MARCH

MARCH 1^ST 1999

There’s a load of hullabaloo about the teletubbies!  They’re saying that Tinky Winky is gay and that the sexual connotations of the tubbies are a bad influence on kids and that parents should be on their guard.  Good God!  Teletubbies are harmless.  Talk about a storm in a teacup!  What about the bad influences that kids are exposed to that are very damaging such as corruption, injustice, violence….?  Even at a very early age kids are aware of more than they are given credit for.  They know about injustice, hatred, lies and double standards.  I remember when I was very young I constantly questioned my parents about things and tried to make sense of everything.  I knew when I was right and they were wrong and that at times they were not being sensible or making sense, or that sometimes my idea or method was better than theirs.  But I didn’t have a voice because they were bigger and older than me.  I knew that they controlled me and that I didn’t get a say because I was ‘just a kid’.  Dad wanted me to be a good obedient little girl.  I thought that I was treated unfairly at times.  Of course, I too am guilty of the same crime with Andrew and Shell at times and will say, “Because I say so.”

Vera Nolan visited to make sure that I have the necessary criteria for raising my babies.  She wanted to know how many bedrooms I have, what provisions I have in the way of equipment necessary for small children and toys available to them etc etc etc.  Well in my view it really wouldn’t matter if you lived in a virtual shoe box and had very little in the way of stimuli, as long as you possessed that all important quality – love for your children, and that you treated them with respect.  Then they will thrive, no matter what.  Andrew and Shell were on impressive behaviour and brought Vera and myself cups of tea and chocolate biscuits.  [They’ll do anything if there’s a quid in it.]

MARCH 2^ND 1999

I received a NSPCC begging letter.  They are trying to highlight the plight of the child and how child abuse in British homes is rising.  Many people do indeed donate and it certainly is for a good cause but in my opinion the money raised by the caring public does very little to help children who are in need.  While we have un undemocratic deceitful government, a corrupt incompetent police force, a judicial system that supports the criminal, social workers who shy away from trouble and find it easier to persecute the innocent, we haven’t got a hope in hell of helping abused children; in other words, whilst the underworld and evil rule, children and the helpless will continue to suffer.  When are the authorities going to stop lying, bullsh…. ing, protecting criminals and start doing their jobs?  That is, when are they going to enforce law and order fairly for everyone?  When are they going to stop the influx of drugs and punish those guilty instead of perverting the course of justice of which they deserve jail?  When are they going to stamp out racism?  When are they going to ban the gun? When are they going to stop wasting money and spending it on themselves?  When are they going to tighten loopholes that make a mockery of our law?  When are they going to practice what they preach and start setting the right example?  When are they going to stop hoarding the money that they’ve stolen off hard working honest folk?  When are they going to stop destroying our planet?  When are they going to stamp out the mafia and other wealthy warlords?  When are they going to bring the big fish to justice?  When are they going to stop punishing the innocent?  When are they going to be held accountable?  When are they going to…. ?  When?  Never!  Worldwide anarchy WILL arise first – in the not too distant future; and then there may be hope….

My thoughts keep drifting back to that awful day at clinic where overbearing Dr Macareth abused her position.  Her callous words keep haunting me: “We need to enquire at nursery and crèche to find out who did this to her; I need to send for an ambulance immediately.”  There I was tying my damnedest to put the past behind me and move forward and some judgemental doctor puts a spanner in the works.  Her accusations threaten my relations with my child carers.  Terrific!  The NHS is in crisis.  Well that’s not surprising when you have the likes of Dr Macareth hogging it unnecessarily.  Health visitor Mr Browne is a bit of a nitpicker too.   She told me Mel has a squint.  Does she hell.  She told me Jordan is shy.  Rubbish, he’s just choosy about who he talks to.  She questioned a mark on Jordan’s face.  Bloomin’ hell!  He tripped up when he was running cos he was excited.  ALL kids fall over, trip up, bump themselves, refuse to speak to strangers…. If they are just allowed to develop of their own free will, in their time, they usually turn out happy and well adjusted.  Professional intervention can be so damaging.  To me, these health visitors are largely just a bunch of busy bodies with nothing better to do.

MARCH 3^RD 1999

I had a nightmare of a morning.  I was hauled into the DSS and interrogated about my living arrangements during my three-year relationship with insect-features.  I only received the letter yesterday requesting my presence yet the lying bureaucrat insisted it was sent out last week.  I was led to believe that I’d have a chance to see the allegations of fraud before my interview; but no, I was read my rights as the tape rolled and was asked it I wanted a solicitor present.  Sleazebag Williams had collected various bits of information to try and get me into trouble.  I again explained the reasons for my temporary stays at his house and his periods of time with me.  I also told the B/A official Mr Drew that I had enquired with the B/A beforehand just to make sure that we weren’t doing anything illegal and that I’d been reassured that we were not. I was questioned about my use of Gareth’s doctors.  I explained that Gareth and I had intended to use the Dolgellau village hospital for Jordan’s birth but that I ended up in Wrexham.  I remarked that Gareth forgot to mention that he and his son used my doctor, dentist and two local hospitals.  I was asked about phone calls from his house to finance advisors.  Again I admitted it but said that I didn’t think it was wrong because I was just helping him get the best deal during his house sale.  I was asked why Andrew used Gareth’s address for his fishing permit, so I explained that it was because the pool is in Llysfaen, where Gareth lives. 

It’s funny that I wasn’t questioned about the loan that I took out to help that woodlice buy his bedroom furniture since he wasn’t creditworthy.  Nor was I questioned about the considerable amount of time my dad, my uncle and I put in helping him reconstruct his stairway and hall and decorate and the fact that he didn’t have to part with a penny for our labours or materials! I then tried to tell interrogator Drew that Gareth is a vicious vindictive liar whose only aim is to make my life hell.  But I was rebuked and informed that there were ‘witnesses’ prepared to say that I was living with my ex and that I was seen there on a daily basis.  A bit later on, he reminded me about these ‘witnesses’.  Later on again the B/A man asked me if all these ‘witnesses’ are “malicious and evil.”  And yet again he let me know that he had ‘witnesses’ who were prepared to come forward to say that I was living with GW and that these ‘witnesses’ would be giving statements.  In the end, I asked, “What witnesses?”  The lying official Drew wouldn’t [couldn’t] say.  The only thing that popped into my mind regarding GW’s neighbours was what my lying ex had told the welfare officer - something about Andrew and Shelly letting horses out of his neighbours’ stables and that the police had been called.  Such lies – there was no evidence and no enquiry.  And in any case, according to my enquiries, people don’t trust and can’t stand HIM.  After about an hour’s grilling, I was eventually turfed out.  As I left, I remarked that my only crime was falling for a sweet-talking conman. 

The malicious authorities are prosecuting the Bramleys for abduction.  Well, social services should be prosecuted for harassment of these two wonderful loving parents, since all the Bramleys wanted to do was care for and love their little girls.  But they were appallingly forced to take drastic action and run away with them when gangster social workers came to snatch them.  Someone should explain to social services that they’re supposed to protect children not abuse them and that they’re supposed to remove children from WICKED parents and place children with caring competent loving ones.  But they always get it the wrong way around [and they are getting paid for this scandal to boot!!!]  Social service chiefs should go to prison for this disgrace and social workers should be sacked.  What brave people the Bramleys are and such an inspiration to us all.  They know that the love of and care for their little girls justified their actions and they proved that the law is wrong.  They did the right thing and listened to God’s law.  More people should do what these heroic people did – the public support for them was phenomenal.  Authorities should realise that it is the PUBLIC who are judge and jury and that the PUBLIC are watching THEM and putting THEM on trial.

MARCH 5^TH 1999

The events of today rocked me to the core. The kids had gone off on their bikes for their weekly game of chess with their granddad.  To my complete surprise they arrived home in less than half an hour, breathless and distressed.   Andrew blurted out that a policeman had got very cross with them, had sent them home and had said he was on his way to see me.  He said they’d stopped to play by the pier for a few minutes before going to granddad’s but that they weren’t near the sea.  The cop turned up then, all guns blazing.  Looking stony faced, he sat Andrew and Shell down and began shouting at them and wagging his finger.  He told them that they were very lucky that police had spotted them on CCTV cycling under the pier and that they should be grateful that he had raced around to send them home.  He yelled at them, saying they were in grave danger from the rough sea and that they could’ve been dragged out and drowned.  He asked them if they were trying to commit suicide.  Stunned into silence they shook their heads.  He then pulled out a pad from his pocket and solemnly threatened that he would have to “place them on this at risk register for their own good if it happened again.”  “Hang on.  Hold your horses for a second,” I butted in, “I smell a rat here.  Number one, CCTV is supposed to be for catching criminals, not spying on a couple of kids playing innocently on the prom.  Number two, considering they were supposed to be risking their lives such that it warrants you chasing after them like a headless chicken and then coming here all high and mighty, how come they are not wet?  Even their feet are bone dry!  And number three, it is not your job to threaten me with ‘at risk’ registers – that is social services department.”  He quietened down a bit then and nodded sheepishly in agreement that Andrew and shell were completely dry.  PC 1651 insisted that the sea was rough, such that they were considering closing the prom as the tide was coming in.  I replied, “I daresay, but all this smacks of a set-up.  Something is going on here and I wouldn’t be surprised if my troublemaker ex is behind it because he has some connections with the police.  I bet this is the secret seedy underworld at large and it is operating at a much higher level than you.  I’ll get to the bottom of it eventually.  This just isn’t kosher.”  I asked to see the evidence.  He informed me that I’d have to contact the council. 

When he’d gone the kids told me their version.  PC 1651 arrived in a police van with sirens blazing to tell Andrew and Shell to “Get home you stupid brats – you idiots; I’m all wet now, you twits.  Why aren’t you in school?  That’s suspicious; are you trying to kill yourselves?”  The kids said that other kids were there soaking wet; adults too, but no one else was bothered by the officer.  They told me that earlier, a bloke in a red mondeo had spoken to them, but not nastily, and that an ugly old man [the same bloke that had threatened them once before] who reeked of alcohol, had told them off and had then gone to the phone box.

In the evening I got to work phoning around old neighbours and associates of Gareth’s to see if I could find out who or what he really is.  The general consensus is that he’s dubious, a bone-idle swindler and a liar.  No one around there likes him.  People were always after him for money.  Bailiffs were always sniffing around his place.  They said that he has mainly enemies, who fear him.  They said people kept out of his way and that he bullied his two children.  He battered his son and abused his ex wife [beating her up on occasions.]  Folk around there couldn’t understand what he had over the Dolgellau police but that something was going on cos he was always committing motoring offences – speeding and even drink-driving.  He was always on the fiddle and no one else got away with the things he did.   They said the Dolgellau police are incompetent and corrupt.  They said that the police didn’t like him; they knew of his crimes and yet they seemed to fear him.  They said that he treated his dogs cruelly and that they always ran off to cause mayhem.  They knew that his dog had killed sheep and hens, yet no one could touch him.  I told the neighbours that I’d seen a good character reference from the police, which secured his custody application and yet the police knew of his crimes.  I told them that I’ve seen police turning a ‘blind eye’ to his drinking and driving, speeding, dangerous driving, illegal parking, attacking his son and his son’s friend.  I once witnessed Gareth’s son and his pal phoning the police to report the attack.  GW’s daughter told me that GW punched himself on the chin and then told the police that his son’s pal had done it. The police took no action.  I also told them that his son had done criminal damage to a rail carriage, that there were witnesses but that after Gareth had spoken to a senior policeman, charges were dropped.  His son was also let off other minor offences including vandalism to his school. 

I told the Dolgellau people that I once saw Gareth attacking three complete strangers in Colwyn Bay.  GW had boasted that the police would do nothing; and they didn’t, when the men reported it. GW had boasted to me beforehand that he could do whatever he wanted and that police would never charge him.  I told Gareth’s old neighbours that I feel I have the right to demand a full public enquiry into police and social services dealings before my court case goes any further.  It is widely believed by the locals that he should’ve been prosecuted for child abuse.  Some said that his kids were always left on their own even when they were very small, that they were not happy and were quite disturbed.  I learned that his kids did in fact love their mum but they had no choice in where they were going to live and with whom.  Their mother had fought hard for custody but all her efforts failed and she was even denied access.  No one could understand why.  

Unfortunately no one was prepared to testify for me in court should they be required and no one would put anything in writing to support me either.  Everyone feared he’d turn up on their doorstep with a gun because GW had already pulled a gun on his ex-wife.  This, I learned had been witnessed by a few people who had reported their concerns to the school head and to social services.  The neighbours told me that they and the school staff knew there was obvious neglect of Gareth’s children.  Both had been prevented from seeing their mum by GW and he had turned them against their mum.  He also used to discard her letters to them and he would not allow her to phone them.  I witnessed that myself.  Both took numerous days off school.  They said that his son is terrified of GW [I witnessed his terror too] and that he and his sister weren’t happy. 

I got the feeling that they knew quite a bit more but weren’t prepared to tell.  There was a shroud of secrecy.  My imagination went into overdrive.  What if he has murdered?  What if he is a professional hit man?  Where did he get all the money to support his one hundred and fifty cans of lager per week habit?  Is he an illegal dealer?  Where did he really go when he used to slip off at various times throughout the day and night?  Lots of people have different sides to themselves; how can you really know if your partner is secretly living a sordid double life?  They’re always so good at secrets and lies and are always so conceivable to outsiders.  Such people rule by terror and can easily silence witnesses.  How did he manage to stop his kids seeing their mum?  Why did the authorities side with him against her?  Gareth used to boast that his ex called police on him loads of times but they just laughed at her and called her the liar.  He even scoffed that the school continually sent social workers sniffing around but that he’d just bark at them and show them the door.  If social services were involved so much and the school, police and everyone else knew that Gareth was such a controlling, violent b…. towards his children, why on Earth weren’t those kids taken off him? Why isn’t he in the nick for assault [towards his wife and son] and child abuse?  Was his ex-wife, as their mother and who also has parental responsibility, even informed of his ill treatment of her kids? Does that slime bucket bribe the police/social services?  Did he pay the ruddy ‘judge’ to award him custody?  What the f ….s going on?

MARCH 6^TH 1999

I phoned around a few people in the Bay who I know are associates of Gareth’s.  I discovered that he has managed to obtain some good character references but that certain people signed under duress, regret doing so and would like to withdraw their statements, but fear a backlash. It appears social workers are involved in the school that his daughter now attends, that there is an unnatural relationship between father and daughter and that he is very possessive of her [as he always was.]  I even had my suspicions confirmed that it is Gareth’s mother who is the wicked schemer.  It is she who calls the shots and whom his whole family [especially Gareth] fear.  I remember GW’s cousin telling me once that his mother is evil.  At the time I’d asked, “Why bother with her then?”  “I just pretend,” came the reply.  I answered, “No, you fear.  You either like someone and want to keep company with that person or you don’t – there are no half measures.  To pretend is to show weakness.”

I managed to track the ex wife down.  I remembered Gareth and his mother talking about her previous jobs and they’d named the various towns where she’d worked, so I made some enquires.  We chatted very briefly, exchanged addresses and she promised to write.  She was shocked that I’d found her works number.  It would seem that our lives with Gareth have been a carbon copy of each other.  I would tell her a few things, she’d say, “Yes, I know all about that – I’ve been there, done that, got the t-shirt.”  She remarked that it is he who is the schizophrenic.  I told her that I wished she’d told me what I was getting involved with.  She wished she had too.  She added that I probably wouldn’t’ve listened to her tho.  I told her that I really feel for her because she lost her children to that evil b…. and that I knew that he’d blocked her efforts for contact.  She seemed to go deep in thought and then said, “I thought if he got what he wanted he’d leave me alone; but it didn’t work out that way and I’m still terrified of him.”  I enquired if she meant that he still hassles her.  She said that he does.  I told her I never even knew.  She also said that her son is still petrified of him and that he and her daughter are very much under his control.  I briefed her on the torment we’d suffered – all the harassment, stalking, NSPCC, social workers, inadequate police et cetera and I asked if she suspected a conspiracy to swing the custody battle of her children his way.  I asked if she suspected that Gareth has underworld connections and that he is protected by police corruption.  She told me that she was puzzled as to why he got awarded custody and that she was allowed only indirect contact which turned into no contact.  She said that the school could not understand what he had over the authorities either.  She said she’d fought tooth and nail for her kids but was blocked at every post.  I begged her to help me fight him for both our sakes because I believe history is repeating itself and because, “We have to stop the b…. std controlling us.”  I pleaded with her to testify in court against him but she said she couldn’t because she was still having a battle to see her son and she didn’t want to jeopardise that.  She told me she daren’t support me publicly because Gareth would turn it all against her and she’d lose her son altogether.  I told her I understood her fears but asked if she’d give is some thought anyway and to drop me a line.

I discovered that Andrew and Shell feature on the front page of the Daily Post.  They are pictured on the prom with massive waves lashing behind them.  The blurb is titled: “School’s Out.”  I regarded the article a bit of a coincidence considering yesterday’s debacle and the PC’s over-reaction.  I began to wonder if Gareth intended showing the clipping to the court welfare officer, and if so, that he’d probably casually mention the fact that he was aware that police had been called out to my kids and that Andy and Shell were sent home because they were at risk from the stormy sea.  This was ideal ‘proof’ to back up his claim that I am an unfit mother.

Three times during the day, the kids and I trundled off to the pier to scan the CCTV.  I studied it meticulously for around half hour each time and it did not move.

Shell and I had quite a philosophical discussion today about the power of the brain.  Apparently we can only understand and use one percent of it.  Is that all?  Many people probably use considerably less of their brain than that!  Quite a few exist in zombified mode or in a negative, unproductive state. But what about the other ninety nine percent?  My God what if we could learn how to use the bulk of the brain.  What on earth [or in space even] would we be capable of?  We reckoned that if we could up our brain usage capacity we’d be able to achieve superhuman capabilities.  Shell and I made our predictions. 

At two percent usage I said that we’d see our intelligence levels rise, we could probably look at things and make them move slightly.  At five percent capability, Shell reckoned we could interfere with electrical appliances and: change TV channels just by thinking the required channel, turn lights on and off at will just by looking at them, turn on the kettle without even having to move from our armchairs…. She thinks we could probably fix things just by looking at the broken item and concentrating on it righting itself [a bit like Uri Geller!]  At seven percent I predicted we could read other people’s thoughts [perish the thought.]  At ten percent I suggested we could move fairly large objects, quite simply by just concentrating on them; I fancy we could even move a car if we wanted to - just by powerful thought.  I drew the line at a house moving at this stage tho – you’d probably need to be at level thirty to forty percent brain usage for that kind of power!  Imaging the catastrophe we could create by playing chess with other people’s cars!  I also had a feeling we would probably be able to fly short distances.  By around fifty percent brain function, Shell and I envisaged we would be of super human intelligence and beyond that of genius – we’d be able to scan and fully comprehend the most intricate of academic manuals in seconds.  We believe at this stage we’d have the capacity to protect ourselves from attack by having an invisible, un penetrative shield around us, such that knives, bullets, fists and the like could never make contact; even harmful bacterium, poisons, nuclear materials et cetera could not enter our protective aura – we would not be susceptible to disease.  At half a brain usage we’d probably be able to create things – out of thin air – by the power of the mind.  At sixty percent brain efficiency we would not need the media – we would just know and understand everything.  At seventy percent brainpower we wouldn’t need to eat or defecate. At ninety percent we could make people disappear [what a wonderful thought], we wouldn’t age, time would not exist, we could fly in space and beyond the furthest galaxies – we’d be entering new dimensions and transgressing frontiers.  All our knowledge of and laws of science would be challenged.  At one hundred percent?  Wow!  We could be and do anything – change into a dinosaur, worm, ghost or atom or an imagined species or a particle of dust even.  We’d be indestructible, supreme, in heavenly paradise….

It isn’t such a crazy idea.  Shell and I were almost in a frenzy by now.  The implications are unquantifiable.  Just imagine if only a few people possessed this magical power and that the rate of progression and awareness varied, the world would soon see a shift of power.  My guess is that those who have the potential to tap into and expand their own brain aptitude are the spiritual folk, those possessing true faith in God and belief of our existence beyond the grave and who live their lives according to God’s rules.  If we could learn to use [and not abuse] more of our brains, just think how awesome and efficient we would be.  It would signify the end of materialistic money worshipping politicos and their cronies, the end of pain and suffering, the end of the chains that binds us into futile and despairing existence, the end of evil rule.  But it would not be the end for those powerful millionaires living in luxury at our expense on Earth now.  They would be locked in their own egocentric man-made hell and that is where they’ll be for eternity when they are exterminated from this planet.  Those ruled by money would find it impossible to begin the road of discovery and enlightenment.  I would visualise that the only possible way to begin this journey of awakening is through the cleansing powers of meditation.

MARCH 8^TH 1999

I got the most amazing claptrap I’ve ever heard in my life from the council.  I phoned them for clarification regarding the CCTV tape and got through to the control room.  A cowardly male [who would not reveal his name for ‘security’ reasons] said enthusiastically, “Two kids on bikes were picked up on CCTV, playing dangerously close to the waves.  The sea was extremely rough.  They could have been dragged in.  We had to send police out to them for their own safety.”  He then said, “The road was closed and the tide was coming in.”  I asked if I could see the tape.  He replied, “It’s been taped over; it’s standard procedure; we only keep the tapes for twenty four hours.”  He added, “There is no evidence of the incident.”  I spat, “I small a rat.  This is a set up.”  He said, “No rats.”  I asked, “What time were my kids seen on tape?”  He replied, “About 1.30 pm.”  He continued, “13.06 was high-tide, then it was going out.”  I said, “My children were not as risk.  They were bone dry.  There was a man [in shorts] on a bike, a man [in shorts] jogging and two other kids there – drenched.”  I added, “That camera didn’t budge.”  He went quiet, then tried to tell me that it rolls all the time.  He asked how I’d got through to the control room and then said that he’ll try to find out more for me and that he’d phone me back   He didn’t

At 1.45 pm, I tried to phone control room to ask about the connection between the CCTV and the picture in Saturday’s Post.  The switchboard said, “the CCTV room is busy,” that “they’re not taking any calls right now” and to “phone back at 2.30 pm.”  I phoned at 3.00 pm.  I was put through, but the phone just rang its head off.  At 3.15 pm I phoned again and got through to the control room.  A bloke said [in sickly sweet tone], “The supervisor says he’s tied up right now, he’ll call you back.”  I asked if the supervisor was the bloke that I’d spoken to earlier.  He answered, “Yes; I can’t give you his name for security reasons.”  At 3.20 pm, the unnamed bloke called back.  I asked if he was the chap that I’d spoken to this morning.  He said he wasn’t!  He continued, “I’ve heard that the police said that a member of the public rang them – it was an emergency call regarding your kids.”  I asked what he saw on the tape.  He said, “Two children riding bikes.  The waves were coming over the prom.  The children were riding under the pier.”  I asked the time that this happened.  He said, “12.30 pm.”  I asked if anyone else was there.  He said that there wasn’t and that the tape will be here now for thirtyone days.  He said that he’d watched the tape for two minutes.  I asked why he’d said twentyfour hours earlier on.  He waffled on about real time tapes [twentyfour hours] and time-lapse tapes [thirtyone days.]  I asked why he didn’t just say earlier that it was kept for thirtyone days.  He said, “Because you didn’t ask and anyway, only the police are allowed to view it.” 

This is called taking the p…. You’d think the insects in the council and the police grubs would’ve got their story straight before stitching us up.  I told him that one day this would all come out and that everyone will know that the cowards in the control room at the council need to hide behind anonymity because they are such liars.  I told him that the public will be interested to know how their hard earned council contributions are spent and that they will be furious to learn that their taxes are used to frame innocents.   

MARCH 9^TH 1999

I had quite an interesting chat with the head teacher of the school where GW’s children attended before they moved to Colwyn Bay.  I’d met the Head once before when Gareth and I were together.  At that time, Gareth’s daughter had been experiencing problems with various teachers and with her schoolwork and as the dutiful step mum-to-be, I’d tried to help her.  I explained that Gareth and I had now separated, that I faced a bitter court battle and that I was aware of his ex-wife’s shocking misfortune because of that evil monster.  I told her about Gareth’s violent behaviour towards me and the kids, especially his son and mine and that GW’s ex-wife was also treated abominably by him and by the authorities.  I told her of my fears - that Gareth might get custody of my babies because he seems to be able to bully anyone to get what he wants.  I informed her that Gareth always boasted that police would never touch him and that he’d smirk when he told me that social and welfare workers were soon shown the door if they tried to intervene.  She confirmed everything that I already knew and agreed with me that it was puzzling as to why his ex-wife lost her children and was denied all contact and that it was odd that social services took no action considering the fact they were heavily involved as were the police.  She said that she had reason to believe that something at home was seriously wrong and that that was why she’d called in social and educational welfare workers.  She told me that Gareth had battered his son and his ex wife and that I should get him charged with child abuse.  In my innocence I asked how I go about doing that. She replied with a wry laugh that I’d need to contact social services.  I asked if she would testify or write a statement, which would assist me in court.  She said she’d have to check with the school governors.  She asked for my solicitor’s details.

Throughout the day I made impromptu visits to the prom to spy on big brother, but he still hasn’t budged!  The kids also scrutinized him at different times but he remained asleep. It is pretty obvious that the CCTV in question is not and was not in operation on Friday 5^th March but does anyone give a toss???  They are conspiring against me.  They are framing Andy and Shelly.  They want my kids registered on the Child Protection ‘At Risk’ register.  They are helping Gareth achieve his evil aims.  They want to take my children off me.  Why else would they play these sordid games?  Are they trying to send me mad?  Do they want to destroy me? What the hell’s going on?  Damn it.  Who the hell is he? 

My thoughts then drifted back to my time with Gareth Williams.  He’d say such sinister things to me whenever I threatened to end our relationship, such as, “You’ll never be free of me.  I’ll block everything you try to do and then I’ll kill you – or someone else will.  You’ll just be attacked in broad daylight in front of everyone – you, your horrible kids and your dad.  And no one will help you.  No one cares.  You won’t know what’s hit you.  And then you’ll be dead.”  I would chill to the bone.  But then he would see my expression of horror and would immediately be apologetic and would [incredibly] try to reassure me that he was only joking.

MARCH 10^TH 1999

I had to take my babies to the court welfare office so that they could be observed interacting with my archrival.  I had to sit outside and mind my own business.  In discussions beforehand, Vera told me that ours was the most acrimonious case she’d come across.  She’d never seen such hatred between parents.  I made it clear to her that the difference was I was battling against all adversity for the truth to come out about Gareth Williams whereas he was spinning everyone a pack of lies about me.  The problem is that all this is largely about his word against mine and with the way my mind is focused on plots and cloak and dagger stuff, I’m convinced he is getting all the professional help he needs.  It is easy to see now how criminals get away with murder and that our world encourages immorality.  One thing is for sure, crime pays, and in order to survive you have to lie.

Dad popped by to inform me that his girlfriend [a councillor] had made enquiries on my behalf regarding the authenticity of the CCTV incident and that he too had spoken to some people in the council about the matter and that everyone says the same thing – that my kids were seen on CCTV on their bikes dodging the waves.  He even breezed that various people offered this information before he had even mentioned it and so that proves they’re telling the truth and that it is Andrew and Shell who are lying.  He urged me not to believe everything they tell me, as all kids lie.  I was furious. I stormed, “Dad, I can’t believe how gullible you are.  Of course they all told you the same thing – they’ve had a couple of days to get their story straight. They are lying through their teeth.  They changed their story and contradicted the PC’s version; the kids clothes were completely DRY and that camera is still not working now – go and look at it.”  He then told me that the camera does sometimes remain still for quite a while but that it doesn’t mean that it isn’t working.  He also said that his mate at the council informed him that it was focussed in the direction of Old Colwyn for ages on Friday without moving. I replied, “Yeah, right.  Get him to put that in writing – he won’t.  You even saw for yourself that it was focussed ON THE PIER.” 

Dad crossly told me to stop being so paranoid and that no one is going to take my kids off me, that the courts always let children live with their mum especially ones as young as Jordan and Melissa.  I said that I wished I could be so trusting and let justice run its course but that I had a horrible sinking feeling in my stomach that my worst fears might come true and that I had some very powerful enemies.  I even added that I wouldn’t be surprised if someone tried to bump me off.  Then I made a casual remark that if that did happen, I hope that he would allow Andrew and Shell to continue learning at home, that they wouldn’t be a burden to him as they work largely unsupervised.  I also said that should the unthinkable happen – and nothing is out of the question considering the state the world is in, I pray he would contact Gareth’s ex wife for her support and testimonial and order a full public enquiry into police, social services and council business because there is definitely something sinister going on.  Dad was not very convincing when he tried to tell me that I was only fighting one man and that Gareth is no big fish.

Again I made my ritual lengthy visits to that controversial camera and again it remained perfectly still and focused on the pier.

MARCH 11^TH 1999

I unloaded a bit of stress on the squash court during a bit of a knock around with Andrew and Shell. Jordan and Mel spent half an hour in crèche.

I read an interesting piece in a mag today.  It said, “In order to live free and happily, you must sacrifice boredom.  It is not always an easy sacrifice.”  Normally I’d agree with such a statement but although I’d certainly never class myself as bored, I couldn’t say that I was free and happy either – far from it.  I would say though that I never get depressed – because I just don’t have time to be.

Andrew was ultra cooperative today – he tidied up without being told to and he brought me cup of tea from time to time.  I asked him if he was ailing.

The kids and I made our regular repetitive intrinsic survey of the controvertible CCTV.  Still it remains fixed in the same position as it was last Friday!

I traced the previous owners of Gareth’s house because I remember Gareth did the dirty on them and forced them into dropping another few thousand off the price at the last minute or the deal would be off.  I know the owners wanted to plant one on his nose for that.  I also remembered that their son-in-law worked for a carpet shop and that he could provide a perfect testimonial for a particularly brazen insurance fraud that Gareth perpetrated soon after he took residence of his new pad.  I explained that I needed witnesses as to Gareth’s unsavoury character as I am locked in a bitterly contested court battle.  They were happy to lend their support where appropriate and said they would consult their solicitor for directions.

MARCH 12^TH 1999

It’s Jordan’s birthday today.  He is a big two years old.  Dad dropped by with a fluffy mobile phone for him then the kids and I took off to the pool for a celebration swim.  Guess who just appeared out of the blue, followed us up to the leisure centre and sat in the café gawping at us for the hour we spent in the water!  I didn’t give the repugnant rat the satisfaction of acknowledging his presence.  Andrew and Shell busied themselves diving in, racing each other and fooling about.  The babies and I busied ourselves in the shallow bit where Jordan splashed and shrieked for most of the session and Mel watched him with wide-eyed wonder.  We walked home via the prom and pier so that I could check up on the camera of intrigue.  Not surprisingly its position had not altered one jot.  We later enjoyed a nice quiet tea of all the naughty but nice stuff and an extra special cream gateaux with two candles on for the birthday boy.  Andrew and Shell made us all some choccy rice crispy cakes too.

MARCH 13^TH 1999

Andrew and I discovered that some unpalatable prat [no prizes for guessing who] had again shoved superglue in the keyhole of our super-heavy shed padlock.  I spent the next twenty minutes hacking away at it until the thing broke off.  It’s at such times that I could do with a bloke around the house.  Not that Andrew would let me date again – he reckons he’s the man of the house now and that I’m not allowed another man – ever.  No point buying another padlock when Mr Detestable is bound to come along and wreck it again.

Jordan came out with a few mumbled incoherent words.  The only clear word he said was, “Christ.”  It knocked me for six and it didn’t help matters when Shell quipped, “You’ll have to watch what you say now mum.”  “Smarty pants,” I hissed.

Well surprise, surprise, the debatable CCTV is now in fully-fledged flow!  The council crooks have only just decided that they’d better turn the damned thing on.  Maybe they got wind of the fact that I wasn’t going to shut up about it.  Those tricksters know who they are and they’d better be aware that their lies will come back to haunt them.  It is only a matter of time.

MARCH 14^TH 1999

I caught the tail end of a bible program.  I never used to be a religious person; I used to tell schools that they shouldn’t teach RE because God does not exist and the bible is a myth.  Thinking back that was a bit arrogant of me – how the hell do I know?  How does anyone know if there is God, heaven, hell….; if Jesus is God’s son and if he did perform miracles…. It really is a matter of opinion and of individual experience.  But I’ve always felt that a true Christian is an admirable person and that if we could all live our lives according to bible rules, the world would indeed be a much happier, healthier and safer place.  Genuine Christians do seem to be happy folk with marriages intact and children who are seemingly without vice.  I’ve always been put off the idea of going to church, singing songs and reading bible parables and I think there is too much hypocrisy in the church especially among Christian elders and leaders.  Strangely I was prepared to sacrifice my own feelings and make church a big part of my life for Gareth’s sake as I believed the church was the only thing left that could help us make our relationship work, help calm Gareth’s vile aggression and keep him off the bottle.  But after one visit [during the latter months of our relationship] he refused to attend again.  Ironically now that we’ve parted, he is a regular and active member of the parish.  I wouldn’t classify him as a Christian though!  I’m often in two minds as to whether God really does exist.  Since all of our bad experiences of late make me question our authorities’ integrity and purpose and my belief that there is no justice system anywhere on earth, I am looking more and more to the divine for answers.  I know my own behaviour is more ‘God-like’ daily and my desire to challenge the wicked grows stronger all the time.  I have faith that the evil of the world will one day be eradicated forever.  I believe that some people genuinely feel that they have an important role to do in promoting God’s word and that they achieve this in various successful ways according to their personality. 

Some are happy to knock on doors and hand out leaflets, some write and sing Christian songs, stories and hymns, some preach the bible and visit the sick, poor and imprisoned and others act out their religious message.  I must admit I find it intriguing that there is so much faith, so many followers and that the bible is so widely read worldwide.  Dad calls them all [all fifty percent of the world’s population] crackpots!  He’s a devout atheist.  I suppose I’m one of these who need hard facts and evidence to be one hundred percent persuaded.  A lot of what the bible says about the evils of money and the ugly selfishness and destructive greed of mankind is true and there is much wisdom in its teachings but I’m a bit sceptical about the idea of Jesus’ resurrection, his one hundred and forty four thousand future faithful anointed followers, a one thousand year long judgement day etc et cetera.  If the bible really was written by God, I reckon a heck of a lot of it has been distorted by man to somehow make us sceptical so that Satan can continue his reign.  I reckon it is more likely that Jesus’ purpose on Earth was to overthrow the corrupt government where he lived and grew up in so that everyone could share in the land’s wealth and prosperity and that pain and suffering would be no more.  I believe that his promise of righteous rule was an unwelcome challenge to the evil men in power and as such they had him executed. 

It would’ve been a bit like someone now toppling Tony Blair and more importantly Bill Clinton and setting a pure example of honest rule in an honourable government so that everyone benefits.  What a perfect dream.  If that happened we’d gradually see the decline of courts and associated staff, police forces, prisons, hospitals, mental institutions, social services…. I think many people become mentally ill because of some injustice that they’ve suffered and lies that they’ve been fed.  Many people are unfairly imprisoned because they have: taken the law into their own hands when our judiciary failed them, taken the wrap for someone else’s crime, been the wrong colour, spoken out against corruption and oppression…. I suspect that many of our prisoners are in truth our very brave saviours.  I guess if we could all somehow find a way of turning anything bad that has been done unto us into something positive [which would give us back some control, however small] then maybe we’d have hope for a radical change towards peace and prosperity in the future.  I believe we all have to suffer some type of hardship to make us kill complacency and get off our backsides to fight for Godly rule.

MARCH 15^TH 1999

Andrew had a bit of a giggle about Jordan’ collection of cars that he safeguards by hiding them all under his mattress.  I passed a remark that he used to collect breccy bowls and hide them under his cupboard.  Anyone would think I never fed him – he was only four or five too!

Talk Radio covered a discussion on the failings of schools.  I couldn’t resist a bit of a knowing smile when a headmaster came on to give his point of view and despite much prompting could not get his opinion over.  This head kept referring to a piece that he’d read in the Observer but we were none the wiser and after a quarter hour of senseless waffle, he was cut off.  Numerous people phoned in with remarks such as, “With heads like that, no wonder our schools are abysmally deficient.”

MARCH 16^TH 1999

The kids and I visited our hairdresser.  As usual the chitchat drifted on to home tuition.  I was asked if I set the kids homework!  Funnily enough it is quite a common question.  Andrew and Shell nagged me to give them the key so that they could let themselves in as they were bored waiting for me.  Since the salon is at the top of our road and only a few doors away from our house, I grudgingly agreed.  But despite my warnings, the silly buggers ended up leaving the keys on the table and going out to play on the drive.  We got locked out.  Luckily dad was at home and [armed with spare key] came to the rescue within minutes.  From now on I’ll carry a spare with me so that the kids can let themselves in if I get nattering to any of the neighbours [which happens quite frequently.]

Lauri and baby Jamie dropped in.  She said she’d seen Andrew and Shell in the paper and I briefed her on recent dubitable events.  Lauri wondered if, considering all the flack I’m getting with social services and police, that maybe I’m being targeted because I unconventionally teach my kids at home and maybe the powers that be think I’m a little odd.  She advised me to stick them back in school.  Dad also dropped a large hint that maybe under the circumstances I’d be better off with the kids back in school.  I really can’t understand that kind of attitude.  No one is considering what’s best for Andrew and Shelly.  Maybe I am being victimised because I do things a little differently but that’s not going to stop me.  To put them is school would be going against everything I believe in and Andrew and Shell would be miserable, bullied mercilessly, uneducated and troubled.

Shell likes to do shape sorters with pud.  Trouble is he has a habit of removing the lid and then lobbing the shapes in; or he’ll just stack them up, one by one.

I gave the kids a little pep talk abut being happy with themselves because of all the things they can do but not to be big-headed.  The prince of lies then cropped up in the conversation.  I said, “Gareth is a tiresome bragger who spouts off about his exaggerated self-centred experiences that mostly prove to be lies.”  I told them it’s important to love themselves in order to love others and not to put others down to make themselves look good.  I said it is healthy to be proud of your achievements and to acknowledge that you’ve worked hard.  I told them to, “Be happy when you master something but don’t say you’re better than others.” The kids seem to have grown up overnight.  I have such admiration for them – they are tough little creatures.  Half the time I find myself looking to them [especially Andrew] for strength and support when I’m feeling a little weak and defeatist.  They have such awareness and maturity for their ages and they know the way the world works.  They scorn social services and mock the police and they know all about hypocrisy, corruption and injustice yet they still know exactly how to behave when anyone in a position of authority addresses them.  Smart kids.  I was quite the opposite at their age – I was a shy and giggly trusting schoolgirl.

There was a disgusting ‘ash’ type smell in the playroom.  The kids denied causing it.  I wondered if it was Andrew’s cap gun but when he fired it for me it was a totally different ‘smoky’ smell.  It didn’t even smell like a typical ciggy stench or even stale ash but it was repugnant and even gave me a dry feeling at the back of my throat.  I opened the window, sprayed air freshener and after half hour or so, it had disappeared.

MARCH 19^TH 1999

Well would you flamin’ believe it?  A letter came this morning from the legal aid board to inform me that there is no money in the pot – not one bean – to help me with expenses relating to court visits that I am being dragged through by my unscrupulous ex.  Their reason is that my case is “neither unusual in its nature nor does it involve unusually large expenditure.”  All the more reason for coughing up to help the likes of me who need it the most.  I’ve heard that some people on benefit do get aided but I’ve no idea what the criteria is to qualify.  I heard a rumour that there is no consistency in the board’s decisions and that it all depends on who opens your letter or if the decision maker happens to be feeling in generous mood on the day your letter lands in his lap!  The letter continues, “If you consider that the expenditure is necessary you may incur the disbursement but it may be disallowed.”  Well, thanks for nothing.

I plonked pud on the loo and began to play games with him to relax him so that he’d pee; but he had his own ideas – he pulled me towards him and plunged his paws down my jumper to feel my boobs!

Talk about entertainment on our road when the pubs shut!  Move over Eastenders.  It was getting on for midnight and I’d decided to have an early night for a change but just as I was dropping off I heard a couple coming down the road screaming and bawling at each other and calling each other the most vulgar names under the sun.  I couldn’t resist peeping from behind my bedroom curtain.  The exchange of insults increased in intensity and frequency until she, clad in mini skirt and high heels, did an impromptu pirouette and, aided by centrifugal force, swung and caught him ‘clunk’ on the side of his head with her shopping-bag sized handbag.  Makeup went flying, keys and combs went careering into the gutter, perfume and hairspray headed for the sewers and her spare pair of knickers ended up on the windscreen of a passing motorist.  Her bloke’s specs spun off and ended up smashed to smithereens under the car’s wheel.  She then kicked her shoes off and ran hell for leather screaming and sobbing hysterically while he stood still and dumbfounded with his hands on his hips and his face like thunder.

MARCH 20^TH 1999

I decided to phone around some of the devil’s old neighbours again hoping to get some supportive statements but no one wants to get involved.  The feeling is that Gareth was disliked and greatly feared around there and that no one trusts him and they’re worried that he’ll turn up and do God knows what to them.  I was virtually begging people to help me because I’m so worried that he’ll win in court with his sweet-talking charm and ugly but plausible lies.  But I was politely asked not to phone again.  So much for trying to get witnesses when you need them!  It is incredible that the prince of darkness can get good credentials from respected persons in society including the police and can even be awarded the responsible job of raising his children by the justices, yet he is known to many [including officials] as being a violent offender.  Fear is a powerful deterrent.  Evil will continue to flourish while the forces of fear and submission are greater than the power of courage and challenge and where lies dominate truth.

Gareth used to warn me not to cross him or his family.  He’d say the local bobbies are no threat – it’s CID you have to look out for.   How did he know so much?  He’d tell me one of my ex boyfriends would be banged up soon, that the police were after him for various crimes but that they had no hard evidence, that he has too many seedy pals and that he was too intelligent and careful to be caught.  I’d tell him he was romancing.  He’d say, “Just you wait and see.”  Now I realise he was talking about himself.  How many bad barstuds get let off scotfree because there is ‘insufficient evidence’?  BULLDUST, there is plenty of evidence but these evil scum are well protected by the terrorist underworld and corrupt officers.  You can’t have one rule for those who are a terrorist threat or/and the wealthy [including royalty and government officials] and another rule for Mr/Mrs Average.  It is a recipe for world war three. In fact I’m damned sure there will be a third world ‘war’ but it will be the good people versus bad people and the righteous will win.  Stephen Lawrence’s murderers are not just racists; they are evil thugs who are protected, along with their criminal associates.  The police and government can’t/won’t combat crime; they are ruled by and associated with powerful underworld gangsters - millionaires who pretend to be honest honourable businessmen.  I recollect Gareth always used to preach to me about right and wrong and that I would one day have to answer to the most supreme for all my crimes.  The irony is he is the one who has much to fear in that department; my slate is clear.  I’ve been no angel; I’ll admit that, but I’ve righted all my wrongs and will sin no more.  Can the likes of ‘Sir’ Condom say the same?  Mrs Lawrence opened a can of metropolitan worms in her drive for justice but Condom and cronies just about managed to slide the lid back on.  But it won’t stay on for long.  The law-abiding, respectable, humble, harmless folk upon this Earth won’t put up with it for much longer.  Everyone wants justice. People die for it.  Righteousness is possible if you really want it and are prepared to fight for it.  Where there is truth and justice, there is freedom. 

I’m starting to make sense of the confusion and misery, which is all around us.  People will call me mad but I believe we are all here for a purpose.  Events in our lives are no coincidence. We all have a duty to stamp out the scourge of evil and resist Satan, so that God’s will be done and uprightness ultimately reigns.  I think God needs human help to revolutionise the world.  It makes me sick when I see political leaders and royalty honouring our war dead and taking part in religious services.  Such hypocrites.  Actions are louder than words.  They should SET AN EXAMPLE – use their money for some genuine good.  Right now the politicians are leading us into more war, which means more death and destruction and suffering and poverty.  Governments should not privatise public services.  People are sick to death of fat cats making HUGE profits for being failures whilst Joe Public is left to pick up the tab.  Services are shoddy and unsafe and getting worse.  Governments should be TRANSPARENT AND ACCOUNTABLE.  There should be no need for charities in wealthy countries such as ours.  People who can least afford it pay into them time and time again whilst millionaires turn into multimillionaires and billionaires.  Come on you ‘ordinary’ people stop throwing good money after bad.  You’ve slogged your guts out and earned your pittance honestly.  Use your pennies to fight corruption and expose the fat cat crooks.  Stop wasting your time watching the soaps and watch documentaries instead.  Don’t be taken in by propaganda.  Find out the TRUTH.  Start challenging the money managers.

A phrase from a book I’d read popped into my head, “Why do clouds move in a certain way and at a certain speed?  Only the sky knows that.  Why do events happen in your life?  You understand when you lift your head up high enough to understand the signs and patterns.”

MARCH 21^ST 1999

Andrew had his pal Malcolm around for dinner.  They used to be close mates when Andrew was at school, so I told Andrew and Shell they could have their old school chums around for dinner or tea periodically and maybe even for an occasional overnight stay.  They decided they are going to wage war on the neighbourhood hoodlums and they nagged me into teaching them some aikido techniques.  I actually found myself outside showing them some stick movements, throws and holds. I pointed out that if they are going to fight with one hundred percent determination they need to use their breath power, which serves two purposes: [1] It makes them pumped up and gives them more energy [2] The explosive shout which comes from the depths of oneself is sometimes enough to make any aggressor leg it.

I then found myself giving lessons on how to kiai.  Over dinner the boys were reminiscing about how they tried to fight back at school when bullies attacked them, yet they were the ones called liars and who ended up in detention and the troublemakers received no punishment but were allowed to carry on causing trouble.  That’s just typical of how society works.  They both recollected separate similar incidents where they were attacked by louts in shops but no one came to their rescue, they were just booted out and ordered to “continue your fight outside lads.”

This afternoon we all went up to the park.  Jordan took his football along and was in his element hoofing it all over the green until another little lad came up and asked if he could join in the fun.  Jordan declined, promptly snatched his ball back, sat on it and refused to budge until the intruder had retreated.

At teatime we all dropped into the local hospital to visit my uncle Em.  My aunty Marge was up there too as she always is every day busily knitting and helping him with meals and his personal needs.  The visit brought very sad memories back of mum because she spent her final two weeks of life in that place.  She was happy there though which was a blessing and the staff were brilliant.

Melissa melts me.  Tonight, during her bedtime feed she was in peels as I gently tickled her ears. 

MARCH 22^ND 1999

Andrew and Shelly split water up today.  They sharpened both ends of two pencils and suspended them in a glass of slightly salted water using a piece of cardboard.  They then connected a battery using wires to the lead bits of the pencils [called the electrodes] and found that gas bubbles collected around the lead of the ends of the pencils immersed in water.  They found that the electricity had split the water into its two constituents, hydrogen and oxygen, which are gases.

This afternoon we were inspected by Mr Dafydd Thomas, a Local Education Authority official.  Fair dos he was down to earth, likeable and supportive.  I’ve got no qualms about the way he conducted the visit and I felt he was satisfied with everything that we are doing.  He brought up the importance of the internet and I agreed that it is a useful tool if you want up to date information or even specialised info that can only be accessed via the computer, but for the purposes of being educated in the fundamentals of maths, science and English, I think too much is being made of computers by schools.  To keep him happy tho I did tell him that periodically the kids use their granddad’s outfit to surf the net.  I could’ve cheerfully strangled Shelly tho.  She was a little too relaxed about the inspection and showed herself up [and me] by having a fit of the giggles half way through.  Andrew threw her a stern penetrating look in an effort to shut her up but he just ended up in peels too.  Our guest didn’t seem phased tho.  All I could blurt out was, “That’s a good start.”  I’d always taught the kids to be honest, to show their true feelings and not to be afraid of speaking their mind or to be intimidated by others.  On this occasion Shell took the view that the visit was totally unnecessary, that she is learning much more than she could ever hope to at any institution, no matter how good it was or what it cost and that she is educated in happy, relaxing circumstances and is treated as an important individual such that the education expert should be sorting out the problem of schools not coming here to waste our time and bore us with trivia.  Andrew impressively announced that he is writing a book.  Our caller excitedly enquired as to the book’s content.  Andrew replied, “The evils and corruption of the world.”

The news is full of our intentions to bomb the Serbs.  Bill shouts “jump” and Tone jumps!  What about exhibiting some of that same aggression towards our own terrorists?  Good Friday ‘peace’ deal?  Terrorists are terrorists.  A thirteen-year old boy was badly beaten with nailed baseball bats by four paramilitary thugs.  That isn’t politics.  It is pure and simple thuggery.  They are criminals and need to be brought to book through the courts.  They don’t even represent the people as they claim. Most citizens want peace.  There is no place for paramilitaries.  But that cannot be achieved until the police and justice system are squeaky clean.  Violence will not achieve that.  Exposure of the ruling underworld will.  There is no place for ‘organised’ crime.  War of any description only hurts the innocent people.  The power of truth and goodness is far mightier.  Publicity is our ‘weapon’.  Name the evildoers and those in authority who protect them. 

The kids and I got enthralled by a superb film called Baby’s day out which is fairly representative of the pathetic society that we inhabit.  A baby is snatched by hardened criminals who persistently elude police.   They intend to sell the baby for five million pounds but the baby has other ideas.  He embarks on a day of pure unadulterated pleasure in an adventure of a lifetime which sees him riding up and down a few hundred feet of scaffolding on a building site and which repeatedly results in the bad guys suffering numerous mishaps.  At the end it is the baby who victoriously and single-handedly nails the crooks and cops are left red-faced.

MARCH 23^RD 1999

This morning’s radio discussion covered unsolved murders.  People phoned in to complain that many murders are not investigated by police and that, for the large part, police make up stories surrounding a person’s death that suits their own purposes and that would imply that the victim had brought it upon him/herself.  One caller said that her daughter was branded a hitchhiker meaning that she was behaving ‘foolishly’.  The implication being that she’d asked for it.  The family maintain that she had only been on a night out and was abducted and that if she had been hitchhiking she would’ve at least carried an overnight bag.  There were other stories where people accused the police of lying and of covering up to safeguard their reputation. 

The phone-in then moved to contract killers.  It amazes me that society somehow condones this ‘profession’.  Underworld hit men admit to journalists that they murder and maim for money.  Police know them. Yet it is all accepted.  Murder is murder.  There is no such thing as ‘professional’ killing.  It is all very well having worthy programmes like Crimewatch who help police nab criminals but when there is widespread corruption in the police force and a laughable justice system, there is no hope of justice; only an escalation of evil.  Thank goodness that we do have extremely brave men and women who do snitch on these evil crooks and then give evidence.  They are putting themselves in a perilous position since society refuses to safeguard them.  Anyway with all the intelligence that we powerful Western countries have and the vast sums of taxpayer’s cash spent on ‘intelligence’, it should be a simple matter of locating terrorists and JAILING THEM.  The public can’t stomach the fact that easy targets are caught and jailed, such as the relatively harmless vulnerable souls who become victims in society, get hooked on drugs et cetera and commit petty crime.  You don’t persecute the powerless, you chase after the big fish, the real masters of crime and evil – the ones with blood on their hands and self-centred cravings for money and power.  But it is a well-documented fact that our powerful and wealthy public servants and politicians are liars, corrupt and pally with wealthy unscrupulous business leaders.   

It’s all very well having masses of decent ‘ordinary’ folk working, volunteering and donating in charitable schemes and bodies such as NSPCC, Childline, et cetera working tirelessly to help vulnerable and needy children, but this is largely a case of good money being thrown after bad and time being wasted.  Children will continue to suffer and the problem will escalate until the structures of society are questioned.  We good oriented citizens need to get to the consciences of powerful people and we need to put our effort and cash into challenging the greedy and immoral and downright corrupt.  The controlling b…. at the top cannot continue when the foot soldiers no longer play ball.  When the ‘little’ people refuse to co-operate, the evil men will soon find their empires crumbling, their support waning and their protection diminished.  How long do these egocentrics think they can live in their guarded fortresses and with their police protection?  Their criminality breeds more.  They can’t hide in their ‘safe’ havens that their money buys them forever.  They need enlightenment and the protection that you get from doing God’s work i.e. by doing Good in society, being honest and upright and exposing those who do wrong.  They can start by giving away their ill-gotten gains.  Don’t the evildoers and their protectors realise that crime follows them around and will eventually engulf them?

We, the ‘underclass’ don’t want charity, hand outs, sympathy, crumbs from the rich man’s table…. We WANT and are ENTITLED to have a just world, a world where rules are FOR EVERYONE AND ARE OBEYED BY ALL.  We want a world where our children are safe and are treated fairly.  We want an incorruptible world, where people are judged according to their deeds and not by class or colour.  I reckon that those who fall from grace, exposed as crooks, stripped of their wealth and are publicly humiliated in our world have been spiritually saved.  They have been privileged to be touched by God, but whether their egos allow such recognition and can make them change into lifelong people of honour is another matter.  I think that God must exist and that he reaches out to us in different ways.  I am convinced that it is the poorest and lowest ranked members of society that can create change.  I discovered this truth in the workplace when I was a bank clerk.  As the lowest grade, lowest paid and most inexperienced of staff, I was transferred to a branch that had the most appalling overtime record and it was all due to bad organisation.  Before I joined them they regularly left the office at ridiculous times i.e. between 6.00 pm and 6.30 pm, but because I became quite efficient at my own lowly job, the domino effect created a situation where staff found themselves leaving at around 4.30 pm most evenings.   The manager was pleased with the lower overtime payments.  People must not underestimate their power.  It will be the ‘ordinary’ folk who will bring about Godly rule.

The plumber turned up this afternoon to sort my drains out.  There had been a build up of sewage and the poor bloke spent two solid hours prodding, poking and diluting the gunge before it slid off into obscurity.  Andrew and Shell helped to fetch and carry buckets of water for him.  He was so efficient, courteous and jolly throughout – he quite restored my faith in the human race.  The humblest folk are by far the most admirable.  Top marks for North West Water’s home service insurance scheme.

MARCH 24^TH 1999

Horror of horrors!  Jordan has just sussed out the technology of the back door bolt.  Now he can open it and wander off or he can lock me out!  Time to tighten up the security.

Andrew and Shell asked it they could go camping but I was horrified at the idea and reminded them that little Sophie Hook was taken from her back garden.  I did think, rather cynically though, that under the circumstances [with the Gareth games] they’d be far safer camping out anywhere but our back yard.  They hastened to add that they meant they wanted to ‘camp’ in pud’s playroom.  I breathed a sigh of relief.  I told them maybe next year I can save up some money for us all to have a couple of nights in a caravan at Butlins.  That brought some smiles. Blankets and sheets came out from nowhere, wardrobes and mattresses became tent poles and walls.  I was swiftly banished from ‘their’ room, which was just as well considering the chaotic transformation.  No doubt this’ll become a bit of a habit.  I’ll probably be turfed out of the living room next – or my own bedroom.

Stupid cops and some prat of a head teacher came on the news to tell parents that their children are in no danger, yet minutes earlier a gunman had shot a bloke in his car just outside their school.

Dad and I yakked on the phone.  I was wittering on about how pleased I am with the progress his grandkids are making on the keyboard since he stumps up one hundred and forty pounds every ten weeks for their lessons.  He told me that he always wanted to play piano but couldn’t grasp it.  I was telling him that Andrew and Shell can read music and that they just naturally remember a lot of the tunes and can play them without the book, which is the beauty of young brains.  I then bored him to tears with my sermon that people don’t realise the importance of childhood and that it should be valued and nurtured more.  I babbled on that young brains should be protected from the burden of negative influences such as the frustrations and anxieties of school, abusive parents, ill-natured persons and other bombardments of time-wasting bad vibes, so that they are free to develop their capabilities to their most creative and beneficial.  During our natter, I noticed that my nitwit ex had driven slowly down my road more than fifteen times.  He just doesn’t give up!

MARCH 25^TH 1999

Andrew bolted in to breezily announce that a group of kids off another road had been bothering him so he’d smacked the ring leader, walked calmly on and had heard the shocked smaller bullies encircling their chief asking, “Are you alright, boss?”

Shell and I watched a chat show about parenting and in particular whether parents should allow their daughters to play with traditionally male toys and vice versa.  I’ve always been liberal minded about ‘suitable’ toys and don’t think it matters if Andrew and Shell want to play with eachothers’ stuff as they do.  It would appear that the TV ‘professionals’ and audience took the same view and that children grow up ‘normal’ – happy, competent and well adjusted, regardless of the gender-type preferred toy.  I’m glad I’m not the only one who worries about the ‘goal posts’ of parenting and at what point/how far they should be opened.  There was much debate about how much pocket money is fair and suitable, when bedtime should be, how much TV is reasonable…. I concluded that it’s a good idea to have routine but without rigidity.  Sometimes I let the kids stay up until 2.00 am if I’m still up and they are wide awake.  Occasionally I allow them to stuff their faces with all the wrong foods – choccies, cakes et cetera.  I think the most important part of parenting is to just love them and be there for them – to be their friend as well as their mum.  I always comfort them, hug them, encourage them, give praise where it’s due and gentle chastisement when necessary.  I tease and fool about with them too and play fight.  Jordy and Melly love the showerings of affection especially when they don’t expect it or don’t ask for it. 

I can’t believe how I used to look to Gareth for guidance on good parenting.  I used to listen to his lectures on right and wrong!  I’d wanted a man that I could look up to – a leader that I could take directions from.  Now I rely on me and my own judgement and I feel stronger daily.  I even read the bible for guidance on morality.  Amazingly the prince of lies used to blacken the name of Jehovah’s Witnesses, branding them evil.  Now I know he was just trying to discourage me from living virtuously.  The bible has helped me get everything into perspective and to just be concerned with things that really matter.  Now I don’t panic if my house is ‘upside down’ or the kids look a bit scruffy; I realise everything gets ‘sorted’ eventually and that you need to make time for things – even for rest and relaxation.  I’m not a slave anymore; I do my fair share and try to live the correct way.  I have the courage of my convictions and I’ve learned to listen to my body’s teachings – when I begin to feel off colour, I slow down.

Andrew yelled at me to, “Come quick the kitchen is full of smoke.”  Fearing he’d accidentally started a fire with the toaster or something I flew in to find the same repugnant smell that had been in the playroom a few days ago.  Thinking he was playing the practical joker I crossly accused him of causing the revolting whiff and ordered him to, “Pack it in. It’s not funny.”  But he was adamant that he didn’t have a clue how it had got there and that he doesn’t have anything that would make that kind of stench.  Next minute Shell shouted that there was an awful smell of burning in the living room.  I ran back in to find the lounge reeking of the same fowl smell as the kitchen.  I shouted at her, “Not you as well; come on you two, the joke has gone on far enough.  Now just show me what you are doing and using to make such a pong.”  But she just kept saying, “Mum, you’ve got to believe me, I haven’t done or used anything.  The smell just came from nowhere.”  I was so angry and upset because I was convinced that they were lying to me and trying to make an idiot out of me, so I legged it upstairs to the loo.  If I’d stayed, I’d’ve smacked one of them.  But the same goddamned ugly odour was in the bathroom too.  I had no idea what was going on or if they were behind it or not.  I fled around the house but thankfully all the other rooms were ok.  Air fresher was sprayed freely in the offending rooms and eventually everything appeared quite normal again.

MARCH 26^TH 1999

I received a copy of Vera Nolan’s court welfare report.  The recommendations from this report largely determine the outcome of the court case.  My solicitor thinks it is quite favourable but that the implications are that Gareth and I should stop fighting and should work together for the children’s sakes.  But how can you work or mediate with a spiteful vindictive controlling liar whose only aim is to destroy you?  The report states that Gareth calls me an alcoholic and says that I’m unfit to care for my babies.  He reckons he’s been Jordan’s main carer and that he’s concerned for the babies’ physical and emotional wellbeing!  Apparently he’s purchased a vast range of equipment, clothes and toys in preparation for my babies moving in with him.  Cheeky blighter. 

Vera states that many referrals were made to social services, some via the health visitor and NSPCC and that they “all originated from Mr Williams or other members of his family.”  She states that social services took the view that they were malicious and social services requested that he refrain from wasting their time.  I wasn’t happy with the next bit.  The ‘burn’ fiasco was mentioned and the fact that Mel was hospitalised.  Vera states that doctors were unable to establish the cause of the mark.  LIES.  Three doctors and the hospital paediatrician stated it was eczema and she was treated for such.  The report states “Social services carried out a Section 47 investigation.”  A what?  Also, that they held a “Strategy meeting.”  Oh for chrissakes, social services are worrying themselves about an innocent mark when there are real child abusers out there and kids in children’s homes being abused while social workers and their bosses look the other way.  There are also dictators out there who threaten our lives daily.  Wars are global, corruption and unease ripe, ‘natural’ disasters and severe weather [largely caused by man] cause large-scale death and destruction and there is real risk to every soul on earth regardless of their class, colour or creed; yet these prats are busy shuffling silly bits of paper around their offices, having stupid insignificant meetings and chasing their tales over a harmless humble soul like me who poses no threat whatsoever.

Anyway how come the details of the educational social worker’s involvement with his nibs’ kids [where referrals came from genuine and professional sources] didn’t appear on this vital report?  Ok, they are not my kids but their father is the father of my kids and if there is any whiff of child abuse [physical, mental or sexual] having been perpetrated by my vile ex on official records then I think the court and I are entitled to know.  The report further states that “there was no definite evidence to suggest a non-accidental injury – no further action was taken.  A social worker will make a further unannounced visit and assuming she is satisfied, the case will be closed.”  Oh for heavens sake, the ‘case’ should never have been opened.  Why am I under scrutiny?  I’ve never hurt my kids.  Gareth has.  Why aren’t they investigating him?  Vera recommends that the babies should develop a “close and loving relationship with him.”  Hang on, Vera only saw Gareth twice with the children, in unnatural circumstances, and with him on false exemplary behaviour just for the purpose of the visit; how can he be judged fit for any form of contact? 

The report then states that Gareth is “opposed to Jordan and Melissa being educated at home.”  That b…. is opposed to anything I do just for the sake of being awkward and yet there were times when we were together that he was full of encouragement and support for me teaching them.  That’s more proof [if proof were needed] that he doesn’t give tuppence about the kids and what their preference might be.  Most kids, if given a choice between school and home, would choose the latter.  Further along she states that Jordan “does not communicate verbally” and that there are “concerns about Jordan’s developmental delay.” What nonsense.  The H/V can’t specify what delays, and Jordan understands fully and responds intelligently.  He doesn’t talk yet cos he doesn’t feel the need and is happy to just observe.  Furthermore, why do the lying prats use that word ‘concern’ when they are clearly NOT concerned about any of my kids!  Vera states that I rely on Andrew and Shell to help entertain Jordan.  Well, I think he doesn’t need ‘entertaining’ and anyway I was busy chatting to her and breast-feeding Melly.  She states, “Both parents should address the issue of stimulation for Jordan.”  Well, in my view it is an insult to ‘stimulate’ kids or encourage them to ‘play’.  They explore and play when they want to and are able [even at a young age] to form an opinion of someone such that they may not wish to communicate with that person. 

Vera says that we “did not appear to agree on anything” and that nothing positive was mentioned by either of us in respect of the other. Well, actually I remember saying that he is a good cook, good at DIY and that we did have some good times; and anyway we couldn’t ‘agree’ because he is a lying evil little man whereas I am struggling to get the truth out about him.  She states she “isn’t convinced that either parent could keep their personal feelings from Jordan and Melissa.”  Well, it is wrong to pretend that the other parent is something he is not. Children have a right to know the truth and the court should consider that a liar [as Gareth has been proved to be] is an unfit influence for a child.  Vera states that it would be “emotionally damaging” for the children to be denied either parent.  Oh, come on.  It is more ‘emotionally damaging’ to expose a child to the malevolent malicious immoral man that Gareth Williams is. 

She says she has no evidence to suggest my babies would be at risk in the unsupervised company of Gareth.  Well there is ample evidence.  All she has to do is contact Colwyn Bay and Dolgellau social services regarding Gareth’s older two and she should be allowed to access information from Alcoholics Anonymous.  It is scandalous that AA protects the alcoholics and thus exposes children to further abuse and danger.  There is a real risk that children [especially babies and toddlers] would suffer significant harm and could even die because of a drunk parent.  Yet this pales into insignificance as far as the court is concerned.  Where is the logic?  Women like me have fled dangerous, drunk, violent men and we remove our children to safety until some ‘judge’ and an illogical and flawed so-called ‘welfare and justice’ system forces us to place our children right back amongst the very danger and abuse that we fled.  But it is worse for the child because he/she is completely vulnerable since there is no-one else overseeing the forced contact sessions; and the likelihood is that the father is even more violent because of his desire for revenge and because he no longer has control over the woman.  Also he probably drinks more heavily and more often as he ‘drowns his sorrows’ over his changed domestic situation.  The kids are in great danger since, more often than not, the father doesn’t really want them and doesn’t care about them; he just wants an excuse to continue abusing their mother.    

It is a crying shame that children’s lives are viewed so callously.  It is no wonder that many women stay with vicious men.  If it wasn’t for Andrew and Shell, the chances are that I too would still be with Gareth – for the sake of Jordan’s and Melissa’s happiness and safety because while we were together the babies were rarely left alone with him and he didn’t particularly want much to do with them.  Vera states, “Their hostility towards each other is interfering with their ability to make rational and appropriate decisions about their children’s futures.”  This is outrageous.  I am struggling against all adversity to bring my babies up in a safe and loving home whereas Gareth Williams is a compulsive liar, wife and child batterer and a control freak who cares not one iota about either baby.  It is all very well officials watching their backs and taking an unbiased view but they have a duty to do their job properly and TAKE SIDES for the sake of the children.  Fair play, Vera did mention the fact that he smelled strongly of alcohol.  But then she goes on to state that she “isn’t convinced that either parent is willing to meet the children’s emotional needs.”  How ridiculous can you get?  I certainly DO meet these needs – that is why I am trying to protect them from harmful contact sessions with GW.  Vera concludes that the prince of revenge should have contact with Jord and Mel for a few hours initially and then two or three times a week after a few months because, she says, it will benefit the babies.   Well she wouldn’t be making such recommendations if we were talking about her babies and the father of her children was another Gareth Williams [or an even worse character.]  I just feel sick to the pit of my stomach now.  To me, the whole idea of a welfare report is a ruddy farce.  How can it be the basis by which some ‘judge’ makes such an important, even life-threatening decision?

MARCH 27^TH 1999

I was horrified with what greeted me when I went to collect Jord from his afternoon nap.  He’d decided he wasn’t going to soil his nappy so he’d removed it and had smeared his motions all over his cot, clothes, blankets, hair…. It took around two hours and two bottles of disinfectant to clean up.

MARCH 28^TH 1999

Shell took great pleasure in informing me that I’d stupidly left tissue paper in my cardi pocket and had washed it along with a load of other clothes and now white bits of paper were dotted everywhere.  [I usually play hell with the kids for not emptying their pockets before lobbing their stuff in the wash.]  My first reaction was to bin the cardi cos I couldn’t be bothered to painstakingly pluck all the bits out.  But I immediately visualised ten-pound notes heading for the bin, so I hastened to work with pieces of masking tape.

MARCH 29^TH 1999

There is a bit of a hoo ha surrounding benefit claimants.  Apparently the dept of social security don’t bother to check identities.  Strange how they don’t seriously investigate serial and/or big time fraudsters either but they’ll happily use up resources chasing after easy little targets.  They also have an absurd rule that just because cash is paid from an absent father to a child for the purpose of pocket money and hobbies, via the child’s mother’s bank account [for convenience], it is considered maintenance; yet the law states that it is perfectly acceptable for the father to visit weekly or so with the same amount of cash for the same purpose and plonk it into the child’s hand or his/her mother’s!  Such illogical nonsense encourages secrecy and deception.

‘Sir’ Paul Condom is still lying.  He is now in hospital with what he labels ‘gastroenteritis’.  Rubbish!  He is suffering stress – brought on because of his own corrupt work record.  GOOD.  I hope he dies and rots in hell and all the other self-servers like him who abuse their positions of power.

Blair comes on Newsnightt to bleat, “The Kosovans pleaded with us to act.”  What about the Timoreans…. ? 

MARCH 30^TH 1999

Dad came with me and Andrew to court.  My solicitor told me that the good news is that the smarmy git has dropped his residence demands but the bad news is that I’m going to have to agree to some form of contact.  I asked what the magistrate would award him if I left the decision solely up to the court.  Apparently there is an unwritten rule that the bloke gets a full weekend every other week plus an evening and that it didn’t matter if the father was the most violent of sex offenders.  I mournfully informed my chuffed dad and smiling solicitor that Gareth had no intentions of dropping his residence application and that he was just playing games as usual and biding his time.  The solicitor said that once the contact arrangements were settled, Gareth couldn’t apply for residence again [unless he foots the bill himself.]  But I’m not convinced of that either.  Gareth is a law unto himself.  I asked about disclosure of social services’ records regarding his kids.  I made the point that although they aren’t my kids, their father is the father of Jord and Mel and that whatever is on record should be made available to the court.  I was assured that we can obtain them but right now we are heavily obliged to offer him some contact.  Just like that!  It’s just an everyday deal to them. In their eyes, we’re not talking about children we’re talking pound notes.  Jesus wept.

After much persuasion and legal wrangling I reluctantly ‘agreed’ to two hours a week supervised at the church.  I’ve been pressured into following the guidelines of the welfare report.  At least they can’t accuse me of non-compliance.  They can see that I’m not the awkward one or the liar, but that my concerns for my babies are genuine.  The welfare report is so unfair tho.  Vera only met the b…. three times and he’s a most convincing liar.

I awoke suddenly after a lovely dream, which was so vivid.  I don’t normally remember dreams – that’s if I dream at all, but this one kept lingering in my head and the song kept recurring, keeping me awake for the rest of the night.  It was the hymn There is a green hill far away…. I was walking hauntingly and alone across fields and I assume that, had I not awoken, I would’ve eventually stumbled upon the hill that Jesus was crucified on.  I wondered if the dream had any meaning.  It was so poignant.

MARCH 31^ST 1999

I’d stayed in deliberately because a social worker had written to tell me she’d be visiting at 11.00 am.  But guess what!  It is now 12.30 pm and there is no sign of her – not even an apologetic phone call.  God, that really infuriates me.

At around 2.00 am, just as I was about to drift off into slumber land, I ‘sensed’ something to the left of me which wasn’t frightening.  I looked in that direction and smelled a lovely ‘perfumed’ fragrance that puzzled me and that I couldn’t identify.  I turned to my right and inhaled but could smell nothing unusual.  I then faced my left again and could smell the beautiful ‘perfume’.  I then sat up and sniffed around above my head but everything was ‘normal’.  After a few minutes of this inquisitive inhalation, the strange aroma remained in the one spot to my left.  It was as if this transparent thing/person was sitting on my pillow.  I had the strongest belief at that moment that mum was with me; after all she had forwarned me years ago when she had the same experience with her dead mother that it might happen to me. She’d told me then not to be afraid and that it would just be her paying me a friendly visit.  I’d laughed it off at the time thinking mum was suffering with a fertile imagination.  I found myself smiling broadly and I actually said, “Mum, is that you?  Hi.”  Then I dozed.