JULY

JULY 1^ST 1999

Mel makes me laugh.  She drops her bottle then peers over her high chair as if to say, “Where did that go?”

Slime ball couldn’t wait to hurl it in my face.  He brought up the fact that all my kids are registered ‘at risk’ on the council’s Child Protection Register.  How the hell did he find out?  Oh, and he was only too pleased to inform me that the police have got it in for me.  Well, that wouldn’t surprise me.  I’ve known it anyway, ever since the day they lied about Andrew and Shell being caught on CCTV in grave danger from the sea.  I reckon police are feeding him information and vice versa.

JULY 2^ND 1999

I’m so uptight at this latest gross injustice that I’m liable to fly off the handle at even the slightest misdemeanour.  I flipped this morning just because the kids’ rooms were slightly untidy.  Poor Andrew and Shell took my full, frustrated misdirected wrath.  I ranted, “Keep these rooms looking perfect – don’t give the slugs the satisfaction of picking us up on anything.  Those stupid social workers can come in here at anytime and snoop around.  They’ll jump on anything to incriminate us and strengthen their case.”

This afternoon we all went to Llandudno to choose the kitchen floor covering.  It was a breath of fresh air to be treated with such politeness and respect.  They made me feel so important that I felt quite overwhelmed.  We then enjoyed a McDonalds.  People were so kind on the buses.  A few went out of their way to help us on and off the bus with the pram and littleuns.  There’s no snobbery there.

At home we did a little experiment with the toaster to see the effects of smoke when the back door is opened.  We burnt quite a bit of toast until the kitchen was quite smoky.  As expected, when we opened the back doors, the smoke billowed out.  After a while we smelled the damp laundry, which hung in the porch and found that some items did smell smoky and did need re-washing.  Yet there was a hundred times more smoke on the night of the fire, which gushed through the wet laundry and it did not affect any of it.  Amazing!  Fire alarms had not immediately activated on the night of the fire either; yet today, they shrilled at the first whiff of smoke.

JULY 3^RD 1999

Linda and I had our usual over the wall gas.  She asked if I’d considered going into politics.  “No chance,” I said.  “I think we can make more effective changes from the outside.”  We agreed that no one bothers to vote because all the parties are the same – greedy, corrupt and self-serving.  We began to take the mick out of upper-class highflying ministers who sit toffee-nosed in their glam London pads, lying through their teeth and prattling on, thinking they’re so important - above everyone else and unaccountable.  We remarked that they always sit with a rather attractive lamp at their side turned ON when it is broad daylight.  None of them gives a dickie bird about unnecessary fuel consumption, global warming and the destruction of our planet.  We decided that it’s all very well people like us being global friendly because we can’t afford to burn gas, electricity, petrol…. But by the same token, the wealthy aristocracy should be prosecuted if caught burning fuel unnecessarily, and selfishly adding to the harmful greenhouse gasses that will create catastrophic worldwide ruin.  We agreed that they should be taxed heavily for use of their fleet of superpower cars, for heating and lighting their luxury palaces…. We reckon that in this life, nothing is about right or wrong or the law, it’s about how powerful your friends are – or your enemies.  We concluded with the realisation that politicians are in office for a very good reason, which is nothing at all to do with running the country.  It’s for keeping comedians in business.  We added that they should be referred to as Devil’s servants not public servants and that they are too greedy to realise that wealth doesn’t make you happy, it turns you into a smug worthless piece of sh…. Little do they realise that God knows what they get up to.  God is watching them and GOD will make them accountable.

Lin patiently listened to me moaning about how contact is doing the babies no good at all.  She listened to me whinging about Jordan’s toilet training being hindered because every time I collect him after contact, his pull-ups are saturated – so either he’s too tense to use the church loo or his father can’t be bothered to take him.  Either way it’s affecting Jordan because his toileting has now regressed and my job has been made all the more difficult.  I also told her about them both being whingy and clingy when they come home from church and that they need lots of reassuring hugs and cuddles.  I guess a lot of it could be due to shyness and the newness of it all though.

I read about the decision to drop manslaughter charges against train driver Larry Harrison and his bosses Great Western trains when seven passengers were killed in the Southall rail disaster. This is another disgusting case of profits over passenger safety and of parliament failing to plug the loophole after a law commission report called for corporate management to be held accountable for gross negligence after the Herald of Free Enterprise ferry disaster.  Well done Maureen Kavanagh  [another of God’s angels] who lost her son and is now fighting for justice and a change in the law.  It is people like her who challenge government for all our sakes, who we need to make the right changes.  Don’t give up Maureen.  Wars are won in the mind and your strong and determined attitude is a winner.  God speaks through you.  What I find an absolute disgrace are these so-called investigations into such tragedies.  The guilty parties know immediately who or what is at fault, they just need this time to engage in damage limitation.  They concoct a semi-feasible story or they create the circumstances that will be acceptable for the all too common ‘not enough evidence’ claim or the ‘with the benefit of hindsight’ speeches, to enable guilty men to climb off the hook and walk free so that they can keep on putting other people’s lives and livelihoods at risk.  Lying, cowardly, b….stds.

JULY 4^TH 1999

We all traipsed up to Eirias Park’s dinosaur world.  It made a pleasant change.  Then we sat by the boating lake, munching chips.  Andrew and Shell ran off to collect newts and God knows what.  I was happy to just relax and reflect.

JULY 6^TH 1999

I read the shocking tale in the Mail of how a dangerous and predatory convicted paedophile was allowed to manage children’s homes for over twenty years and that executives at Lambeth council knew of and covered up for his crimes.  Michael Carroll abused and raped boys yet, despite worried staff writing to Lambeth’s director of social services David Pope, nothing was done.  Incredibly two senior officers from Lambeth social services asked for Carroll’s criminal documents to be falsified.  It took a lowly social worker’s objections to make Lambeth council take note but even then the director of social services and four senior officers allowed him to continue working with boys.  Lambeth officers are accused of being grossly unprofessional.  Scotland Yard are now opening enquiries into allegations of ORGANISED ABUSE stretching back over twenty years at South London ‘care’ homes.  All the Lambeth social services and health directorate’s Judith Brodie can now say is, “The council regretted the abuse children suffered.  We are now both sadder and wiser about paedophile activities.”  Lying cow.  If she is only now aware of what a paedophile is and does, WHAT THE HELL IS SHE AND ALL THE OTHER TOP COUNCIL BACTERIAL PARASITES DOING IN JOBS CONCERNING THE HEALTH AND WELFARE OF CHILDREN???  It beggars belief.  Are the executive going to stand trial?????

JULY 7^TH 1999

The Core Group puppets turned up to waste my time.  These useless sessions of bureaucratic paper-shuffling chitchat remind me of why I pulled Andrew out of school when he was four years old.  I felt then that school is a form of violence, partly because the kids had to do stupid boring tasks which TAUGHT THEM NOTHING but which showed them up dreadfully if they failed a task or exercise through boredom.  There was a test called ‘eye/hand’ co-ordination which Andrew failed spectacularly, just because he didn’t see the point of doing some little magical trick of threading some special beads onto a piece of wire.  This concern over Andrew’s ‘fine motor skills and comprehension’ caused his teacher to become so alarmed that she suggested he be referred to an ‘expert’ on child development for an assessment.  In my opinion these ‘experts’ should be shot.  THEY are the health hazard.  Kids fail abysmally – in EVERY way, BECAUSE of school.  If kids took to heart all these ‘assessment’ and ‘key stage’ failures, by the time they leave school, they’d be running for the nearest psychiatrist’s couch or tallest skyscraper. 

I used to notice that the newcomers at school arrived bubbly, spontaneous, natural and full of life – you could see the gusto and enthusiasm in their first Christmas panto performance.  But as the months dragged on I was aware that all school kids’ spirits became subdued.  Kids become bored, frustrated, angry…. and naughty.  At their second school xmas panto, the kids were disinterested and they displayed blank faces - haunted even - as they parrot fashionably recited their lines/songs. 

This dismal recollection sprang to mind as I watched these health and welfare professionals sitting in my lounge filling in their silly forms and asking me stupid questions about Andrew’s and Shell’s ‘health and educational progress’ so far.  It’s alright for them, they’re getting paid to come here and bend my ear.  I should sue the council for unnecessary stress and loss of earnings and employment.  Isn’t it enough for the clever experts to realise that Andrew and Shell are doing pretty well?  The education inspector is happy with their ‘education’ and the kids can hold their own with anyone and more importantly they don’t suffer negative traits.  But such reasoning seems to be beyond these bureaucrats.  If they can’t measure the ability to do something, which is set by ‘experts’ and grade it, they are stuffed.  Just cos a child can shove a full-stop in a sort of reasonable place, put a couple of capitals in and spell half a dozen words or so, he can ‘pass’ key stage two English and junior is considered to be doing well et cetera.  I don’t call that progress.  Even now, Andrew and Shell have some school ‘assessment’ methods ingrained and will ask what grade I’d award them for a piece of work.  I tell them that their ‘grade’ is good if their mistakes are few.  I think one of the worst things about school is that children are not expected to learn from their mistakes.  I know I went through school making more or less the same mistakes and so did Andrew and Shell for the short spells that they did attend school.  Now I make sure they do not repeat mistakes, to save them the bother of undoing all the wrong later.  Even Dafydd Thomas from the LEA commented that I correct everything.  The kids remarked that most of the time their work wasn’t even marked at school.

JULY 8^TH 1999

My social worker Maureen turned up to bug me.  At first she seemed quite supportive and said that she was shocked that conference members had almost taken my kids off me after the initial conference.  I asked, “Since when are innocent kids ‘registered’ just cos there is one unexplained fire and some unexplained happenings?  The spiritual side of it is none of the council’s business; or is this council control at all costs?”  Mo said that she was surprised that conference memers were so abrupt, especially since a fire report wasn’t filed at that point and there was confusion over the ‘out of hours’ social worker.  She agreed that it is unfair and a nuisance for me and that if there was just the fire incident and none of the previous referrals by anonymous persons and others, it would not have got to this stage and there wouldn’t even have been a conference called.  She also felt that there were coincidences when I told her that Gareth had threatened all this.  She told me conference members were being harsh.  Even she didn’t say anything when I remarked that it doesn’t pay to tell the truth and that in this life it would appear that you are respected and liked if you lie and get up to no good.

I asked what would happen if I simply refused to co-operate and allowed them to take me to court on the reasoning that at least then it would be less one-sided.  She partly agreed with my line of thinking that I am at present on my tod and up against the big bad mighty council, which is quite unfair.  But she then pointed out that I wouldn’t get much sympathy because my actions would be interpreted as a sign that I have something to hide.  So here I am lumbered with all this and there’s not a damned thing I can do about it, except appeal of course, which will get me absolutely NOWHERE and will just mean more of the same heavy weight one-sided officialdom persecution.  Nevertheless I will appeal.  And all this is because of one Gareth Williams.  Jesus!  Why won’t they listen to me?  Hello!  Is anyone listening?  HE is the b…. std that my babies are at risk from.  Are they trying to drive me nuts so that I would then be a danger to my kids?  Then they can turn around and say, “Hah, he was right, after all.”

Mo asked if I still felt frightened in the house because of the fire and other peculiarities.  I said, “I think everyone worries about house fires or other harmful possibilities, especially when you have children; but I’m sleeping upstairs again to try and bury some ghosts.  Fear can only hurt you if you surrender to it – then it can kill you.”

There were some slight errors in the minutes of both conferences which I wanted altering, such as the fact that the “diaries” were not Andrew’s as stated in the minutes, but were mine, and the fact that it was not suggested that Mel be taken to hospital regarding the ‘burn’ as presented in the minutes, I was FORCED to send her there, as I had already stated in the meeting.  I also highlighted the error on Jordan’s date of birth and on my title which is Ms not Mrs.  Maureen made notes of everything and said that she’d bring it to the Chair’s attention.

She then started her Comprehensive Risk Assessment.  I naively imagined this to entail her talking to me about safety issues and practicalities such as how often I bath the kids, what I give them to eat, if they are suitably dressed for the weather, if they have enough blankets on at night et cetera.  I.e: useful, practical suggestions.  But I was stunned into silence when she started delving into my long and distant past.  She began by asking the full names of my mum and dad, what kind of marriage they had…. I thought all of this a bit too nosey, so I began to object until she said, “I need to get to know you and your family background.”  I told her that the only way she’d get to know me is if she moved in with me [not that I was inviting her.]  I said that you can’t know anyone in a weekly two-hourly session.  She curtly reminded me that I’d agreed to co-operate.  I politely pointed out to her that the reality is I’m being forced to comply and that her line of questioning is totally irrelevant to the issue in hand and it is a waste of everyone’s time.  She wasn’t listening though and continued her onslaught and in the doing gradually chipped away at my privacy.  I thought social workers were paid to do something useful for society, not to have one-sided gossip with folk who would rather scrub toilets with a toothbrush than talk to them.  I kept my answers as acceptably short as possible, bullsh ….ted a bit and kicked off a bit until she eventually got the message and sodded off with all her notes.

I got the bubs up.  Both got so excited and began dancing.  Mel threw her arms up to me and began clapping.  I wish I felt so carefree.  As I began the tea, I was thinking that all this wouldn’t be happening if I hadn’t left Gareth.  It just proves how strong you have to be to break away from and fight evil.  I just have to ride it all out now – go with the flow as they say.  I know one thing; evil does not support evil if it is threatened.  Evil people are cowards and will back off if they get seriously challenged.  Evil people turn on their accomplices when they have no more use for them or if they fear being exposed and being punished.  Evil people will make scapegoats of their former friends and associates to avoid punishment themselves.  That’s what happens when you sup with the devil; he turns on you eventually.  Good people are strong though and stick by each other.  They don’t desert.  That’s why God will win ultimately because he speaks the truth and is good, strong and intelligent.  Satan is a lying coward.  He is also evil, weak and stupid.  God’s power of goodness will defeat Satan’s present reign of wickedness because Satan’s supporters will abandon him when they realise that they are in the minority group [since they like and need to have protection in numbers and the ‘club’ of good people is growing bigger and stronger and more powerful by the minute.] More and more people are realising that their ‘protection’ is in serving God, which means being honest and virtuous and doing good for the benefit of everyone.  It means striving for justice for everyone and bringing to justice those who do wrong no matter what their ‘position’ in society is.

Mel sat in her highchair tapping her spoon in anticipation and excitement – what a character.  Despite everything, I surprised myself by breaking into spontaneous song, much to the babies’ delight.  I guess you’d call that the power of love.  It’s as if something is telling me to relax, have faith and that it’ll all come good in due course.  I fees as though something is telling me that it’ll never get so bad that I can’t hack it.

JULY 9^TH 1999

I bought a tiny tape recorder with sensitive microphone so that I can now keep my own records of them, and that includes all conferences and anyone who invites himself or herself into my house that I don’t like the look of.

I heard some of the kids yelling that ruddy mutt’s name.  They were saying that it is here again – perched on the driveway next to Donna’s.  As it happened I had my camera in one hand since I’d previously taken some snaps of the kids, and I had a cuppa in the other.  So I strolled up the road to see for myself, and felt absolutely disgusted when I saw it there growling and threatening.  When that mongrel is on this road, all the kids are too scared to move and no one can go anywhere until it is removed.  Obviously the police don’t intend sorting the thing out so I decided I’d send a photo of it to the local rag.  Just as I was about to take the photo, Clive the butcher came down the road, and the dog sprang at me with teeth glaring.  Instinctively I jumped back behind the nearest safe object I could find and it happened to be Clive.  The mad mutt sank its teeth into his leg, ripping his trousers and causing bleeding; then it fled.  I was mortified.  But Clive was very kind and very brave and told me not to blame myself.  Police arrived and statements were taken.  Maybe this time they’ll put the damned dog down.  But I won’t be holding out for any miracles.  I never did get the photo.  But the dog’s ‘gobby’ ‘dad’ showed up with some other geyser threatening Clive and me and Andrew with all sorts of bloodthirsty revenge.   The way he was carrying on I was convinced that police had already taken his dog and shoved a noose around its neck.  Wishful thinking or what?  The filth that rolled out of that man’s mouth is unprintable but the message was that we were all going to die.  Half an hour later, he came around telling Andrew that he’s “f…. ing dead” and “your bitch mother is next….”.  Fair play his pal came back later on his own to tell me that he’s sorry about the behaviour of Mutley’s owner.  I thanked him.  Next minute, the dog’s ‘mother’ came hammering on my door threatening the end of the world.  Andrew bellowed at her through the keyhole, “Clear off; mum doesn’t talk to idiots.”

Out of curiosity I took a lighter to an old kitchen cupboard that was in my shed.  It was similar to my kitchen units.  I was amazed to find that it took only three minutes to singe badly, crack and then burn ferociously.  I was shocked.  How come then my kitchen unit wasn’t even scorched on the night of the fire?  It was directly above the burning washing powder and the fire had burned for over twenty minutes.

Dad agreed to let me simulate our kitchen fire in his yard.  I told him I’ll choose a day when there is no wind and that I realise circumstances will obviously be different because of the weather factor but that I’ll be able to see for myself how fire reacts and maybe it’ll shut me up. He said if it does that it’ll be worth it.  He said it won’t prove anything and that they’re the experts.  We got on the subject of the CCTV incident.  He said he’d heard from an independent person, who doesn’t know him, that Andrew and Shell were caught on bikes on CCTV.  I barked, “That proves it; they were guarding their backs and ready with a story.  They wouldn’t tell you unless they knew you; it would be unprofessional.  Now, I’m even more suspicious.”  I said there have been too many coincidences and that I’m sure there is a conspiracy to give Gareth what he wants and that the police are helping him.  Dad agreed that they should’ve shown me the tape because I have a right to know exactly how much danger my kids were in.  He dropped a few large hints that I should stop being so aggressive towards the authorities; but I told him that to back off is a sign of weakness and that I have to listen to what my ‘insides’ are telling me to do.  I told him that it is ‘ordinary’ blameless folk who can and who must challenge heavy weight officialdom.  I said that if I didn’t kick off I’d go insane, and then Gareth would get my babies and he would have won.  I told him I’m not too perturbed with all this inconvenience because I know that one day real justice and righteousness will reign supreme as God will win and the world will then be so much nicer, safer and peaceful.  Dad passed a remark that I was talking a load of old cobblers and that the world has always been the same – full of wars, injustice and poverty and that it’ll never change and that there’s nothing we can do about it…. [Sometimes I wonder if dad is on their side and knows more than he’s letting on about the unsavoury goings on.]

The kids and I had a tete a tete about how they were treated by Gareth’s children.  Things come out every so often in drips and drabs about how badly they were treated but they couldn’t talk about it because of the sinister repercussions.  On occasions when GW and I used to leave his daughter in charge, she’d order Andrew and Shell around – make them wash and dry, sweep the floor and make her coffees.  They had to run to the shop for her or the chippy.  If they refused or argued she’d bully them or she’d tell her dad terrible lies about them and of course he always sided with her and gave my two a hard time.  I did see some things for myself about her sly behaviour and I’d correct her but it always caused eruptions with Gareth, which is what she intended.  She was a spiteful troublemaker whenever she got the opportunity.  Even her nain and aunty had warned me.  According to Andrew and Shell, GW’s son was also a sly bully at times and would sling Andrew in thorns or beat him up if he refused to obey.  If Shell refused to obey Gareth’s son, he’d mess up her room so that Gareth would smack her.  There were times when Gareth and I constantly rowed over the kids but then he’d end up hitting me.  I encourage the kids to let it all out now.  I never realised quite how bad things were for them and how they were too scared to tell.  I’d been so blind to so much, not realising such wickedness and control existed.  We talk openly about all the things that have happened and about the way we are being treated now – as if we are the criminals.  I make them aware that they are not to blame for any of this and that the police and other top nobs are in the wrong, accusing us and threatening ‘care’.  I told them that even Gareth’s kids are not to blame; that they are victims too, being controlled by a vile bully and not yet strong enough to fight it.

Andrew was too scared to go down town alone because there were gangs on bikes after him.  He said that some had asked him earlier to be friends and to join them but he told me he couldn’t be ‘friends’ with lads who steal – handbags, cash et cetera and who bully little kids and old people and who cause damage to people’s houses, cars…. I gave him a cuddle and told him that he has a good strong attitude and that those lads were wimps hanging out together but being afraid of each other, not enjoying the bad things that they do but too scared to refuse.  I told him that we’ll all go to town together later.

JULY 11^TH 1999

The Lawrence family are now offered compensation by the Met police for failing dismally to do their job.  If everyone fought for justice like Stephen Lawrence’s parents and shamed organisations like the police, the ‘big boys’ would soon be out of pocket with the compensation payouts.  Then we’d see the balance of power shifting.  No doubt the government would just increase taxes to pay for more bent senior policemen and bungled dealings, but at least their shameful practices would be exposed and there would be too many for society to tolerate.

JULY 12^TH 1999

I phoned the headmistress of the school where Gareth’s kids used to attend.  It felt like she was the only friend I had; the only one who genuinely seemed willing to acknowledge right from wrong and to speak the TRUTH.  I was virtually begging her to help me expose Gareth Williams for the wife and child batterer and crook that he is.  She was surprised that my kids are registered and said that it isn’t easy to get a child on the Child Protection register.  She told me she’d have a word with my social worker about Gareth, which would put her clearly in the picture as to the kind of character we’re dealing with.  She said she’d strongly encourage Maureen to contact Nia Smith, the Educational Welfare Officer, who was heavily involved with Gareth and his children, since she was called in to do an investigation.  The head teacher and I are both questioning what on Earth social services are playing at since they were called in to intervene when Gareth’s children were at primary/junior schools, they were called in by their high school on a number of occasions and they’ve been called in at the school that his daughter attends now.  Yet, not even one conference was called and no action taken.  I reckon there is something very seedy going on here and that if they’d done their job, those kids would probably have lived with their mum; and rightly so.  She had parental responsibility too, why wasn’t she notified?  The head agreed.   I was shocked when the head teacher informed me that she’d been threatened by Gareth with court for defamation of character; just because she’s been talking to me!  That’s proof if ever it were needed that he has something rather murky to hide.  The head said she’d respond to my solicitor’s letter.

In town, I had an unfortunate encounter with the mad dog’s owner.  He came up to me, stuck his face close up to mine and yelled, “Slag.”  So I bellowed back, “Arsehole.”  I wasn’t best pleased with myself, especially as others stopped to stare; but it was the first word that popped into my head.  I gave myself a stern talking to.  I told myself that such language was inappropriate down town and that if I saw that man again, I’d force myself to keep my gob shut, no matter what he said to me.  I tell myself that I mustn’t use filthy language in the home either.  But sometimes, I really can’t help it, and anyway, it’s better that I let off steam by swearing rather than by some other form of violent outburst.

JULY 13^TH 1999

The kids and I fronted up for round three of the ‘at risk’ fiasco at the council office battleground.  I didn’t have a hope in hell of winning the appeal, particularly as it was hosted by DCI Loftus of North Wales Police.  He sat there looking so smart and smug.  I bet he’s got some seedy secrets.  He’s bound to be bent and an expert perverter of justice.  The other two women sat there looking so important with their noses virtually pinned to the ceiling.  The three of them and Seale looked at me as if I was something worth squashing under their shoes. I couldn’t even get my solicitor, John Owens, to sit in with me.  For the past two weeks he was never available to take my calls and he didn’t get back to me after I’d left him messages.

But it was all to no avail. They insisted that the source of fire was scientifically proven by investigators and that they’d done a report which was final, at which point I snapped.  “Rubbish!  There is nothing scientific about their prejudices version of events.”  They kept pretending that they were concerned for my kids’ safety, so I said, “So much so that you didn’t send a social worker on the night of the fire, and you lied when you said you had.”  At this point, Graham Seale began thumbing frantically through his mound of papers to try and ‘prove’ that one had visited.  As I watched the silly man I thought to myself, ‘Didn’t you tell me that you were neutral?  So, how come you are singing the council’s tune so passionately now?’  I stated angrily, “You lot don’t care about the more important issue – that my violent ex may now be awarded custody of my babies because of this obscene ‘at risk’ label.  In fact you people only apply the law when it suits you.  My ex should be in jail by now for harassment, GBH and child abuse.  But the likes of you have given him your blessing to do anything he wants.  There is something very seedy and sinister simmering in the background.  I’ll uncover the truth one day.  You lot don’t give a fig about kids; in fact your actions today and the threats from your solicitor that my children are close to going into ‘care’, suggests that you support child abuse.  The council, police and social services have got one hell of a record for promoting child abuse since they scandalously refused to stop the revolting paedophiles attacking and abusing kids in Local Authority Children’s Homes, such that those kids are now so damaged that some have killed themselves.  The truth is my kids are AT RISK from people like you, mad dogs, gangs of juvenile delinquents and criminals that your type fail to bring to justice and worse, protect and associate with.”

I continued, “I’m fully aware of the implications all this has now on my court fight against Gareth.  Don’t you realise that by now I’d have come clean if I thought that Andrew or Shell did or could have set the fire?  I have too much to lose by making up silly stories about spirits.”  I enquired if they were in the business of breaking up loving families and causing them grief, inconvenience and injustice – just because they are honest and decent.  I asked if they are so hard-pressed for work that they must create ‘at risk’ families.  I told them that the council fail miserably to deal with the kids who genuinely are at risk and I enquired if it was because officials are scared of being threatened with a gun at their heads from violent fathers, or is it because there is no money available since tax payers’ cash has been gobbled up and misused by greedy, lazy, fat-cat councillors, other council and government officials and associates.  Or is it simply because paedophiles and other child abusers are protected.  I pointed out that they succeed in dismantling perfectly able functioning thriving families.  I also informed them that I’m not just kicking up a fuss for my own family’s sake but I’m speaking on behalf of all the innocent people who are persecuted, oppressed and suffer injustice.

They then disappeared into a little room to pretend to decide my fate – as if I didn’t already know it. They knew it too, long before stepping inside this hellhole of a building today – lowlife liars.

They waltzed back in to inform me, “The children were at risk on the night of the fire and remain at risk, whether it be from someone within the household setting fire or from some other force.”  I blasted, “Anyone is at risk from any fire, no matter how it started.  You would be.  It doesn’t mean my kids should suffer again by going on this damaging piece of paper and having to put up with you lot bothering them and nastily threatening to take them away from me, and we shouldn’t now be living with the very real worry of Jordan and Melissa being forced to live with a violent alcoholic abusive man.”  I was beginning to question my own understanding of right and wrong.  It was all too disgracefully evident to me that despite all their ethical proclamations of the care and welfare of children, this was a clear case of spite and self-preservation.  I boomed, “This is outrageous.  People are sick of council, police and social services liars and self-servers.  This will one day hit the headlines and will come back to bite you.  I don’t know when; but it will.  You are nothing but blundering bureaucrats – useless, time wasting, cash-grabbing, power-hungry, penpushing CROOKS.  You are from planet evil.”  At this point something seemed to take me over and I surprised myself by jumping to my feet and ushering the kids out, telling them that we were going NOW.  I erupted again – “You people have the power to overturn this gross injustice but your bureaucratic prejudice and cowardice prevents you from being reasonable and fair.”  I was politely informed that I could appeal again; but I snarled, “Don’t waste my time. You may have nothing better to do than waste taxpayer’s dosh, but I do.  Oh, and I hope your consciences eat away at your insides.”  And with that I swivelled on my heels and marched out, only to catch four horned faces staring at me from around the table of hypocritical officialdom.  Their expressions were a picture.  Their faces were all the same – shocked, paled and with mouths agape such that their bottom lips almost reached the table.  Anyone would swear they’d just witnessed a murder.  I popped my head back in to find them still dumbfounded and paralysed.  “Start doing the right thing for once,” I blasted.

After tea, Shelly came hobbling in crying that she’d fallen off the pavement and hurt her ankle. It was slightly swollen and she said she couldn’t walk on it because of the pain.  But knowing how kids love to exaggerate, I told her to rest it for now.

JULY 14^TH 1999

Shelly said her ankle felt better but that it still gave her pain when walking, so I whisked her off to the GP whereupon she was sent for x-rays.  It turned out that she has a slight fracture, which meant that she needed to have her foot in plaster.  By this time I was feeling a little guilty about not calling a doctor out last night, but was reassured that it wouldn’t have made any difference.

I read in the paper about Blair’s ‘Third World Britain’, which represents the quality of life for twenty five percent of Brits – the poverty trapped underclass.  Britain has the worst railway and road system in Western Europe, the worst rate of adult and numeracy in Europe, the worst health service in Western Europe…. The government should stop wasting money on empty talk and spin doctoring and get on with serving the people – doing the job it’s elected to do.  It should cut the crap and cut out waste and corruption.  An ideal world is easily obtainable if those at the top did their jobs properly.  The government should be held accountable and should not just be forced to resign or lose elections for their failures but should face criminal charges.  If corruption and Masonry was rooted out and annihilated within the police and other bodies of society, and laws enforced fairly for everyone, with everybody being treated as equals [INCLUDING the royals], it would be a start.  The Police Complaints Authority should be completely independent to the police and should investigate thoroughly all complaints – not refer them back to the police!  Police officers should face criminal charges if guilty of failing to do their job, even if they run away and retire.  And all police disciplinary hearings should be open to public scrutiny.  Those in the judicial sector should also be held accountable and if it can be proven that a lawyer has represented a client who he knows is guilty of criminal behaviour, then that lawyer should face criminal charges also.  If the powerful and wealthy were scrupulous [which would take a miracle – indeed WW3] there would be no need for charities; and anarchy would be eradicated.  The question is, can we fight the fight?  It seems we have no choice.

Some stupid mother attached her finger to my doorbell and complained that Andrew is calling the other kids names.  I told her to shove off, but after a couple of hours, a teenage girl who lives with pals turned up with a gang of her devoted supporters.  They were swearing and yelling, belting the windows and ringing the bell.  I had to remove the doorbell batteries.  Both babies awoke and began to scream.  A strong urge came over me to drench the loudmouthed pests with a bucket of cold water, but I resisted it and called cops.  They were surprisingly polite to me and insisted they’d have strong words with the mouthy madams.

JULY 15^TH 1999

I spoke for all of about twenty seconds to GW’s ex wife on the phone.  She made it clear that much as she supports me and would like to help me fight our worst nightmare in court, she really can’t become involved due to Gareth’s unabated controlling fearful influence.  She remarked that her son is due home on leave soon but she knows that the chances of him visiting her are slim.  I left my phone number with her again in the vain hope that she would reconsider. 

I stopped breast-feeding Melissa.  She’s over a year old now so I can put her straight on cow’s milk.

JULY 16^TH 1999

Dad and I attended court to challenge goblin-head for the return of dad’s two and a half grand.  Beelzebub came out with a pack of barefaced lies, but at the end justice was done and the blockhead was told to repay twelve pounds per month.  As we walked away, the antichrist came up to us and started to accuse dad of having affairs when mum was sick in hospital.  Dad’s face turned to thunder, his eyes narrowed and his body tensed as he prepared to land a punch on Gareth.  But fearing that the despicable creature would put dad in hospital, I swiftly took his arm, turned him towards me and insisted that it was “time to go now dad.”  Since the woodlice had lied on oath, dad reckons we can have him for perjury.  I’m a little sceptical since I’m highly suspicious of the police.  I doubt whether he’d be prosecuted for anything, even if a copper witnessed him murdering someone.  He’s still blaming his debt predicament on his ex wife, saying that she left him the children to bring up and that he took over her debts. But dad produced evidence of GARETH WILLIAMS’ court judgements, which show the two that I paid off for him in June 1997 and a new entrant dated May 1996, which is still outstanding and which I had no knowledge of until dad obtained the info fairly recently.    

JULY 16^TH 1999

Busybody Maureen fronted up this afternoon for another grilling session.  She was half an hour late so I made my displeasure known to her.  If the boot had been on the other foot I’d have known about it.  I got the distinct impression that her superior [a man] had given her orders to spin me a line because she told me that if we’d just had the fire and none of the other malign referrals, there would still have been a conference called because the experts had said that it was deliberately started.  I reminded her that last time she’d stated the opposite.  I got the feeling social services would go to any lengths to watch their backs and I felt Maureen had been told to find something – anything - to incriminate me on.  I was extremely guarded after that [not that I’d ever been her fan before but I had felt that she would genuinely try to help us, because she had seemed at first to be supportive and understanding and on our side]; now it appears that she just wants to catch me out.  I considered that if our situation was an example of the stringent criteria used by councils for the welfare of children, just about all the kids in Britain would be registered.

I asked Mo if she’d spoken with the Head teacher as I had asked.  I was told that they did speak briefly but that she doesn’t see the point in contacting the EWO Nia Smith.  I got the feeling that Maureen really didn’t want to linger for long on this subject and that if I hadn’t badgered her about it, she would not have acknowledged her conversation with the Head.  I reminded Mo that we’re talking about Jord’s and Mel’s violent, controlling father and that I’ve every right to know exactly what the three schools’ concerns were.  She tried to convince me that if there was anything to worry about, Social Services would’ve taken action and it would have been documented in the Court Welfare Officer’s report.  Oh Jesus!  Beggars belief.  I told her that I’m cynical and that there is a stench of a conspiracy of secrecy and that I wouldn’t be surprised if the Council are guilty of a cover up.  I mentioned the beatings I’ve witnessed Gareth inflict on his son and the rough treatment he bestowed on my kids and the off-hand disregard he has of officials, plus his very real fearful threats to anyone who challenges him.  I told Maureen that it is her duty to protect my children from harm and that means helping me to expose the truth about Gareth.  I said that the schools were sufficiently concerned about Gareth’s older children and their well being on a number of occasions and were astonished that social services hadn’t intervened appropriately.

But she preferred the easy job of wasting one and a half hours of my time, prying into my mum’s and dad’s lives and their marriage, my childhood, my marriage, my brother and his family and my past work record; while all the time insisting it is all about getting to know me better.  I protested that this is an invasion of privacy and will benefit no one.  I said, “You’re going to create something out of nothing just so that you can give us a damaging report.  Whatever I say will be misconstrued.  I don’t trust social services.”  She had the gall to say that nothing would be used against us!  Yeah right, I used to talk to the health visitor Mary B because she boasted about being on the Domestic Violence forum; and look where that got me – in hospital, with Mel, accused of burning my baby!  Why won’t these officials concentrate on fixing the problem families rather than breaking up the good ones?

JULY 17^TH 1999

Jordan tried to make music from an empty toilet roll.  Fed up with that idea he started whacking me over the head with it, so I threw him an alarmed glare and he immediately stopped and began smothering my face with kisses.

Mel often makes a rather amusing sound now that goes something like, “Whoosh.”

Andrew reckons he’s found a novel way of being allowed to skip the meals he doesn’t like.  He excused himself to visit the loo, disappeared outside and found a crawlie.  Then he made out that he’d just found an insect in his dinner!  It only worked once.  I told him he can eat it next time.

JULY 18^TH 1999

As it was a calm evening, with not a hint of wind around, I experimented in the back yard by burning a large box of half full washing powder - similar to the type and amount which burned on the night of the fire.  It was indeed highly flammable and I was amazed to see flames shooting up two to three feet off the floor.  Why then did the real fire not even lick at the cupboard when it was only a couple of inches above the burning box?  I presume that the curtain [which was behind the cupboard] scorched the cupboard door half way down but the back of and underneath areas of the cupboard were not even black with soot.  My earlier experiment had seen the same materials burn quite vigorously after only three minutes of me taking a lighter to it.  Extraordinary!

I caught part of the BBC2 programme The Mayfair set which exposes Britain’s control over oil rich Middle Eastern countries.  What an eye-opener.  British mercenaries were a secret organisation who made sure that these countries were ruled by the people that Britain approved of.  This was achieved by bribing Arab countries for billions of pounds worth of corrupt trade.  Britain was responsible for the Rwandan genocide because of arms deals.  This hypocrisy was exposed by Jonathon Aitken.

JULY 19^TH 1999

At last I have an appointment with my solicitor.  He’s so busy that I have to make an appointment to have a telephone conversation with him!  I spent an hour with John Owens.  Thank heavens Andrew and Shell are competent enough to look after the babies in a downstairs room.  [It costs me a couple of quid tho!]

John said that he’d write to the opposition solicitor, Chris Hind of Amphletts, in a bid to obtain clarification of social services’ involvement regarding GW’s children and that if we are refused we’ll seek an order for disclosure through the court.  That sounded more like it.  After all, I had been asking since the end of March.  I said, rather ideologically, that if there is a whiff of corruption surrounding Gareth and social services’ reports, it is our duty to expose it. John remained silent for a short while, then he said that he wasn’t frightened of me.  How odd!  I was so shocked, puzzled and confused that I said nothing.  Did he consider me his enemy?  For a brief moment I recalled another earlier comment of his.  He once said quite nastily that I didn’t have to use the courts.  I’d remarked that I had no choice because I was being dragged through them by my ex partner.  The point is, why the offhanded manner?  And why was he on the defensive?  Was he scared of me?  Why?  I didn’t like to ask him tho. He then carried on about me being lucky that I’m not black and that it’s not up to us to change things…. Such arrogance!  Maybe he doesn’t want to upset his own cosy little set-up. 

When he saw my photos he did agree that it was strange that there was very little damage considering the fact that the fire had burned for over twenty minutes.  It looked to me as if the only things that had burned were more or less the ones that I saw burning when I first saw the fire.  It was as if the fire had remained stagnant for the twenty odd minutes that it took for the fire department to arrive and start extinguishing it.  It is very odd.  John said that there would now have to be one hundred percent proof from someone other than me that the fire was not deliberately started if the registration is to be overturned.  He agreed they were making a big fuss over a tiny fire.  I told John there is no justice in this life and that conference members will one day have to answer to a higher law.  John said that he believed in God too. 

I asked him to obtain the official photos because they might prove the fire dept wrong.  I also asked for the tape recording of Andrew’s interrogation by Walshie, but he said that we’re not entitled to request them unless there is something concrete to challenge them on, and supernatural theories do not count.  I remarked that I wished everyone was as conscientious.  I whinged, “Why can’t those heavy weights leave me alone and go and pester some wealthy, powerful crook instead?  I’m a nothing – a mum with four kids.  I’m just a housewife; well, not even that!  How come the bad buggers get the authorities eating out of their hands, while vulnerable women and children get further abused?”

I told him about the dangerous dog debacle; the fact that it had bitten four families and that it is known to the police and dog wardens as uncontrolled and aggressive and that since they won’t act, surely I’m entitled to challenge them legally.  He recited the dog law.  I thought that that was quite strange, since he knew it off the top of his head.  He seemed prepared, as if he’d known about the incident beforehand and that I would be bringing it up with him.  He agreed that, technically, I’m right, but added that fighting authorities is another matter because they have more powers of leniency.  In other words, they have the right to get away with murder.  That’s a dictatorship.  Lastly he told me that he’d request the benefit agency’s tape-recording of my interview, before going any further in that dept.  As I was leaving he passed a remark, rather condescendingly, that it is my attitude that has landed me in trouble with Social Services and the Benefits Agency.  I found that to be another odd comment from a solicitor.  They’re not supposed to criticise and put down their clients like that, are they?  It was as if he’d been speaking to the relevant people before seeing me.  He just seemed to know too much.  Then again, maybe he is just your typical community solicitor who gossips with everyone.

JULY 20^TH 1999

Jordan gives me a chuckle.  He pushes the loo door in shouting, “Mum whe d’ya go?”  I told him to phone his granddad and wish him happy birthday.  Andrew helped him dial the number but when his granddad answered, Jordan looked surprised, opened his mouth, found nothing to say and so he shut it again and legged it.

I again phoned around some of Gareth’s old neighbours to beg for their assistance.  I wanted people to confirm the truth about Gareth Williams in order to discredit him, but because of his violent record and his threats, all were too scared to.  I urged folk not to fear him because he is a coward who has threatened all sorts of ugly revenge on my dad and myself but that he doesn’t dare carry them out.  I wasn’t convincing enough though, and as expected, I got lots of sympathy but no help – just polite rejection.

JULY 21^ST 1999

Jordan fiddled with Shell’s radio/tape recorder and got quite a surprise when he made it work! 

Shell came in to tell me that she’d just seen two doves sitting on God’s shoulders in the tree and that it meant nothing bad was going to happen today.  She said that the doves are God’s messengers and they bring peace and good luck.  What a heart-warming thought.

Andrew, Jordan and I broke out into a spontaneous play fight in the kitchen.  I found myself throwing in some aikido moves with these two whizzing around me in all directions.

Later, the kids and I fell into serious mode as we discussed the nuisance social workers and looming psychiatrist visits.  They said they didn’t want to talk to anyone because “no one believes us.”  I told them that they didn’t have to talk about the strange goings-on if they didn’t want to because closed-minded officials refuse to consider anything out of the ordinary. I agreed with the kids that ignorant bigots do not deserve spiritual talk and that it’s best to shift the conversation over to the black and white stuff that they can follow, simply because they are too pompous and judgemental.  We decided that it is their snobbery which prevents them progressing into the higher realms of awareness and that since they are incapable of contemplating the divine, they have no right to question it, particularly as they do so in scorn.

JULY 22^ND 1999

After church Jordan was very clingy and he virtually attached himself to my leg for much of the rest of the day. 

I tried to phone Gareth’s ex wife again but I was told that staff are not allowed personal calls. They said that I can write to her c/o of her work, so I dropped her a swift line.  There are so many things that I want to know.  The trouble is, she didn’t reply to my other correspondence. Maybe she didn’t even get it.  I wonder if one Gareth Williams or any of his henchmen have warned her not to associate with me.

JULY 23^RD 1999

I had the enlightening experience of a visit by health expert Anne, who came to do Jordy’s two-year ‘developmental’ assessment.  He passed the ‘stacking blocks’ and ‘puzzle’ bit but was a total flop at pointing to items in her book and talking.  Anne said that he should be saying at least ten words by now and pointing to some of the objects and that since he is ‘slow’ in this area, she really needs to refer him to a ‘specialist’.  Oh for heavens sakes!  I explained that I don’t teach Jordan ‘parrot fashion’ stuff but that he understands things in context and will respond intelligently.  For example when we are going out he’ll point to his shoes and jacket and will make some attempt to put his clothes on.  He’ll empty his slops in the bin and place bowls, spoons etc in the sink.  He’ll slam the door shut when the fire alarm activates.  He’ll give me the phone when it rings.  He’ll put his toys away when asked and will ‘help’ with the drying up.  Jordan preferred to use her book as a tent for his teddy to shelter under and then he wanted to roll his cars down its slopes and learn about gravity rather than name items or point to them when asked.  He just lined up Anne’s toothbrush and spoon and began to compare their shapes.  The only thing he did mumble to Anne about was the picture of a ball, which he found of interest.  He wasn’t interested in the chair, table, clock, etc. 

I told Anne that I wasn’t worried about his development and that I remember that Andrew and Shell were very similar at this age and didn’t speak, as such, until they were three, at which point they came out with tangible sentences and intelligent questions all in one go.  I said that children learn by watching and doing and they talk when they feel like it.  Right now Jordan is happy just observing.  I said that I don’t think it proves anything if they can point to objects and that those skills are for circus animals, not children with powerful brains.  Kids aren’t fussed about pointing to their eyes, nose, mouth etc – how boring.  I said it’s more important that kids are secure, guided and loved and included in ordinary day-to-day activities for their capabilities.  I said that I’m sceptical about specialists.  Ok, so they may be highly qualified professionals…. but qualified in what?  Half the time I think babies and children can teach adults and psychologists a thing or two.  Anne was worried that Jordan didn’t seem to understand some things.  So just to pacify her I agreed that I would sit with him and play her game.  I asked if she’d give us more time before referring him to the clinic paediatrician.  So she agreed to do another ‘assessment’ in three months time but stated that she’d have to check first to see if her boss is in agreement.  Oh for cryin out loud!

JULY 24^TH 1999

I playfully chastise Mel, saying things like, “You’ve been playing on the floor and you got all dirty, didn’t you?”  She gets so excited that she slaps her hands down on the floor with such gusto.

JULY 26^TH 1999

Good on the one hundred million Chinese followers opposing their government’s oppressive rule.  A priest was chucked in prison for twenty years for worshipping God.  For Christ’s sake!  That reminds me of the council who banned a church from advertising God’s healing powers.  They lied, saying they were protecting the vulnerable.  Rubbish.  The truth is, the council are scared stiff of people power.  They fear large numbers of people uniting in a common cause – whether it be unity in religion or some other interest [political or otherwise], because a united people have the power to challenge governing bodies.

Jordan created a right scene in Kwiks, just because I refused him a choccy bar.  He shrieked, threw himself spread eagled on the floor and kicked his little legs in frenzy.  I could’ve died; but since I didn’t, I picked the little blighter up as calmly and as dignifiedly as possible and plonked him in his pram, whereupon the little sod screamed all the more.

JULY 27^TH 1999

Another day at the so-called court of justice.  Why can’t they at least be honest and call it the court of abuse?  I detest the way those magistrates sit there looking all authoritative, while looking at us lot as it we are pieces of sh…. Who do they think they are?  We have to rise when they enter, and we even call them “your worships.”  Hells bells!

The smug slug’s equally smug solicitor Chris Hind couldn’t wait to inform the panel of Gods that an issue of some concern has now cropped up in the proceedings.  He said that my children are now registered ‘at risk’ [at which point hideous features piped up “all four of her children”], and that we are currently undergoing a social services Comprehensive Risk Assessment.  John pushed me into giving him Saturday mornings unsupervised, saying that it’s not wise to leave the decision to the court.  He insisted that if Gareth fouls up – arrives with alcohol on his breath or plays silly buggers, for example if he fails to return Jord and Mel on time et cetera, we can stop the Saturday sessions immediately.  He warned me that we have very little choice and that we’re playing this the right way since the ultimate goal is for my babies to remain with me and for him to have limited contact.  But he said that we have to be aware that there’s always the chance that it could swing the other way.  It was an ominous reality and I’d been aware of it ever since that nightmare conference, when my little ones were so unjustly and diabolically registered.  I’d tried to shove the dreadful gut-wrenching worry to the back of my mind, otherwise I’d have made myself ill, but now that my solicitor is stating the hard facts and advising me to tread carefully because our case is weakened, I’m frightened to death.  Bloody hell, it’s just not fair.  Why am I having to tread carefully?  He’s the bad bugger, not me.  I’m terrified of losing my precious babies.  John said that he’s had twenty years experience in the job and that if we consent to small amounts of extra contact periodically, we’ll be playing a wise game.  I put my trust in him and, trying to find a lighter heart, joked, “Let’s see you put your money where your mouth is.”  He grinned and gave us a lift home.

I read about Lindis Perry in the Guardian.  What an amazing woman; what a pearl; what a heroine.  She is presently serving nine months in prison for protesting against American global domination and she’s had other spells in the nick for trespassing and campaigning.  I feel like a coward compared to her.  She’s doing it for all our sakes in the name of righteousness.  God bless her.  You can jail folk but you can’t shut ‘em up.  She describes prison as “wretched” but is prepared to stomach it to highlight world wrongs.  She tells how she refused a strip search, saying that she doesn’t want to hear “alright luv, drop your knickers and give us a twirl.”  She says it degrades and dehumanises and it’s nothing to do with searching and everything to do with control.  Lindis is terrified of prison but won’t let it crush her.  She says, “They cannot stifle the human spirit.”  She knows that her method is the only way to raise awareness and highlight the need to “ask questions of those in authority.”  But sometimes the light fades and she wrote to a friend, “I felt my voice so tiny at such a dark time in history.”  Her wise pal replied, “Yes, but there are lots of tiny voices and together we can shout.”  Oh, how right you are.  Lindis, your light will never go out.  You already shine like a beacon and put the majority of us to shame.  You are one of God’s chief angels – on a mission and on your way to victory. Stars like Lindis, who suffer for others’ crimes, are our hope for the future and our leaders in the fight for goodness defeating evil.

Satirist Salmon Rushdie mocks all governments.  In Satanic Verses, he asks, “What kind of an idea are you?  Do you compromise, do deals, accommodate to society, find a niche, survive in society?  Or are you cussed, bloody minded; would you rather break than sway with the breeze?  Are you the kind that will ninety nine times out of one hundred be smashed to bits or imprisoned BUT the hundredth time will change the world?”  The Lindis of this world come in to the hundredth time bracket.  Rushdie’s books have been translated into thirty languages.  I wish someone would translate the English publication of Satanic Verses into a simpler version with easy terminology.  I got the gist of it but found it very heavy reading, so I sought some assistance in Malise Ruthren’s book Salman Rushdie and the Rage of Islam.  Rushdie’s message is: name the unnameable, point at frauds, take sides, start arguments, shape the world and stop it sleeping and “if rivers of blood flow from the cuts his verses inflict then they will nourish him.”  Quite right!  We all have to stop being blind and complacent.  It isn’t others’ job/problem.  It is OURS.

Rushdie highlights the truth about the Islam religion; that the rulers [radicals of Islam law] are merely corrupt oppressors masking their wicked behaviour behind religion.  He says the Arab people are slaves to their rulers rather than to religion.  It is the leaders who are the blasphemers.  For instance, Islam law says that God permits men to have as many wives as he wishes and that it’s ok for men to beat up their wives, keep all the money and control women’s movements.  Corrupt Asian rulers use God to justify the unjustifiable.  They fuck women as they please and treat them worse than dogs.  They believe they have God’s full blessing.  I reckon British men don’t bother hiding behind religion – many openly treat women like dirt.  Muslims say a woman’s testimony is worth only half of a man’s in court.  Oppressive Asian rulers do not allow their people free speech.  Their religion states that if someone forms an opinion that opposes the ruler, the ruler has the right to kill that person because God says so.  Islam law says it is right for the rulers and radical government supporters to have all the wealth and privileges of the land and that ninety percent of the land are fated to suffer in poverty, disease and injustice.  It is not a punishable offence because God condones it. 

Actually our own Western governments are just as guilty of the punishable offence of lies, oppression and stealing off their own subjects.  They feel it is ok to increase the wealth, freedom and privilege of their own governments and close supporters and to plunge their people into poverty and near slaval conditions. I wish more Rushdies would come forth and ruffle feathers.  His book is so intended for the ordinary population of Arab countries but the sorry state is that it didn’t reach the ordinary Muslims – the thousand million, innocent, brainwashed, poor, oppressed slaves.  The truth is that some governments so repress and mislead their subjects such that the people believe anything they’re told regardless of whether it is right or wrong as long as they believe it is God’s word.  Salman Rushdie exposed the corruption that Ayatollah Khomeinei and his henchmen engage in, in the name of the Islamic cause, and he exposes the British government’s racism and hypocrisy referring to British mass demonstrations against the police [particularly in the case of racist incidents] and police ineffectiveness.  He also highlights the deception surrounding the police being portrayed as the hard-done-by lot.  Rushdie accurately describes London as a “crusoe city marooned on the island of its past and trying with the help of a man Friday underclass to keep up appearances.” Salman Rushdie says politicians have got very good at inventing fiction which they tell us as the truth. It then becomes the job of the makers of fiction to tell the real truth.  ‘Sir’ Geoffrey Howe has got some brass nerve speaking on behalf of the British public.  He said, “The British people don’t have any affection about the book which is extremely critical and rude about us.” Well I have news for that arrogant prat; the British most certainly do support Rushdie and agree with his criticisms.

If the Islamic scriptures were true they would withstand any critical opinion.  Folk like Rushdie wouldn’t get such books published, let alone be so influential as to warrant a death sentence.  If the holiness Imam Khomeini wasn’t such an idiot and hadn’t made such a big deal of Satanic Verses, Mulims wouldn’t’ve taken offence, not many would have read it and Rushdie wouldn’t now be so famous and wealthy.  His reaction is a sure sign of guilt.  Rushdie asks how does any believer distinguish between God’s voice or the devil in disguise?  He questions Islamic religious truth when hundreds of thousands are tortured and murdered in God’s name.  Andrew and Shell say that the Christian bible is only twenty five percent the true word of God; the rest has been added on and altered by self-serving power hungry men.  All I can say is that the likes of Khomeini and his fellow devil disciples and all the others who feel they have the right to savagely control and sit in ruthless judgement of others will have a very rude awakening when they realise the barbarous place they are heading for soon.  The difference being that they are committing themselves to this future torture for eternity whereas their broken victims on earth now will soon be in heavenly paradise forever.

Salman Rushdie decribes the world as gods going to wars – in the eternal struggle between the world’s beauty and its cruelty, with the latter gaining ground daily.

JULY 28^TH 1999

In the twilight hours, Shell startled me.  I hadn’t heard her get up for the loo and our paths crossed in the dim light of the hall.  All I saw was her white nightie floating towards me.  My little ticker was going hell for leather.  Shell laughed her head off and asked why our hearts race when we have a shock.  I said it’s the fight/flight syndrome.  In this case I was preparing to run!

JULY 29^TH 1999

Cretin head really took the biscuit today.  He asked, “When all this business with court is done with, can we get back together?”  Don’t they just make you spit?  I’ve spent the last nine months trying to assert my rights and regain control of my life; I’ve fought hard for some dignity and freedom and he wants to invite me back to the very same bowels of misery and despair.  I didn’t give him the pleasure of a response, not even a flicker of emotion.  I just collected the babies and left.

Mel fed herself for the first time.  Well, she held the spoon proudly in her left hand and used the right one to grab fists-full of food, which she stuffed excitedly into her mouth.  Afterward, she was in fits of giggles as she watched Jordan laughing hysterically as I half tickled him to death.

Andrew and Shell are growing cress.  I have various pots of cress seed lined up on my windowsill now.  The kids are comparing them to find out the best conditions for growth.

The kids went camping in the back yard.  Hellish reluctantly I agreed to it “just this once.”  I was so worried about them that I gave them a smoke alarm and a burglar alarm that they could alert me with and I placed a mattress on the kitchen floor for myself where I could see them through the porch.  But I didn’t go to bed.  They had a brilliant time.  They’d secured the guy ropes with bricks in the absence of grass in which to anchor their pegs and they’d taken in torches, cans of coke and a plate of butties, plus Shell’s radio.  They said that they awoke to the heavenly sound of birds singing while perched on their tent.  I told myself I wasn’t going to put myself through another night of torment though, no matter how much they nagged me.

JULY 30^TH 1999

We had a day out at Llysfaen pool.  Andrew and Shell did some fishing while the littleuns and I played on the grass in the sunshine.  Afterwards we tucked into fish ‘n’ chips [from the chippy.]  It made a lovely change.  The kids made me feel ten feet tall when they told me that they’re glad I’m their mum because I’m the best!

Dad suggested putting the kids back in school just to “shut ‘em all up,” but I told him I’m through with doing what everyone else wants me to do and that I’m not doing anything illegal. I told him, “They don’t like me cos I’m different – well that’s their problem, not mine.  I know what’s best for my kids and will stand up for what’s right for us.”

JULY 31^ST 1999

The brute has got my babies now from 10.00 am to 1.00 pm every Saturday.  I was in such turmoil about him having them at his house that I paid him an unexpected visit, which served two purposes [1] to check up on Jord and Mel and [2] to ask him to return dad’s ladders.  He was in a surprisingly good mood and went out of his way to show us his toy-dominated house. He’d put a brand new swings and slide set in the garden, there were various toys of all shapes and sizes and a foldaway playpen and baby bouncer in his huge lounge, his spare room contained another vast array of toddler stimulating stuff and a large upstairs bedroom was kitted out with a new kiddie bed and matching units plus toys of all descriptions.  He was overly keen to show me all the brand new gorgeous outfits that he’d purchased for both Jordan and Melly that hung neatly on hangers and lay beautifully folded in drawers awaiting the day that he says Jord and Mel move in with him.  Angry thoughts of ‘over my dead body’ and ‘how the hell does he afford all these things?’ swamped me.  When we arrived, Jordan had been playing alone in the lounge and Melly was virtually dozing in a high chair; some empty cans of lager stood on his table.  I felt deeply disturbed by that visit and, being powerless to intervene, can only hope and pray that God keeps a beady eye on them.  They weren’t upset though, which is a blessing.  The prince of lies told me that various garden items had recently been stolen including dad’s ladder and he produced a police letter itemising his loss.  As for my diary and address book, he sneered that his solicitor had them and won’t return them until the end of the case.  There are no words to adequately describe that despicable deceitful reptile.  I’d been a fool going to his house; I’d succeeded only in giving him an opportunity to further rub my nose in it.

I read an alarming passage in the Guardian about the plight of the East Timoreans and the West’s failure to act except for token gestures asking for Indonesian withdrawal, which the US consistently voted against.  Throughout Indonesian massacre, the US, Britain and Australia turned a blind eye and even encouraged the atrocities because Australia signed with Indonesia for joint exploitation of Timor’s rich oil field.  Britain approved ninetyone arms licenses to Indonesia and sold them sixteen Hawk fighter-bombers.  The women of E Timor are so stoically resilient – they are raped and violated by the militia, and their husbands killed but they say it’s necessary for the independence of their country.  The E Timoreans say they are afraid but that they will not break because they are united in resistance.  Our dirty dealing governments didn’t reckon on the formidable spirit of these disadvantaged peoples or the media interest.  They even tried to cover up the murders of six Australian journalists by the Indonesian army.  E Timor has not yet had its moment but pain and suffering from death disease and starvation is necessary in the struggle for freedom.  So where is NATO now?

Well done Baron Melchett, leader of Greenpeace, for leading the attack on GM crops and for challenges to the government on issues important to the public.  He says that we are dominated by giant multinationals and authoritarian governments who like to fix things conveniently and secretly.  He said the crop was a fake science project, a shoddy field of living pollution, paid for by taxpayers.  He asks, “Where is the democracy in a landowner and a multinational corporation secretly planting the crop and consulting the village only afterwards?”  Here, here.  He stressed the power shift to huge corporations and that no one is accountable for global destruction.  He used his unwanted hereditary title to enter government but had seen enough of “the lying game of Westminster – the necessary falsehoods, toeing the party line, short term thinking….”.  So he resigned and instigated change by protests such as against the Tianamen Square atrocities.  The Greenpeace party now have assets frozen; some protesters are in hospital; some are in prison and if they lose court battles, they’ll go bankrupt. But Melchett says, “A sign of a healthy democracy is an energetic movement of citizens trying to change society for the better.  As long as it’s done non-violently and openly it’s a cornerstone of democracy.”  Well said, Melchett!  He makes the point that he has no quarrel with the law and he feels that what they did was lawful because it was justified.  He says the pollution that crop would cause was unlawful.  The world needs more Melchetts.  What a hero.