paints and brushes and a message saying. 'Enjoy'..

So I did and I have.

Inspiration at last!

2008-08-15T12:50:00.002+01:00

I just thought I'd share the fact that last night. I composed, edited and completed a short story that I intend to enter into a short story competition.

I'm pretty pleased with myself today, and the sun is shining.

So I can no longer say to myself, "The Summer's gone and all the roses...."

The first steps towards freedom.

2008-08-12T12:43:00.008+01:00

When I arrived at the refuge, in my room, on the chest of drawers, were two small wicker baskets full of shampoo, shower gel, soaps, toothpaste, toothbrushes and combs. There was freshly laundered cream bed linen, a burgundy bath towel, hand towel and flannel. The furniture was laminated pine, the curtains and carpets were burgundy and every thing was serene and welcoming. It was such a surprise to me.

Apparently all the refuges run by Refuge provide the same kind of essentials and similar peaceful surroundings, which I think is really important for traumatised women seeking a place of safety. For me it made the whole transition from home to communal living a much easier experience. I hope any women, who are reading this blog will be encouraged by this information.

The key workers are absolutely amazing. They are kind, helpful and empowering women and professional in every way. Confidentiality in everything is the key.

To begin with they give every possible help with practical things to do with claiming benefits, starting the ball rolling for rehousing, help you get a crisis loan if necessary and give advice on legal matters pertaining to your particular situation. They also provide, and some might say this is the most important thing, trauma counselling and help in trying to find a way forward after having been through such a horrible time.

Without their help and support I would never have survived this experience.

***One thing that any woman who is suffering domestic abuse should know is to always be prepared in case you need to flee at a moments notice. My key worker told me recently that it is vital that somewhere, with someone you can trust, you have a bag packed with essential things in it. These things are. Passports and birth certificates for yourself and any children. Your National Insurance number. This is absolutely vital for getting immediate help with benefits. Any legal papers or copies of police statements or any proof of domestic violence that might help you in the future. Deeds, or copies of deeds or solicitors letters proving ownership of property etc.
Also a change of clothes for yourself and any children.

In my opinion, Refuge is an absolutely necessary place, for women suffering from domestic violence or even for those who don't, to know about. I want to shout it from the rooftops, I want it to be talked about in schools. The more knowledge women have about places of safety the better. It is difficult, because the very nature of the function of women's refuges is that it has to be confidential.

But by contacting the 'link' above or by contacting the 'victim support unit' at your local police station, ' the citizens advice bureau' or the 'Samaritans' they will point you in the right direction of where to go for help. In times of danger call 999.

"Our Deepest Fear"

2008-08-09T15:50:00.003+01:00

This was given to me by my key worker to inspire me to continue writing. I think, for women who have spent many years hiding their lights under bushels, it is a wonderful quote. Although I am not particularly a 'God' sort of person.

"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us.' We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There's nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we're liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others." (A Return to Love: Reflections on the Principles of "A Course in Miracles", Marianne Williamson, Harper Collins, 1992. From Chapter 7, Section 3])

2008-08-08T17:17:00.004+01:00

Without exception, the women I came across at the refuge, displayed such courage, such stoicism, such self-deprecation, it was a lesson to me in women's strength of character.

How can that be when they had put up with so much shit for so long? Surely they must be weak and pathetic victims?

This whole, women as victims idea, is so paradoxical.

These women were managing on next to nothing in the way of money. Some had two or more children to support. They had practically nothing in the way of clothes or possessions. They had left behind friends and family, in some cases for life. They had to adjust to communal living with people they would probably never choose as friends and yet bonds were formed.

Most supported one other, most would share their last penny, most would give wine, cigarettes and chocolate in times of need and most did it with a good and open heart and an enormous amount of humour.

One young woman had three children under five. Can you imagine keeping control of them in such a strange and weird environment which was stuffed full of rules and regulations. Health and Safety procedures had to be adhered to which was a nightmare for some of these young mums. They were not allowed to leave their children unsupervised. Hard to do when there are five other children running around. When you are trying to feed a young baby with six adults fighting for the cooker and the fridge.

Yes, I admire them for their 'determination to make the best of it' attitude. Yes, in my book, these women are courageous.

It is certainly puzzling.....

2008-08-06T20:20:00.004+01:00

I became very close friends with a woman who had spent 23 years in an abusive marriage. She had fled at dead of night with nothing but a few smuggled items, leaving a son and two daughters behind. Her husband was a vicious, manipulative bi-polar sufferer. Who had not only run over her cat, given away her most treasured dog, beaten her black and blue but had also managed to turn her daughters against her so that they would not go with her. Her son had to move in with friends because males over 14 are not allowed in a refuge.

In order to be safe, she not only had to leave her home and all her friends, but she had to leave her children behind as well.

When I met her she had already been at the refuge for three months and in that time she hadn't seen her youngest daughter. This hurt her very much. She couldn't see her just in case she let something slip to her father about where her mum was living. She just couldn't take that risk.

He had threateened to kill her if he found her and she had every reason to believe this was possible. He had tried every method he could to try to track her down and resorted to every form of emotional blackmail to get her to come back. Using her children as pawns in his controlling games.

She was very traumatised.

This was a professional woman who had run a care home, worked all the hours God sent to keep her family (he wasn't working) and yet she had put up with years of abuse.

Why, you might ask?

Because she felt sorry for him, because she believed in her vows of for better or for worse, because he had done such a good job on her that she no longer knew her own mind?

He had managed to make her believe she was in the wrong all the time.
He told her every day of their twenty three year marriage that she was fat and ugly and thick and that no-one else would ever want her. In the end she believed him.

She was not allowed to sit in the same room as him. He cut her off from nearly all her friends and when she was at work he would make her come home at lunch-time to cook him dinner. He would ring her at work and threaten her if she didn't come home immediately and so she had to make up excuses why she had to pop out at a moments notice. She was in constant fear of losing her job over this.

She was suffering from OCD. Constantly cleaning and tidying.

Interestingly three of the women I met at the refuge also suffered from this dis-order.

One area of their life where they believe they have control I suppose. Ironically, the disorder, without them realising it, soon begins to take control of them.

She tried to get him sectioned once. She failed. When she was waiting for the doctors verdict he told to her in whispers what she could expect from him when she got home. After that particular beating she left him.

She returned a week later when her daughters begged her to come home. Telling her he had changed and that she was cruel for leaving him when he was ill.....

The Women

2008-08-01T17:09:00.004+01:00

My room at the refuge was light and airy. It had two single beds in it and a cot. I was informed that if someone came with children I may have to move. Which I thought was fair enough. However I grew to love my room. My sanctuary, my one place of quiet, an escape from everyone elses pain.

There were four other women resident when I arrived.

One woman was from Sri Lanka. She had worked in a clerical position out there for the government. One night she was dragged from her bed and taken to a cell where she was tortured and gang raped for 2 days and nights. She fled to Denmark with her daughter and had a complete breakdown. When she recovered enough to cope with life a little she was offered work in England by a relative so she travelled here on her own to start work. But she was then beaten by her uncle and ended up in the refuge.

She was such a lovely, beautiful and funny lady. Terrified of the dark, frightened of her own shadow, yet she made me laugh my head off when she shouted at the television when people didn't know the answers on quiz shows. One night we got tiddly and danced and giggled into the early hours. She always called me sexy Sue and was a really warm and wonderful person. She was learning English language at A level at Evening class and I would often help her with her homework. She was so cheeky and I often ended up doing it for her altogether and wondered how she had managed to get round me. She moved out a few months ago now and I miss her very much.

Adapting to life in a refuge.

2008-07-29T13:04:00.005+01:00

When I first arrived at the refuge I was pretty traumatised. I didn't know what to expect. Shabby surroundings, cramped and dirty rooms, deeply traumatised women, deprivation, anger, children running about clearly disturbed, these were some of the things I was dreading.

I arrived at a large Victorian detached house and my first impressions as I opened the front door were, clean, bright, spacious, light and airy and quiet!

The refuge was home for 6 women and their families. Boys over 14 were not allowed. No men must ever enter the premises unless they were workman vetted by the staff. We were to tell no-one the address and if we wanted to meet people it had to be away from the house and there was a specific dropping off place. This was for our own protection and of the others in the house. The idea was to prevent any of the perpetrators from finding out where we were living.

Believe me some of the perpetrators were so determined, they would use any method to find out the whereabouts of their victims. They would use private detectives, tap into bank accounts, ring social services or the job centre, they would contact inland revenue. They would pump and threaten friends and family, following them harassing them. It was vital that no information was leaked to anyone. We were not really supposed to tell anyone at all our whereabouts which was extremely difficult. We had to change our phone numbers and our mail was sent to a PO box address. The whole effect of this was disorientating, it was also one of isolation, loneliness and deceit.

The Big Day

2008-07-28T17:59:00.009+01:00

Well it happened. ‘The Wedding Of The Year’, in fact of any year!

The Sun shone and shone and shone. The venue was beautiful. The Node at Caldecott. Nestled deep in the heart of Hertfordshire. And heart is probably the best word to describe the core of this amazing day, because people were over-flowing with it.

Purple was the colour of the day. The men’s ruche neckties, the bridesmaid’s dresses, the bride’s mother’s tunic and fascinator and the groom’s mother’s (that's me) frock and shoes. The programmes were edged with purple ribbon and a tiny tube of sweet love hearts in a little purple bag graced every place setting with a tiny picture scanned onto the front of the bride and groom when they were little children. The bouquets and the flowers on each table were purple and mauve and cream.

But the Bride was not in purple. She was an absolute vision in delicate cream chiffon, trimmed with pale blue crystals and (according to her mum) a million laces all the way up the back of the dress. The train and veil were also trimmed with tiny crystals. On her perfect, slim body, the whole effect was stunning.

My youngest son, Adam, the best man, who hadn’t slept for three weeks because of having to make a speech, excelled in the role. His speech was funny, satisfyingly disrespectful and heart-warming. As was the speech by the bride’s father. But when my eldest son, the groom, made his speech it was so wonderfully touching there was hardly a dry eye in this beautifully decorated house.

There was so much love and joie de vivre, so many kisses and handshakes, so many optimistic, humorous, clever young people, so many moist eyed, hopeful and totally delighted bosom family that I cannot fault their selection of guests.

This day was perfect in every way and I am so proud of my sons and feel so lucky to have such a lovely new daughter and now, because my prose is also verging on the purple. I think… enough said.

(I will post some more pics when I get hold of them.)

Fame At Last!

2008-07-21T17:52:00.002+01:00

I have at last learned how to post a link. I have found the Werchter rock festival link on youtube which I have posted below and right in the foreground in the centre of the row of people is the back of my head - look for the ginger bobbing up and down - hey it's me!!

The re-written final chapters part 2

2008-07-20T17:25:00.000+01:00

I have re written the final chapters part 2 and added it onto the end of 'The Final Chapters' further back in my blog. If you want to make sense of my story then go and have a look and all may become clear.

I intend to continue to write how my life has gone on from there in the next few days or weeks.

Thankyou for dropping by.

A missing chapter...

2008-07-15T20:46:00.000+01:00

I seem to have deleted the second part of 'The Final Chapters' hadn't saved it anywhere else so will have to write it again. There is always the danger that it won't say the same, it will lack spontaneity and because it is no longer 'just' as it was when the words filled my head it may not have the same meaning. So bear with me I will do my best ...

Wedding Day Blues...

2008-07-15T08:09:00.000+01:00

On Saturday 26th July is my eldest son's wedding day. The thought of this fills me with much fear and trepidation. Why, you might ask, surely this should be an exciting and wonderful occasion?

For one thing I am skint, flat broke, penny-less, financially embarrassed whatever you might like to call it. The bottom line is, I have no dosh.

When I went into the Women's Refuge my flat was under offer. Due to all sorts of reasons that I will write about later it was repossessed by the Mortgage Company. Because of bureaucratic nonsense they lost my buyer but eventually found another in about March. They were first time buyers, no chain, and made a really good offer. All good news so far. Well it is now the middle of July and they have still not exchanged contracts. I have a substantial amount of equity in this property and was hoping to make a really big splash at this wedding. A beautiful outfit, a generous contribution to the wedding costs. A lovely room at the hotel where the wedding is to be held.

If it wasn't for living at the refuge I would be homeless so I have a lot to be grateful for. But it is disgusting that these Mortgage companies can treat people this way.

I am very lucky indeed. My sister is a very lovely, generous person and has come to my rescue. She has whisked me off t0 Belgium and she has bought me a gorgeous outfit for the wedding. She has also booked us rooms at the hotel.

But it is very hard, because I wanted to be able to do this myself. She knows I will repay her but somehow it just doesn't feel right.

I will also be meeting my ex in-laws for the first time in many years. My ex-husband and his new wife, my ex mother-in-law and I will be turning up alone. No job, no man, no money, no home. Well you can just imagine the conversation...

Well I have decided what I am going to say. I am going to say that I am living in bohemian exile by the sea, where I am painting and writing and living my dream before it is too late. Men? Goodness me no, I don't need a man in my life, a man would just complicate things. Job? Writing is my job and I have sold three of my paintings. House? Goodness me no, I am living in temporary accommodation while I learn French and then I intend to rent a farm house in Brittany. Money? Goodness me, how bourgeois.

Do you think they will be convinced ......?

Werchter One Day Rock Festival

2008-07-14T16:34:00.000+01:00

I thought, for a change, i'd write about something less 'heavy' man.

Yesterday, I went to a one day Rock Festival in Belgium. I am visiting my sister at the moment and this festival is about half an hour away from her. We only discovered it was on two days ago and on impulse decided to go. Luckily we were able to get tickets. My sister had never been to a Rock Festival (She is 4 years older than me) so this was a really cool thing to do. The Line up included 'Mick Hucknall', 'Crowded House', 'James Blunt' and 'Santana'.

Our decision to go to this event was met with much derision from my 18 year old 'Emo' nephew. Whose musical taste runs to bands like 'Alkoline Trio' and 'Funeral for a Friend'. When asked if he cared to join us such remarks as 'Old' and 'Fogy' were muttered between clenched teeth, so we got the message.

My 22 year old niece, however, was pretty made up about seeing James Blunt and so accompanied myself and my sister to this 'happening'.

The venue was at least a two mile walk from the car park, which was OK at the beginning of the festival but less agreeable at the end when we would be tired from standing all day (hmm maybe the 'Old Fogy' remarks were justified after all). The toilets were very clean ,checked out by me immediately on arrival. You grabbed your couple of sheets of tissue on your way into the port a loo. In fact the whole day was really well organised. Not what I had come to expect in the past from the English Gigs I'd been to. From an old fogy point of view this was a bonus, from an ex hippy's point of view this was definitely 'pseud'.

Anyway, Mick Hucknall was superb, what a great voice, he has changed his 'soul' voice to that of Rhythm and Blues in tribute to a late great American blues artist whose name escapes me at the moment. I might google it and edit this later. The blues was great and the return to his own funky soul sound at the end of the set had the whole house dancing.

He was followed by Crowded House, a favourite band of mine (and many other Old Fogy's I expect) it was so amazing to see them perform live, however I thought the sound lacked the old sparkle, maybe this could only be provided by a second Finn!However 'The Weather With You' brought the crowded house down.

James Blunt, performed an excellent set, his rather peculiar voice was as good as on CD and his japes on the stage, including standing on top of the piano and surfing, were really entertaining. He also jumped into the audience much to the delight of my niece who managed to touch him!

The evening was rounded off for us by the always excellent Santana. The King, The Chief, The God of old fogyish guitar playing and my word he can play! Yep an ageing hippy was much mellow. I was also much entertained by the dancing of a group of black guys in front of us who, well they just had the rhythm and the skill and 'the hips' to do Old Carlos justice.

A great day, we limped home with aching backs and legs, along the two mile of road back to the car and sang all the way home.

These old fogies know how to rock!

It is on youtube under 'Werchter boutique one day festival' sorry don't know how to do a link )-:

How on earth?

2008-07-14T14:44:00.000+01:00

How is it that a seemingly mature, intelligent, middle-aged woman, who had been married for 18 years, divorced and then in a relationship for another 12 years, a woman who had brought up two children single-handed from the ages of 12 and 14 subsequently, have got involved with someone like 'him'? A man who had lived a desperate life of deprivation and alienation. An ex-criminal, a sociopath, and now I had discovered, a sexual deviant?

I know I was very lonely, struggling financially, I was unemployed due to depression and anxiety and was desperate to feel valued in some way.

Maybe meeting someone like him allowed me to have some kind of status? I felt wanted again as a woman. I felt desirable and feminine. I was past my physical best and beginning to feel that I would never attract a man again, let alone one who was ten years younger than me. I knew I was better educated than him and I was able to teach him about things he had not experienced. Because of his deprivation I wanted to show him a world that he knew nothing about, I wanted him to know how it felt to be loved and cared about. I wanted him to see how ordinary, balanced, healthy people lived their lives. In this respect he fulfilled my maternal yearnings, he filled my 'empty nest' he boosted my fading self esteem, in fact he validated me as a person in every way. At least in the beginning .......

Was I to blame?

2008-07-14T10:21:00.000+01:00

When the police first told me about 'him' my emotions were very mixed. I was shocked, but I also felt very sad. What had happened to this man in his early years to turn him into this twisted, violent person? Why did he 'hate' women so much that he wanted to hurt and abuse them in this way? Was every woman the mother who had rejected him? Were his experiences so bad when he was in care that it had damaged him so badly?

However, I now knew I was not the one who could help him. I couldn't be with someone who had done those things and therefore on top of my horror I felt guilt. I felt that I was yet another woman who was going to let him down. Another woman who was rejecting him and it would always be thus. I realised he would never have an ordinary life. He would always be on the edges of society. His life , if he managed to stay out of prison, would be full of anger and mistrust and hopelessness. There seemed no hope for him at all now. He would never ask for help. The damage was cut too deep. I could only hope that he would never hurt another woman. My fear was that he would feel even more anger towards my sex now and I would be to blame.

When I wrote the letter ending the relationship I felt terrible. I knew how he would react and when the Chaplin rang to tell me he might harm himself I was full of fear and guilt and remorse.

He replied, enclosing a copy of a poem I had written him, underlining the words about helping him to change, about standing by him. I felt dreadful, I had betrayed him like everyone else.

But of course, he knew this would be how I would feel, he knew I was a soft touch, he had always known. That was why he was able to get under my skin. That was why he had got the Chaplin to ring me. He had never had any intention of harming himself. People like him never do. They manipulate, they direct their anger outwards to the weak, the vulnerable, the forgiving. They are bullies of the worse kind. I hated myself for letting him into my life .....

TELL ME YOUR STORY.........

2008-07-13T09:43:00.000+01:00

I am taking a break from my story to ask you about yours. I would very be interested to hear from anyone who has been abused in this way, or who has been stalked and how it has affected their life.

It is an awful feeling of powerlessness. Here I am, I have done nothing wrong, except get involved with this man, and I have had to leave my home, my friends, my life and move into a women's refuge because of this abusive ex partner. It is wrong, all wrong, but there is nothing I can do about it. He is a danger to women and yet he is now free to possibly re-offend and continue to make my life Hell......

But only if I let him, please read on to see how sometimes good can come from bad.....

The Final Chapters

2008-07-12T13:26:00.002+01:00

I wrote to him straight away to end the relationship. The police had asked me not to tell him that I knew about his past because he too had rights and he may never offend again. They told me that they preferred that I told no-one except perhaps one close friend whom I could trust. So once again I began to live a lie. I told him that things were not working betweeen us and that I felt it best for both of us if I ended things. I wished him well and hoped he would, at last, be able to live a good life of freedom now that he was no longer on licence.

He was devastated, he wrote again and again begging me to stay. Then he said there was no point in living anymore. Then I got a phone call from the Prison Chaplin saying he was concerned for his state of mind and would I please talk to him. The police had advised that I cut off all contact. So I told the Chaplin I didn't wish to speak to him and that he had to accept it was over. This, of course, he wouldn't and his pleading turned to threats.

The Final Chapters part 2 - re-written

He had lent me some money, while he was in prison, I was struggling to pay my mortgage and he insisted that I use his money to pay my arrears. I resisted this offer until the Mortgage Company threatened me with repossession and then against my better judgment I accepted.

As soon as I borrowed this money, he began to use it against me. If I did anything wrong (in his eyes) he would say right I want my money back ‘Now’ and then you can ---- off. Of course, he knew I wasn’t in a position to pay him back and so this became yet another hold he had over me.

After I ended the relationship, when his pleas and outpourings of love and promises to change or to do anything that might change my mind, didn’t work. He began to threaten me that if I didn’t pay him back his money immediately he would come after me as soon as he was released. I told him I was in the throws of selling my flat and as soon as it was sold he would get his money. He accused me of stealing his money and that he would get revenge on me one way or another.

His release date was pending and so was Christmas and so I decided to go and stay with my sister for a while. It was suggested to me by the police that I leave before he got out for my own safety. This I duly did. Before I left England I borrowed money from a very kind friend in order to pay him back what I owed him. I wrote to him telling him that I would leave a cheque with the probation office for him to collect when he was released.

Just before Christmas I received a phone call, in Belgium, from the police to say that he had broken into my flat and stolen my mail. He had strewn it all along the streets. He had been arrested, charged and released on bail. He told the police he was looking for money.

He started harassing my friends to try to find out where I was living. He asked them for my phone number claiming that I still owed him money. He told them I owed him 400 pounds for phone calls he had made to me whilst he was in prison and that I also owed him for the Christmas and birthday presents that he had bought me. He went round to the house of a frail friend of mine who had recently been in hospital. I had told this friend what was going on and I said if 'he' turned up he was not to pass on my number. But in his fear and confusion he gave him my new number instead of my old one.

As a result I received a phone call from him. It was such a shock. I hadn’t spoken to him since I last visited him in Highpoint Prison, before the police had told me what he’d done.
I was quite shaken and taken off guard. I asked him how he had found out my number, he said there are ways and means and he would always find me. I guessed he had visited one of my friends and so I took a deep breath and told him if he ever contacted my friends or family again I would tell the police, with that I hung up and removed my sim card.

I informed the police but there was nothing they could do but they hoped that when his case came to court for stealing my mail he would be warned never to come near me again. But in the mean-time he was free to roam the streets and harass my friends. They made it clear that they believed it was no longer safe for me to return to my flat.

I was due back in England shortly; I couldn’t stay at my sisters indefinitely. It was suggested to me by the victim support unit that I go into a women’s refuge.

I just couldn’t understand how any of this could be happening. I was just an ordinary member of society. People like me didn't end up in a women's refuge. I had never been on the wrong side of the law. My only mistake was getting involved with someone like him. I didn’t want to leave my home, my friends, my life. It wasn’t right or fair that I had to and yet when I thought of what he had done to those women I was too scared to risk it. I knew, as I knew the sun would rise in the morning, that if I went back to the flat he would come round and bang on the door, he would shout and curse and threaten me. But worse than this, I was frightened that he might be around any corner in the street or that he would come up behind me one day.

Two weeks later I moved into the refuge.

The tale unfolds

2008-07-08T16:33:00.001+01:00

Finally he gets a release date - early December!

One afternoon in late October I receive a visit from the police. They had rung beforehand saying they wanted to discuss a statement I had made about a man I had seen downloading child pornography in an Internet cafe. I waited in for them and when they arrived they said that unfortunately they had not been able to find this man. But they also wished to discuss another matter with me. I went a bit cold because 'He' had been threatening to harm himself and I thought maybe something had happened to him or I had a couple of parking fines outstanding and was worried it was about that.

It was 'him' they wanted to talk to me about. They asked me if I knew the reason he was in prison.

I said I had been told it was because he was intimidating to his probation officer and a member of staff. They said did I realise what he was originally in prison for and I said "well he hadn't really told me but had implied it was for burglary or stealing or something similar."

They then told me that he was a serial, violent, sex offender, particular against prostitutes and he had been offending since he was 17. This meant 25 years of abusing women! They had informed me because they feared for my safety as he was considered to be a very dangerous man. I was absolutely shattered. Of all the things I had thought he had done this had never even entered my head. I was really really shocked, my whole world was turned upside down. All the time I had been with this man and I really didn't know him at all.....

The horror story now evolves

2008-07-06T15:38:00.001+01:00

His appeal finally arrived!

Hoping it might help I wrote a letter to the Prison Governor on his behalf. Telling him that he had turned over a new leaf and that I was a good, decent and honest citizen with a degree and no previous contact with anyone the wrong side of the law. I told him that he now had a job and a steady girl-friend and that I believed he was determined to be a decent member of society from now on.

He was turned down on the grounds that he had been intimidating to his probation officer and a member of staff.

I found out at this time that he had been out on licence and still had nine months of that licence to serve and these would now be served in prison.

He became more angry and despondent. Talking about suicide and accusing me of sleeping around. Then alternating this with claims of eternal love and apologies. He became obsessed with sex and wanted me to write about my fantasies for him to read to keep him going in prison. He wrote and told me his and he liked to talk about what we would do when he came home.

I was getting a little uncomfortable with his erratic behaviour but kept putting it down to his being in prison while I was outside and free to do whatever I liked. In a sense I understood his insecurity.

I kept trudging all the way up to Highpoint Prison, near New market. A horrible place. It would take me most of the day to get there and back and then when I arrived I was subjected to searches and sniffer dogs and the company of people I would cross the road to avoid in normal circumstances.

We would then have just one and a half hours together.

He would want to talk about our future together. Marriage and living together in my flat. I would avoid the subject because as I had told him numerous times. I wasn't ready for that yet. We had only known each other a short time before he went inside and the situation we were in was not 'real' and we needed to have some more time together on the outside to see how it went. He said I should know how I felt by now and so often our visits were fraught and tense. Also he wanted to kiss and hold me all the time and we were only supposed to hold hands. The Prison staff were watching us all the time.

I hated every minute of those visits.

A love story continued

2008-07-06T11:00:00.001+01:00

Three months into the relationship I received a phone call late one night. It was him, he was ringing to tell me that there had been a big mistake and he was being taken back into prison. He was in tears and saying he was so sorry over and over again. He said he had no idea why this was happening as he had done nothing wrong, that it was all a mistake and as soon as this was discovered he would be released. He also said that he expected me to end things with him and that he understood. I, like a fool, said I would stand by him, which I duly did.

From then on the life of a prisoners moll was the life I would lead for the next nine months. Having never set foot inside a prison before this was quite a difficult and frightening experience to begin with. Also, he continued to re-assure me that it was all a mistake and he would be appealing and would be home soon. He had told me, in the first instance, that he wanted to never be judged by his past again and he didn't want people to know that he had been in prison and so I didn't tell anyone. I pretended that he was working away and every so often I went to visit him. It was really horrible living a lie but I wanted him to be able to trust me to be loyal to him.

The months went by and still no release. We wrote to each other every day and he rang me almost every night. I only had a mobile and so I had to receive his calls from a local phone box. Occasionally I just couldn't get there at the right time and he would be very angry. His letters started to be more demanding and controlling. I tried to justify this by the fact that he was stuck in prison unfairly and I was outside and free. But the tone of his calls and letters changed and he started to use emotional blackmail and accused me of seeing other people.

These letters would be interspersed with letters telling me how much he loved me and that he wanted to marry me, that no-one else had ever meant so much to him. That no-one else had ever stood by him. He said that an ex-girlfriend had been having an affair all the time he was in prison in the past and yet had continued to visit him and pretend everything was OK. Because of this I forgave him his jealousy and controlling behaviour...

Girl on the run explains...

2008-06-30T14:42:00.002+01:00

This is by way of an introduction. You might wonder why Girl on the Run? Well the truth is I am in hiding.

No this is not a story.

It is unfortunately my life at the moment. You might argue that all of life is a story, well if that is the case then mine is a highly charged nail biter.

I met a guy, not my usual type, a bit rough around the edges, but he was really keen.

I had been on my own for a long time and I was pretty lonely. We met a couple of times and then he lost my phone number. To my complete amazement he posted a notice on the lamp-post, at the bottom of the road where I was living, begging me to phone him as he was desperate to keep in touch with me. It was very romantic and I was bowled over.

After a while he told me a very sad story.

He had been put into care when he was seven because his mother couldn't cope. He was abused and beaten in care, and having become brutalised he continued to get into trouble ended up in a young offenders institution and then prison.

He expected me to finish with him when he told me all this but I didn't. I was going to be the one person who stood by him, the one person who would really care about him. I would save him. He said he wanted to make a fresh start, he had a job, wanted to have a girlfriend and settle down into an ordinary life.

Unfortunately that is not the complete story. Neither of his story, nor of mine. I will post more later.