MAY
MAY 1ST 1999
Andrew and Shell and the kids next
door were making a hell of a din. They were all as bad as each other. Mud balls were flying all over the place. I saw red, wiped
the floor with Andrew and Shell and ordered them in, then I asked the kids next door if their mother was in. I was told, “Mum isn’t here – I’m in charge – anyway she doesn’t talk
to strangers.” Then they leaned right over the adjoining wall, started
effing and blinding and being really insulting. I told them to quieten down and
to go inside. One spat on the wall and cockily asked, “Why should I?” That did it. I stormed up to her
and shoved her into her house. Perhaps that was wrong but I just blew a fuse. Andrew and Shell told me that the neighbours had started it all and that they were
just defending themselves. I told them to just keep away from any trouble. But
then they made the point that they can’t even play in their own back yard now because of other kids. Andrew said, “We have to fight back, otherwise they think that they can do what they please.”
I don’t know what the answer
is. Police say that they patrol but they don’t seem to notice what goes
on and they won’t split the gangs up. A lot of parents seem pretty useless
and haven’t a clue half the time where their kids are, let alone how to discipline them.
Andrew and Shell asked what I’d
do if anyone broke into the house. I told them that I’d give them a good
hiding with a metal bar and I pointed to the sticks and bars that I store behind my doors.
MAY 2ND 1999
Some little louts came running down
my drive again hurling sticks and stones. One narrowly missed Jordan. Shell quickly shoved him inside. God
knows where half of them live. That lot aren’t from our road. I gave chase but they split and dived over walls and into people’s gardens. For what it was worth, I phoned police. They turned up after
half an hour, but of course all was calm. I suggested they circulate more in
our area and split the gangs up because the kids are mild and even quite likeable on their own but they become bold and daring
with their pals. But the police just fed me that old line that they just haven’t
got the manpower, that there is only two of them on duty…. One said he has been dealing with juvenile calls all day.
‘Sir’ Condom was making
a speech about the recent race hate bombing. Condom stresses, “Communities
defeat terrorism, communities defeat crime and the community will defeat the racists.”
So, what on Earth are the police being paid fat pay cheques for?
The vile smells are back. They showed up in the downstairs hall and moved upstairs into shell’s room and the hall. Andrew duly sprayed them and sent them packing. The kids found
a couple of those weird ‘tapers’ and I picked up one off the stairs. I
did wonder if the kids were planting them and I grilled them about it but they swear their innocence.
MAY 3RD 1999
The flippin’ remote wouldn’t
work for me, no matter how much I pleaded with it. I even stuck new batteries
in but it still refused to co-operate. In the end I had to ask Andrew to make
it work. Astonishingly he took it from me and held it for a few seconds while
he focussed his concentration on it. And hey presto it worked. He nonchalantly passed it to me and said that it wouldn’t give me any more problems – not today
anyway.
I found more of those peculiar ‘tapers’. This time they were rolled up pieces of toilet roll.
I found two on the kitchen table, one by the wastepaper bin and three on the stairs.
One had been burned at one end. It smelled odd – a bit like stale
smoke/ash. It stank like the smells that have been haunting us of late. I hauled the kids in and demanded the truth but they vehemently denied knowing anything
about the curious objects. I began to store them in a jar for future reference.
Jordan now insists on trying to dress himself. He
struggled to get his pyjama pants on and was as pleased as punch when he finally succeeded.
Trouble was, both his legs were in one side. Never mind, the effort was
there. As I got the littleuns ready for bed I could hear a right rumpus in the
back yard. I peered through the bedroom window to see a well-known teenage pest
and his half a dozen followers kicking my shed, laughing and mouthing. So I banged
on the window and ordered them to hoof it. I then found the kids and Emma and
AJ locked in the shed. Mud balls were splattered down the drive and on the kitchen
window. Fuming, I phoned police who assured me that they’d go and see the
lad’s family. Cops admitted being powerless and stated that their presence
might even make matters worse. I vowed there and then not to let those loud-mouthed
yobs get the better of me.
I decided that I was entitled to defend
my kids and my property and I’d just jolly well take a stick to any lout who comes around here. I knew Andrew and his friend were no match for a gang of big streetwise lads. [Neither am I really, but I’ll have to have a go.]
I told dad all about it on the phone. He said he’ll come round and duff one of them up – as a warning to the
rest. He said his road [in affluent, respectable Rhos-On-Sea] has gone downhill
too – yobbos chuck rubbish on his drive, climb on his garage and make a racket all night with their partying and bang,
bang, music.
MAY 4TH 1999
I popped over to see Donna [Emma and
AJ’s mum.] She’s going through the same torment as me and said she’d
fled exactly this kind of problematic neighbourhood in Manchester and that she didn’t expect to find it in sleepy little
Colwyn Bay. I joked that the ruffians had followed her over. She has her own
problem neighbours. They have music blaring out at all hours, doors banging,
kids screaming and arguing and a yapping, biting dog. Some of her neighbours’
kids have beaten up on her three. She said police are always around there and
that there have been calls for their removal. We stood on the doorstep commenting
about the many houses on our road which have or have had broken windows.
During tea, Melly slipped down into
her high chair and began to cry. Jordan immediately leapt to her aid and tried
to pull her up but he failed so he looked at me as if to say, “Come on quick, help us,” and then he soothingly
stroked her hair and forehead as he said, “Don’t cry.” It was
so touching. In a few months though he’ll probably be smacking her around.
After tea, the kids next door stood
on my shed catapulting stones down at Andrew and AJ. One big one caught AJ on
his head and made it bleed. Donna and I played hell with them. Emma later managed to get an apology and a promise that it wouldn’t happen again.
MAY 5TH 1999
Oh no not again – there were
more bloody brats sitting on my wall goading and threatening the kids. There
was about ten of them ranging from around nine years to fifteen years. Fags
hung from their mouths, some were waving sticks, some had rocks in socks, a couple had knives, all had stones in their hands
and the lad that locked Andrew and Shell and pals in my shed was there too. I
just snapped, grabbed my six foot stick and, wearing skirt and flip flops, stormed out yelling, “Oi, clear off you lot
NOW. Go on.” As I approached
them I was aware that most had fled but a few stayed there defiantly. I knew
I had to go for it. There was no point threatening if I didn’t have the
guts to carry it through. They’d
never let me forget it and they’d never leave us alone. So I let them
have it. I raised my weapon over my shoulder and let it swing freely with natural
force. It caught one lad across his arm and side.
He screamed and cried and ran off with his mates surrounding him, all looking shocked and concerned.
Five minutes later two fathers turned
up on my drive with faces like thunder, waving fists, making rude gestures and threats and shouting obscenities. One lives next to Donna and the other [the father of the lad I hit] is related to him. Eventually they sodded off after I’d told them to clear off since their wayward kids won’t
get the message any other way. I walked away, leaving them swearing to themselves. I later noticed a panda car outside their house.
I presume they were complaining about me. Cops didn’t call at my
house tho, fair play. Give them their due, the local bobbies are fine –
my gripe is not with them. It’s the police hierarchy that are nauseating
and criminal. I began to wonder if my diarrhoea-headed ex was bribing this tiresome
lot to give me grief. I’ve never had this
many problems with the town’s troublemakers before.
The Mickey Mouse Met are banging on
about there being no intelligence linking Serb atrocities with Jill Dando. Why
do they call it intelligence? Police aren’t intelligent enough to nail
criminals – they should employ five/six/seven year olds to do their ‘intelligence’ work.
I checked Mel at 1.00 am. She looked up at me and smiled. I pulled her blanket up. She
pulled it up further, over her face. I pulled it down again. She yanked it up again, over her face, and giggled. I tugged it down and said, “Oi, no games.” She laughed.
MAY 6TH 1999
Gareth was surprisingly polite, meek
and mild. That probably means he’s sweetening me up before he slaps me
down – as was the trend when we were together. No doubt he’ll be
barking mad later or pulling some sleazy strings from behind the scenes; only to be revealed in the dark and distant future. I jogged to dad’s to meet up with our American rellies. My Godparents Audrey and Ross are visiting for three weeks and are staying with dad. In one hour we covered a plethora of topics including my tinderbox existence.
This afternoon the kids went swimming
with their friends. I made some enquiries with the bus companies as we were planning
an ‘educational’ visit to Wylfa power station on Anglesey which is roughly an hour’s drive away. I discovered that we’d need three buses and that if they were all on time, the trip one way would
take at least three hours. So much for the government’s suitable alternative
to the car! I left the kitchen briefly to check up on the babies and when I returned
and saw what was on the table, my blood ran cold and my spine chilled. Three
‘tapers’ with burnt ends ogled me. They were not there a couple of
minutes ago. I couldn’t blame Andrew and Shell and there were no doors
or windows open. I was in a shocked stupor and at a loss to know what to do next
or where to turn. I felt as if I was in limbo – hovering between this world
and the next. I decided not to spill the beans yet. I felt it all so ludicrous and that I was a nut even contemplating a priest. Exorcisms only take place in films, don’t they? Anyway,
if heavy-handed officialdom get hold of this, I’ll be branded insane and they’ll take my kids off me – too
risky.
For some reason my mind began to ponder
the plight of people who hit rock bottom because of alcohol and drugs. Some are
so ‘possessed’ that they hallucinate – they see menacing, monstrous worms, snakes, spiders, demons….
I am convinced that such unfortunates are under the damaging hell-fire influence of destructive Satan because they have been
too weak to resist the devil’s temptations and have now fully succumbed to him, much to his enormous pleasure. I swear Satan is laughing his socks off at the rapid growth rate of losers and dependants
and that he is confident that he will one day rule the whole world in misery and wretchedness.
As I studied the puzzling tapers, the air around them seemed sinisterly warm.
MAY 7TH 1999
Mohammed Al Fayed had a slot on Talk
Radio. I was so gripped with what he had to say that I tried several times to
phone in; but every time the staff answered, the line went ominously dead. Al
Fayed is convinced that the British secret service, French and US governments and Buckingham Palace conspired to kill his
son and Di. It wouldn’t surprise me.
I just hope he can prove it one day. He says the driver was not drunk
– security would not have allowed him to drive. That makes sense. There is power and safety in numbers and they’d
better realise that their numbers are dwindling and Al Fayed’s supporters
are RISING. He says the b…. got away with it but that God will help him
find the truth because God is more powerful than them. That’s true too,
and the truth will come out one day. Far too many ‘ordinary’ people
are sick of crooked, hypocritical, politicians and they salute courageous Al Fayed for exposing our double-standard government
– the powerful upper classes who treat us as slaves. We all know that the
seedy underworld rule all governments and that there is no democracy in any party. He
knows corrupt politicians want him dead and that Scotland Yard won’t protect him, but he isn’t scared and quite
right too because he is protected by the supreme ruler. In fact I believe Mohammed
Al Fayed is one of God’s main employees. He rightly states that if he was
murdered, they would have to kill a lot more besides. Also there will always be other powerful people who dare to challenge corruption. Is he the only person in the know who has the spunk to expose these self-righteous self-serving governing
sinners? Why don’t the oppressed minor ministers speak up too? And isn’t it time that the Royal set up is challenged? They should abide by the same laws as everyone
else. The good ordinary poverty stricken folk will help Al Fayed force the truth
out and bring about the downfall of the ruling powerful b…. stds – Blair and his corrupt cabinet cronies. Don’t give up Al Fayed; you are here to do a very important job. We are all behind you.
All the little sods around here are
being ultra sweet to Andrew and Shell now – even the buggers that sat on my wall, cowing. There’s a rumour going round that I’m a mad woman, not to be messed with! Even our road was on best behaviour. I called my two in at
half past eight and everyone else followed suit – all the kids went in. It
was the quietest Friday night on record.
I read an interesting piece in the
paper about Paco Rabanne, the world famous fashion designer who prophesises. He
says he’s met God. He predicts a third world war where the world is in
flames. He sees Paris on fire – people jumping off bridges. He says negative power is now dominating for the next seven years and that today’s obsession with
sex is a conspiracy to bring the anti-Christ to power. Wow! Andrew and Shell said ‘judgement’ day will be in six years if the evil upon Earth is not eradicated
before then. That’ll be in the year 2005.
I called the kids over to read it. They were unperturbed, as if it was
a well-known fact. Andrew then said that God had just told him that it is not enough that people worship God and live Christian
lives; evildoers have to be removed from power and transformed. Good people have
to fight for a honourable world. The
kids pointed out that change should preferably be achieved by non-violent means within the law. I casually remarked that it didn’t really matter because
we’re all going to die anyway and that the good people will then be in heaven whereas all the baddies will be in hell. “Not so,” he corrected me. “God
says that if Satan is not defeated on Earth now, then he’ll continue to rule us when we are dead because the bad guys
will outnumber the good guys and hell will overflow into heaven and take it over. God cannot crush Satan alone.” What a sobering thought. Rabanne reckons
women will fight male domination and that in the forthcoming era of Aquarius [the age of justice], women will seize power.
Astoundingly he warns us to beware of the pope because he is the reincarnation of Kasfa, the high priest who put Jesus on
the cross. I am confident that Paco Rabanne is pretty accurate. Come on girls; we have work to do – fight the b…. that you live with, who proclaims undying
love for you and has the adulation of outsiders, but who puts you through hell.
MAY 8TH 1999
Two thousand teachers are the victims
of violent pupils. The school’s answer to that is to expel the troublesome
ones. But that just shifts the problem on.
The unruly have their prayers answered – they’re no longer penned inside a boring classroom and now have
unlimited freedom and a license to wreak havoc in the community.
I read in the paper about Church of
England bishops living in luxury. It is quite staggering. They enjoy pay and perks packages averaging one hundred and thirty five grand. Parish priests get just fifteen grand. While churches close
down, the cost of bishops’ palaces, chauffeurs and gardens doubles to almost nine million pounds. Such lavish luxury is unchristian and those guilty should hang their heads in shame. Archbishop of Canterbury, George Carey and Archbishop of York, David Hope, take note.
I went for a leisurely stroll to the
park via the dingle with Andrew and Shell, Emma and AJ and the bubs. It brought
back happy childhood memories of climbing up through undergrowth, swinging from trees and days out with my cousin Karen and
her charge Elizabeth [two-years old] and my neighbour’s two-year old little girl, Melanie. I even pointed out the hotel [which is en route] that I enjoyed working in when I was eleven. Now the dingle is known as ‘skid alley’ and junkies, alci’s and gangs occupy it.
Later Shell, Emma and her sister Danielle
busied themselves in my backyard, arranging baskets of flowers for me.
MAY 10TH 1999
Dad, Audrey and Ross dropped in for
a cuppa. They brought gifts for the kids – American coins and teeny beany
babies. Ross and I clashed on racism. He
told me that ninety percent of prison inmates in the USA are blacks. I pointed
out that it doesn’t mean that they are all criminals. Many suffer appalling miscarriages of justice because of prejudice.
We got onto the subject of religion. Audrey is ‘fifty fifty’
regarding her belief in God, but dad and Ross patronizingly stated that they don’t believe in fairies. I mentioned the supernatural smells that we were getting but no one took me seriously so I moved the conversation
swiftly on.
We got yakking about Princess Di. Dad and Ross started to ridicule her about her lack of GCSE’s. I couldn’t
resist mentioning the fact that she’s famous – worth millions, had great inner strength and character, was a good
woman with values and was a survivor. She had the support of millions [and you
can’t class all of them as nuts] and she had power. I enquired if either
of them could’ve coped with the enormous public pressure that she was under. Despite
all her so-called weaknesses, she was a fighter and a person worthy of admiration. She
exposed the selfish and money grabbing royals for the liars and hypocrites that they are.
She shamed the government with her successful land mine awareness campaign, her work with the: homeless and destitute,
aids victims, D/V victims and single mothers and her ability to generate huge sums for charities. Charles’ camp labelled her ‘mental’. The
lying lizards even tried to have her silenced and ‘sorted’ by shoving her into some sort of ‘mental’
institution. Well, men do label ambitious successful women mental so that they
can continue to suppress them, have them locked away and kept safely under control.
Not much has changed in that respect in the last century. In truth,
anyone who had to put up with the Royal reptiles would be driven mad anyway.
Diana’s ‘sin’ was
that she had courage and dared to tell us the truth about her in-laws. She challenged
the royals and they didn’t like anyone to rock the boat. She was a ‘loose-canon’
and the royals feared her popularity – she threatened their demise. The
Establishment are very wary of those who stand alone and speak out for what’s right.
I believe she is one of God’s main angels. She had a special role
to carry out for God in her short life and she answered his call superbly. Di
asked John Major about being an ambassador for Britain. He discussed her proposal
with the royal family and the answer came back - “no.” Di was furious,
and rightly so. She would’ve been a perfect ambassador but the Establishment
couldn’t risk that; they couldn’t allow her to have any more power
and influence. But they didn’t reckon on the power of the people. The public respected her honesty and her genuine good works and they gave her the love and the power that she so rightly deserved. The
people admired her fighting spirit and her down-to-earth attitude. They don’t
like the other upper class toffs.
Dad and Ross mocked her, saying she
was just a fashion icon and that she was a ‘manic depressive’. I
remarked that she had a lorry load of insecurities, which was of no surprise considering the fact that she was a lonely soul
in a sea of snakes. I acknowledged that she was bulimic, but that she only succumbed
to Bulimia at certain times, usually when she was suffering severe stress. The
point is, most of us would’ve cracked up if we had to live with the media
attention that she endured and also if we had to be a part of that family – a family of lies, secrets and greed. The royal parasites made Diana’s life hell.
Diana walked God’s narrow road, a road fraught with difficulties. She
would’ve made a brilliant Queen; she put our present one to shame. I just
hope that the two young princes can find some of their mother’s strength and can also find a way to walk the path of
righteousness. Right now under Charles’ influence and the rest of the clan,
they are heading down Satan’s path of money and materialism – the road to hell.
You don’t get the power and adulation that Di had unless you are doing a special job. Her message was truth and goodness. She was here to make changes – for the good of society. According to the men in power, that wasn’t in the plan, and as such, she had
to die.
This afternoon the kids accompanied
dad and guests to Conwy castle. At least I can tell the LEA that they’ve
been on an ‘educational’ trip this year even if they did spend a lot of the time in the sweet shop. During their absence the lovely sweet aroma just appeared out of the blue and seeped around the whole house. I felt chilled but not in a scary sense. It
was an enriching experience but it only lasted minutes.
Much later the putrid pests were back. The sickly stench of death slithered all around us.
We felt uncomfortably warm and our breathing became more difficult. I
commented to the kids that the nice smells were here earlier and that I’d felt a distinct temperature drop. They replied simultaneously, “That was God.” It
was quite uncanny. Shell said that God must’ve visited with his angels.
MAY 14TH 1999
Andrew duffed up the little twit that
once ripped Shell’s hood off and he reclaimed the fifty pence that was stolen.
I watched with mounting horror the
story of Chantalle McKorkle on the Tonight with Trevor McDonald show. She is a British woman who became a millionaire in America by selling glamorous videotapes detailing how
to get rich – the McKorkle way. Now, she and her husband are in a Florida
jail serving twentyfour years for deception. Ok, the tapes were hard sell, contained
lies and misleading information; and for that perhaps some kind of punishment was due.
To be stripped of their assets would be sufficient, but a jail sentence? A
twentyfour YEAR jail sentence???? What on Earth is going on? These people are not in the same league as murderers or rapists.
In my opinion they’re not even criminals – they didn’t force people at gunpoint to buy the tapes,
they’re not violent and they didn’t hurt anyone. Devious they may
be but the majority of businesspersons are on the fiddle. The self-satisfied
prosecutor and judge should be in jail - shame on them.
I retired at 2.00 am. Mel woke up as I began checking her and faffing with her blankets.
She smiled, farted and turned over. Then she spent the next hour or so
nattering to herself at the foot of my bed.
MAY 15TH 1999
Mel’s favourite pastime is to
blow raspberries during mealtimes, especially when she has a mouthful of food. Jordan
just creases up watching her. Then she does it all the more.
MAY 17TH 1999
Andrew got bitten on the bum by a
mongrel. He had been playing opposite our house with friends when the mutt bounded
towards them causing pandemonium, and all the kids screamed and scattered. Andrew
turned away and felt a set of teeth sink into his behind. If it wasn’t
for Emma who kicked it off, the dog would not have let go. AJ ran in to alert
me. I fled outside to find the black scruffy thing scampering up our road, Andrew
slumped on the pavement crying in agony and concerned neighbours surrounding him. All
the kids knew the dog and knew where it lived because it was greatly feared since it had bitten before. I half-carried Andrew in to inspect the damage. Thankfully
the bleeding eased and the doctor said that stitches weren’t required but that it would take a couple of weeks for the
bruising and puncture wounds to heal.
I found out that the dog spends a
lot of its time on the doorstep next to Donna’s house. This is because
its owners have relatives living there. I also learned that the dog’s owner
is the father of the boy that I walloped off my wall with a big stick. Donna
informed me that her whole family had been bitten by this dog and that Donna’s own dog had also been attacked by it
and left for dead. I was told that it had bitten another family too, before Donna’s. Apparently the dog is well known to police and courts.
Oh flamin’ hell…. that’s really terrific, innit?
I marched around to confront the dog’s
owners but was greeted by a barrage of vulgarities. I raged at the woman at the
door, “How would you feel if my dog sank its teeth into your bum, and I refused to accept responsibility?” It was a waste of time arguing and I was soon shown my way out by the dog’s
‘dad’. He vomited fury and followed me off his land with a string
of ‘F’ words….
I phoned the police and let rip. “That dog is known to you people, you have taken it off the owners twice before
but somehow they got it back, you’ve ordered that it remains on a leash yet it is regularly seen wandering into people’s
gardens and terrifying the kids. It should be put down; it has drawn blood; you
have received numerous complaints about it; people have been threatened by it. What
are you going to do? Are you waiting for a baby to be attacked? Killed?” But they didn’t give a fig.
Hats off to Antonella Lazzeri for
her report in the Mail about illegal drugs. She has moved amongst the jetset,
rich, super-snob upper classes and has seen heirs to powerful titles and world famous pop stars snorting coke. She describes it as a “disgusting, degrading spectacle.” Top London nightclubs insist they
are “zero-tolerated” but if that were true they’d go broke. Drugs
cause worldwide violence and misery. Royals, lords, heirs, showbiz and pop stars
are all guilty. Antonella says, “Sadly the few of us who don’t touch
the horrible, revolting drugs are getting fewer.” Pity she didn’t
name names.
MAY 18TH 1999
There were a load of crows in my yard
but strangely there was no food there for them. Immediately my thoughts focussed
on Hitchcock’s thrillers The Birds and The
Omen.
Incredibly that dog is still roaming around our road. I was so incensed that I contemplated
taking the law into my own hands. I stormed off to see a male neighbour but another,
a council employee, calmed me down and assured me that she would contact the dog warden.
However, two hours on and the mutt is still worrying residents on our road and there is no sign of any warden. I called them myself to discover that both wardens were out on jobs. I thought to myself wryly, ‘Yeah, probably chasing their tails after harmless dogs.’ I wondered how the council could catch an aggressive dog when they can’t even enforce dog-excrement
laws.
An amiable WPC [Sophie] turned up
for a statement. She informed me that there needs to be three separate cases
of a dog biting before it goes to court. Oh for heavens sakes! And what if it kills someone next time? It seems quite partial to the taste of blood. Who makes up
these crackpot laws? I’ll sue him.
Sophie agreed that something needs to be done but that the RSPCA can’t take it – their hands are tied,
and police have very few powers. So it’s all up to the court. When I uttered that the whole drawn out court procedure could take months, meanwhile that potential killer
runs free, probably causing all sorts of mayhem, she nodded. She remarked that
even then the judge might not order its execution. In my opinion if a judge rules
that a dog that has already tasted human blood should not be put down and it does bite someone again, then the judge should be held accountable. But we all know that there is no justice. You can produce
all sorts of evidence of a crime and who dunnit, but even then, somehow, the onus is turned onto you and you’re the
guilty party, and the criminal is let off.
Donna said that was exactly what happened
to her when she went to court regarding this very same dog. She was made to feel responsible for causing the dog to bite all of her family because she beat it with a broom. It’s called self-defence. She was
trying to get it off her dog and kids. Then it turned on her. You then get all
the bloodthirsty threats off the owners just cos you got bitten by their mutt! Sophie stated that Andrew has got to give a statement in the company of an adult who
cannot be me or a police officer. How ridiculous can you get? I had to make arrangements for her to interview him at my neighbour’s. Then came over half an hour of form filling covering my version of events.
She said that the police need details of: what the bite looked like, how I would describe it, if Andrew was crying,
if he was in agony, if he was very shaken…. Oh, please! The poor boy was
bitten on the bum. The dog sank its teeth in and wouldn’t let go. Andrew was bruised and bleeding. That
dog should be dead. One bite is one too many.
There should be no court and no questions. Virtually the whole road witnessed
it and named it. Everyone knows it is vicious and uncontrolled. Where is the protection for the people? As usual this is about
some folk making lots of dosh from a crazy system. When the officer had gone
I placed one of my metal bars under the pram. I’m taking no chances. If Muttley threatens any of the kids again, I’ll swing for it.
MAY 19TH 1999
Jack Straw’s got some bloody
nerve removing the jury from our courts. The judicial system is already fatally
flawed but new rules will make it even more unfair. He says he’s doing
it to save costs. He should try saving cash in other ways: cut bureaucracy, corruption,
incompetence and wastage in his own cabinet for starters. Laws are made by them
to control us, we have no say, there is no democracy; laws are there to protect so-called VIPs only and the hierarchy’s
attitude is, “To hell with the underdogs.” I’d rather be tried
any day by a bunch of ‘ordinary’ men and women, rather than a pompous prig of a magistrate who persecutes the
innocent and protects the criminal. Magistrates are the devil’s disciples.
So Tom parker Bowles thinks he can
get away with anything, including drugdealing, because he is a celebrity? He
is a goodtime party-loving upper-class chump and so are his shallow glitterati pals.
He reckons the Establishment will protect him. I’ve got news for
him, the Establishment wouldn’t be there except for ordinary folk’s support, and we slaves are sick to death of
self-indulgent, privileged toffs like him.
Customs chiefs are recruiting pensioners
as ‘spies’. They are asked to keep an eye out for suspicious boats
to help crack down on drink and drug smugglers. Jesus wept!
An angry group of Scots attacked the
home of a serial paedophile. The sex beast had to be rescued by police and social
workers and taken to a secret location. He had been jailed six times for lewd offences, the most recent of which he only served eighteen months of a three-year sentence. He is repeatedly released only to violate again, then gets police protection when
the public, quite rightly, protest. How many victims
of such monsters get police protection? The sick system sees him as the victim. Praise be for the Scottish villagers – wish
there were more like them.
The phantasmal decomposed smells descended
upon us in fury and the unknown seemed to be smirking at us because of some ominous doom.
We sprayed Jasmine and Orange around in a frenzy but the filthy phantoms were reluctant to leave us. They seemed to be gaining strength by the minute. I didn’t
really know how much longer we could tolerate this insane occurrence. I decided
that tomorrow I really must try to find a priest. But where on Earth was I going
to find one? It’s not like shopping in Safeways and lifting a tin of tomatoes
off the shelf! How many reverends really
have faith and are not just showy self-servers? And is anyone qualified? I thought about talking over our problems at the church that we use for contact but
I dismissed the idea. I didn’t fancy Mr Troublemaker getting wind of it
all. ‘Oh if only we could move,’ I thought despairingly.
MAY 20TH 1999
Nothing could’ve prepared me
for the shock I was to receive when we returned with the babies from the church. Someone
or something [and since there were no signs of a break in, I can deduce it was the latter] had written spine-chilling death-threats
on my kitchen door and ‘jotter’ board and had turned the lounge and my bedroom upside down. The kids and I stared in stony-faced silence and utter disbelief.
After what seemed like an eternity I calmly walked around the house photographing everything that had been disturbed
or was alien. In the lounge the wastepaper bin was upside down – the contents
strewn across the floor. The babies’ toy box was on its side – toys
were scattered everywhere. My books [including this journal’s first draft]
were removed from a table and left haphazardly on the floor. Burnt tapers [some
still smouldering] were found dotted about here and there. In my bedroom I found
my bed all dishevelled. All my vases of flowers – artificial and real [including the basket arrangement the girls had
given me] had been tipped out. All my perfumes and jewellery were lying around
on the floor. Framed photos of mum, me and Andrew and Shell as babies were placed
facedown on the bed and two of my chest of drawers were open with nighties and slips draped out. Ash was doted on my bed and floor. It was as if everything
that personifies ‘goodness’ had been tampered with, seemingly to try to eradicate them and that which signifies
sex and evil intent were revered. In the kitchen [in green ink] was the writing
on the glass part of the door, “You will die, ha ha ha.” On the notice
board [in red] was written, “Death is your destiny.” I defiantly
found myself rubbing out the offensive writing and I wrote, “Evil and corruption will die, justice is our destiny, righteousness
will prevail.” There was no point calling cops. I hardly have any faith in them and anyway they’d only label me a loony, liar and attention-seeker. I figured I’d contact some churches once I’d cleaned up and got the babies
sorted out. But various things got in the way.
A gang of kids came back again slinging
mud balls down my drive, so Andrew shot at them with his toy gun, using plastic pellets.
Next minute, the dog’s ‘mother’ [the woman who is the mother of the lad that I’d walloped off
my wall] turned up on my doorstep to complain that my lad had done her “lad’s face in.” I asked her what her lad was doing coming down my drive and I told her to keep her kids and her dog under
control, so she spewed out a stream of ‘F’ words. Later I nipped
up to Donna’s and found the woman and her sister next door still spouting off.
All I heard was: “Effing…. Effing…. and effing…. you upper class toffs.” I thanked her for the compliment and she saw red. “Wanna
fight?” she enquired with fists up by her nose. I laughed and walked away. With a cuppa in one hand sloshing about and spilling out over her hand and her ciggie
in the other, depositing all down her frock, she began to follow me. Frothing
at the mouth, she turned the air blue and everyone in the vicinity [including all the kids and especially her own] gawped
and then dissolved into peels of laughter. Meanwhile, the milkman stood at my
door engrossed in the drama. “And you thought the war was in Kosovo,”
I cracked, as I approached him.
Before I knew it, it was 9.00.pm and
I’d only just got the babies in bed. My holy call had been put off again
for another day. The kids slumped in front of the small screen and I got to work
in my bedroom on the computer. At around 10.00 pm the kids ran up to tell me
that the stale smoky stench was filling up the lounge and hall. As we were half
way down the stairs, we found bits of ash dotted about. Then Andrew tore off
hell for leather. He screamed, “God says there is a fire in the kitchen.” Horrified I followed him to find the rim of the potato bag on fire. Andrew promptly swatted it out and we doused it in water. I
then got very cross and accused him of lighting the bag for a bit of fun. He
repeatedly and solemnly swore that he wasn’t guilty. Then he pointed out
some facts. He asserted, “Yeah, like I put those tapers on the table when
you were alone and I’m causing all the smells and the messy rooms and writing on the walls…. I was with you, remember?” That’s true, he hadn’t been responsible for all that. I considered the unthinkable – was this spontaneous combustion?
No that’s impossible; but then so were all the other unexplained events.
Maybe this thing is trying to kill us.
If fires can start just like that then our ill-willed spirit could burn the whole house down – with us in it. Oh my God. Andrew broke into my thoughts
and warned me that God had just told him there could be another fire.
I began to discuss with the kids what
we’d do in the event of that becoming a reality. Thankfully I had
smoke alarms – one in the utility adjoining the kitchen, one in the downstairs hall and one in the upstairs hall. I decided I’d buy more tomorrow. I
had a fire blanket which I placed on the kitchen table; then I found myself filling up pans of water with the kids –
just in case. I also made a mental note to purchase a fire extinguisher and to
locate a suitable priest. I brewed up then quadruple checked that all electricals
were safe and socket switches were off. We all then trooped off upstairs to check
out all windows for escape routes. We began in Shell’s room, which is directly
above the kitchen. I added ‘rope’ to my mental shopping list
and decided that for now, if we had to, we’d substitute it with sheets. I
even drew up a plan of Andrew climbing down first and then me lowering the babies down to him.
Oh God, this was all so scary - so unreal. Andrew remarked that the devil
was craftily making it look as if he and Shell were to blame and that Satan’s
evil intentions were to cause a rift between the kids and I. Ultimately, they’d
be removed from me and taken into ‘care’, which would cause me more problems and heartache and would stop me writing
my book. It would also weaken my resolve to fight for worldwide justice and righteousness. As we spoke, Andrew glanced through Shell’s window and saw, horror of horrors,
a reflection in the home’s French windows - of bright orange flames dancing across our kitchen window. Andrew tore downstairs with me hot on his heels. We burst
into the kitchen to find it full of thick black smoke and an area of six feet by three feet of drawn curtains ablaze. We didn’t stay to find out what else was alight.
Only then did one of the alarms start to shrill. I gulped, “Everyone
out – quick grab the babies.” Andrew pulled the kitchen door shut
and the second alarm began to shrill. I pushed Shell outside to tell our neighbour
to call the fire dept; Andrew ran up to rescue Jordan while I grabbed Melly.
For the next twenty odd minutes; maybe
more; we all stood barefooted in the old people’s home watching our kitchen burning.
We sipped sweet tea and I remember that I couldn’t stop shaking and gibbering incoherently. I kept telling the staff, “I don’t know how it happened.
It started on its own. There’s something evil in the house
– it’s trying to kill us.” The staff were really kind and helped
calm me down. Firemen were initially full of praise for Andrew and had him up
for a bravery award until they became puzzled as to the source. At first they
suggested the kettle was to blame – that it had exploded, until I stupidly commented that it was switched off. Oddly, they insisted that it was definitely switched on. Then a fireman called Brian asked if I suspected anything that might’ve caused it. I mumbled something about an electrical fault maybe; then I made a big mistake and asked if I could tell
him something in confidence. I was so overcome with all the good v evil supernatural
power struggle and the prophesies that were coming true that I entrusted him with some of our unexplained experiences. But even as I spoke, I regretted it. Deep
down I knew he’d blab; but it was too late.
By this time Donna’s family
had seen the fire truck and had come to offer help. We accepted her offer of
spending the night at her house and as we walked wearily up the road, Gareth appeared from nowhere and asked if we were all
ok. The callous creep even tried to take advantage of my vulnerable state and
asked if we could get back together. I walked away. As I sat breastfeeding Mel in Donna’s lounge, with Jordan at my side and Andrew and Shell settling
down in bed in AJ’s and Emma’s rooms, police turned up wanting to question Andrew.
They didn’t have much to say to me except that they believed Andrew is the culprit because he is too “cool,
calm and mature” about it all. I explained exactly what had happened and
said that they cannot accuse Andrew just cos I brought him up to hold his own.
Later I sneaked into my house to collect
some essentials and found my kitchen crawling with senior policemen and firemen. One
policeman had stolen my preternatural diary notes and was reading them out. He
claimed that we’d intended starting a fire because I’d written it down, until I corrected him, saying that the
word he’d read was “fine” not “fire.” The cheeky
monkey then patronizingly said, “You might as well tell us everything.”
Police are the world’s worst for withholding vital information and for misleading courts so that innocents get
charged and the guilty walk free. POLICE are the crooks. I was asked about the strange happenings that we’d experienced and why I felt we were being targeted
by spirits. So I found myself telling the men that I believed we were being asked
to spread the message of God and that I was to write a diary of my life which would cover my family’s experiences, including
our attempts to tackle corruption within the authorities. I hastened to add that
I wasn’t implying that all bodies in society are corrupt and I teased them
a little bit by saying, “I’m sure you guys aren’t corrupt, but there is a lot of it about, especially in some police forces, and if we can stamp it
out, it would be so much better for society.” I said that we were just
doing our little bit to make the world a more moral place. I felt a bit of an
idiot standing there amongst them talking about ghosts; but it was the TRUTH. They
thought they had a weirdo on their hands. I pointed out that if I’d intended
making a killing on the insurance I’d have done a better job of it. I enquired
as to why Shelly or myself aren’t arsonist suspects. They had no answer. They demanded I forfeit my keys and informed me that CID would be searching my house
in the morning. Oh for heavens sakes. I
said, “Look, the fire is unexplained, I don’t know why all these things are happening to us. They just are. I don’t like it and I wish it would stop. We are not CRIMINALS.”
MAY 21ST 1999
CID treated us like sh…. I wasn’t
even allowed in [even under police escort] to collect baby items. They seized
Andrew’s workbooks and one [Chris Walsh] commented that Andrew is too intelligent and not at the expected level of a
ten-year old. I replied that I make the kids aware of the unglamorous reality
of life. He disagreed with my view that the world is evil and corrupt, so I told
him he was either naïve or corrupt himself. I told him about the drug-pushers,
vandals, juvenile delinquents, thieves, muggers, alcis…. on our road alone
and I asked him, “What are you lot doing about it?” He said that
the police do all they can to catch criminals and that the courts let them off. I
remarked that with the amount of police in circulation surely it’s about time pressure was put on the judicial system
for appropriate change. He said nothing.
I told him that police behaviour regarding cases such as the Stephen Lawrence murder and Hillsborough are a disgrace
and that the underworld rules. He said that that was my opinion only. I corrected him that it was a hell of lot of people’s opinion.
I remarked that I bet they know who killed Jill Dando. He said they didn’t. [How would he know if they did or didn’t?] I was firing on all cylinders now and said that there shouldn’t be such things
as Irish paramilitaries and contract killers. Walshie passed a remark that I’d
mocked Jack Straw’s rhetoric “we have become a walk-on-by society.”
He then made a comment that I watch the news - as if that wasn’t the done thing for single mothers and as if
it implied that he found it somewhat threatening. He then cleared off with his
camera and little plastic bags full of ‘criminal’ evidence – some of the tapers, Andrew’s work, my
rough notes of supernatural incidences and my typed pages of the start of this book.
Why on Earth would he swipe those? Had my little ‘sermon’
last night tweaked a nerve? Did those men have something to hide about their
own professional behaviour?
Even dad is against us. He told me to keep an eye on my son and he poo poo’d the bizarre happenings. Just because I can’t explain the fire, we are now branded criminals.
Right now I feel so alone and victimised. I’m also mentally taxed. In a moment of exasperation I turned on him and said that he shouldn’t be so
judgemental and that mum was right when she used to call him weak because he was behaving just like the police and finding
an easy target – a child, to pick on. I felt that he didn’t really
care about us and what was happening, and that he just didn’t want me to be a burden to him. I told him not to underestimate these unfamiliar forces and that they are, worryingly, more powerful than
anyone can comprehend.
Later we made it up and he said he’d
been for the first court hearing to try and claim back his two and a half grand and that afterwards Gareth had threatened
him with his life. Gareth had said, “ When all this is over I’d watch
your back if I were you – I won’t do it but I’ll make sure you won’t go anywhere for a long time.” Dad said he’d retorted, “Don’t threaten me pal.” I asked if we could kip over at his place just for the night because we really couldn’t face a night
in my haunted house. But he refused saying, “I have guests here –
there is not enou
