Hotel breakfast

So here I am nestled nice and warm in the breakfast room. You could say it’s the best room in the dining experience, as I have a birds eye view of the place. I never wanted to be this old. Its no fun being shrivelled and burnt out. If only I was still smooth and firm and felt really alive. Anyway its no good moaning, I have to tell this story before my time is up. It may be sooner than you think! 

Theres Mrs Classy over there at table number 2. Thinks herself somebody with her airs and graces and blonde coiffeured locks. Don’t get too close though, its only a façade. Her natural colour is 50 shades of grey. She barged past me without a second glance, all too quick to get her “posh” breakfast. Little does she know the fruit salad she deems so healthy was scraped off the floor at 6am and tipped back into the bowl. That chef assistant is such a clumsy oaf. Forgive me if I curl up at her a minute as she nibbles the grapefruit covered in fur! 

And here we have a one nighter at table number 3. Hes here with his secretary. Oh yes you might think you fool me with your notepads and pens pretending its all above board by booking The Willow Conference room. If I sit up a bit I can see her foot in your lap Mr, oh yes! Its not just him getting hot under the collar, can’t someone turn the heat down in here a bit, Im having a hot flush. Must be my age?! 

Next in the rogues gallery is to my right at table number 5. Surveyor Sam. Hes an arrogant so and so. Don’t you just hate those sort who sit on their laptops and mobile phones conducting a business on speaker phone. So you have sealed the deal eh? £50.000. Wowee. Whoopy day. Pity you don’t pay more attention to your long suffering wife who is at this minute finding her own jackpot with Mike, retired schoolteacher from Kent, who she sees once a week in a clandestine affair on floor 3 in room 428. They would be sat at table number 4, only they didn’t have time for breakfast, preferring something tasty of their own making. Put that in your pipe and smoke it smug Sam. (could do with a smoke myself, come to think of it).

 Table number 6 is empty. Well I say empty. Its to be cleared. I would have been there myself but Im glad Im where I am to be honest. In fact I wouldn’t mind being here for life. Life, I hear you say, don’t be ridiculous.. but if only you knew what I had been through, you would understand. Treated rough in my life, neglected, pushed around and finally stripped of all my finery. Catching light of myself in the spotlight above my place Im shocked. I really have some grey streaks in my hair, and doesn’t my bum look big in this? So yes its best I am where I am and not on that table on show to all the world and his wife. 

Table 7-10 is a weightwatchers conference. These poor people have been sucked in by the points mean prizes option. They started off happy people with a zest for life and now they look positively gaunt with their sunken cheekbones and thin frames. Taking pride of place in the centre table is the ceremonial prize. Is it a gold chalice, no. Is it a all inclusive break to the Seychelles to a health spa, no. It is.. wait for this, a set of weighing scales!! I ask you, how sad is that?! For gods sake a bit of fat don’t harm you!! Take me for example, Ive been told Im very tasty indeed, so there. 

Table 8 are a noisy rabble. They have been here since 7am. You know the type, take the all you can eat voucher to the extreme. I have watched them back and forth at least 5 times. Food all over the place, including the walls and floor. I said good morning so many times I got fed up of their rudeness and not answering that I gave up. You just cant educate some folk. I know I have room to talk, I have been here the same amount of time, but I have had nothing to eat, Im just enjoying people watching. But them ruffians just make my blood boil so much that Im positively sizzling.

Table 9 is very different. I have been watching them for some time. You don’t see this very often. They cant take their eyes off each other. It must be love. Their eyes positively sparkle with it overflowing out of each other. A joy to behold it is. The other people are too busy with their own importance to see the glow around them, but I see it. I hope they make eye contact. Im over here. Yes, just little old me. Sitting here minding my own business. Come and say hello. Go on you might enjoy it. Oo they are getting closer. Leaning over me. She, glides off, but he fixes upon me. Oh goodness, Im fair melting, how hot is he! He picks me up twirls me around and Im dizzy. Im seated again now, right next to him. Im looking up at him, gazing, I too am transfixed just like she was. Well who wouldn’t be. And then it happens he gazes me straight in the eyes, my mouth touches his. Hes going to kiss me. Oh I can hardly contain myself. He opens his mouth and…. Im in there! Hes tasting me, oh I know Im going to be swallowed but who cares. The crispy piece of bacon has pulled!!! 

Its gone right to my head

                                         Show me the way to go home...


We all want the best for our children. We want them to be happy, contented, safe and secure. We do our utmost to prevent them sliding down the slippery slope of no return, the mere thought of which drills a sense of fear deep into our souls.
My daughter E did not have the best of parenting in her life, perhaps you could argue. From the age of 6 weeks old she was looked after by her father, as I was a qualified nurse and could earn more - a practical sensible decision. I did have guilt feelings over this at the time, as I lived in a small minded town back then, where it was not the done thing for a woman to have a career. My husband and I had no issues with him being at home. His relationship with E at that time was incredibly close and she still dotes on her father. It was in the early years of our marriage, that I realised that alcohol however, was the main passion in his life. It was not unusual for him to have a house full of drinking buddies, with  crates of Fosters or the cheapest deadliest cider opened and empty cans everywhere. I got used to stepping over them on the way in, cleaning up and spending lonely nights as he slept it off. It was usual for E to have alcohol around her, and still now she finds it comical if anyone has one drink "socially".
My husbands explanation for this is that it was how he was brought up, so what was the problem. Unfortunately E also saw the downside of this unsocial drinking. It was common to see her Dad so drunk he fell in the bath, slurred his words, vomiting, and him sinking deeper into despair by adding a few drugs to the cocktail mix and becoming so depressed that he had an ongoing affair, his first and last heroin dabbling overdose and slashed his wrists the next day. (His explanation, not mine).
Perhaps you are wondering why a relatively sane girl like me tolerated this behaviour, along with the threat of violence, physical abuse at times but far worse the treatment of my daughter. Why did I finish an 8-8 shift to walk home past the pub to see my beautiful daughters face through a pub window and pick her up to take her home. The answer is I eventually came to my senses you could say. I am not asking you to have sympathy, but just see things from another facet of the crystal. I believed that I had to be a good wife, that maybe it was my fault, believing the negative words he called me, also quite scared of what he could potentially do. Above all, I knew the love E had for her father, and that it would break her heart to leave him at the age of 4. We, in time got our own house, a mortgage, but with it the drinking became worse. My husband was often too drunk to pick E up from primary school, so got a taxi there and back, or that she was looked after by my mother. The final straw came when I  came home to find E playing out at the back of our house on the adjoining lane. It was snowing outside and he was comatose on the sofa, surrounded by the usual cans with the front door wide open. Again, he saw nothing wrong with this, and E screamed that she hated me when I made her come inside. She was 5.
When I did take her far away to the other end of the country, the relief of getting out of this situation was immense, but E continued to hate me and blamed me for her having no contact with her father. In essence, I never stopped her seeing her father. I had been separated from my own for 25 years and knew that pain only too well. What I did do, was try and ensure that the court understood the situation fully - that her Dad was an alcoholic, and occasional drug abuser, that there was a danger of her being surrounded with unknown men at the age of 5. She did see her father at a contact centre for a few visits, until he decided he had better things to fill his life with. 


E was seen by many psychologists in her young life. They painstakingly tried to unravel the many knots of her mind. She did have a kind of behavioural disorder. I have lost track of the times that I have relayed our life story and how we came to be here. I had to harden myself to the tutting and comments made when E would have her outbursts and manic episodes. My skin got used to the constant biting, punching and deep scratches that E would administer when she didn't get her own way. She had become used to a 6 pack of crisps being given to her by her father for the day, whilst he entertained his friends. Trying to ration this now and reason with her, was futile and I was just the bad parent for constantly saying no. I just wanted the professionals to help my daughter, to recognise she had a condition and not blame me. I was accused of just wanting a label for my daughter. I tried to explain I was a registered nurse and knew she was mentally ill and needed help. E always had no sense of danger, would hurtle herself into a road in a forward roll, or dash off miles ahead with a manic banshee shriek and cackle. She had issues at every single school she has ever attended, through bullying other children to being bullied herself, but mainly disrupting classes and bad behaviour. 
Her main school in London began with the usual parents joy, first "big" uniform, snapshot on the doorstep, the way you get yourself in a right state, and they just wander off, all nonchalant stylee. 
It was in these first few weeks however that I had a phone call to say she was missing. Missing? What did they mean? Kidnapped? No, she had been enticed out by an older friend and spent the day in a disused house with step ladders to different crumbling floors where adults also frequented to drink or take drugs. She was now 11. This was not the last time she went there. It became a daily occurrence for me to take her to school and for her to walk out of the back entrance. The school had no jurisdiction they said, to stop her leaving. The new "big" uniform, soon faded, dirtied by a new lifestyle, torn by climbing, dusty from sitting on unknown floors. There were periods when she settled for short periods, but this would then break down again. I knew she was smoking, but never smelt alcohol on her. The school knew smoking went on, and she and her "friend" were acquiring money from Arthur Daley deals and buying them in school uniform from the local shop. The headmaster joked how she was quite the entrepreneur. I politely pointed out that I in no way found this situation funny. 
At home I tried everything with E. We continued to see psychologists, had reward schemes, forfeits. She rewarded me by stealing from me, damaging property in the house, constant voicing that she hated me and hoped I died, laughing in my face.
Trying to get her away for a new start, I moved to the coast. A far better school with one to one mentors, but she grew worse.  One day I confronted her over stealing and she took a knife to me, threatening to hurt me. She was now 13. The physical strength of E is unbelievable when she was in one of these rages, it scared me. The look in her eyes as she showed no emotion and became violent, was chilling. 
The missing episodes got worse also, and I got used to calling the police to say she had not come home from school again. It made no difference if you turned up to pick her up as she rarely was at school, just escaped after an hour or so. I knew many policemen on first name terms as they patiently sat on the sofa, taking yet another photo of E to help find her and an account of the latest escapade. My Westie no longer barked when they knocked on the door for the 5th time that week. They sympathised, soothed, assured me it was a phase, that she would grow out of it, that I wasn't a bad parent. Equally though, they pointed out that they had no jurisdiction either over the situation, even when she stole a souvenir bottle of Ouzo from the house and sat with her friends drinking in the park. They did in time say they would no longer go looking for her, as they couldn't keep wasting resources. Most times they had found her, although she did resist being brought home. I tried my best to get social workers involved, drink counsellors who tested E and gave her rewards for not drinking. It wasn't until much more recently that E has told me she had steadily been drinking since the age of 11, and it was normal for her. She accused me of being snobby and posh for seeing fault with it. I was raised on some of the renowned Council estates in Yorkshire by my Mum alone, and do not see myself as posh, only wanting to get a career for myself. I was lucky not to have alcohol issues in my family, but my Mum did have serious mental health issues.
The worst night of my life so far was when E did not come home at the age of 12. She was missing the whole night. I hope you never have to go through that, but I seriously thought she was in a gutter somewhere. It was a winters night and I remember sitting up the whole night chilled to the bone in fear. It turned out that she had got drunk and stayed at a friends house whose parents had supplied the drink. The next day she was returned by the police in a surly manner and resisted the police with violence. As she slept it off, I remember breaking down finally and the police saying that she had said I was not a bad parent and that I was pretty cool actually. I could simply not understand why she was doing this to herself. It was as if she had a finger permanently on a self destruct button. 
The next low point was when she called me (missing again). This time she sobbed down the phone telling me she was not worthy of living and wanted to kill herself. She had taken an 11 year old boy from school out on an escapade with her and he had got so poisoned with alcohol he had collapsed and spent the night in A/E having his stomach pumped and nearly died. I begged her to come home and we would talk and help her through this. Eventually she did and for one of the first times in her life showed emotion and sobbed for an hour. I naively thought this would be a turning point. However the next night E went missing and ended up with another girl in a lock up garage with 3 older guys. Thankfully nothing happened, thanks be to God. 
Again, the social workers told me it was because she wanted to see her father, that it was a normal teenager thing to do. I pointed out she was 12! Also that it was her father who refused to see her, despite my attempts.
I did after much deliberation and a 7 day repetition of missing episodes take her to the social workers office, demanding they take her into care to help her. Have you any idea what that took as Es mother to bring myself to do this?
Was I met with help? I was told I would be arrested for neglect if I left her there and walked away. At this point I begged them to help me and more importantly her, as she had an undiagnosed disorder fueled by alcohol and needed help. 
As always, E had the upper hand, by escaping the office and going missing. I rested my case. 
After this she continued to go missing, and the social workers were quite happy for her to stay in a house of a friend where the parents drank regularly and allowed their underage children to. E went shop lifting and I took her to many chain supermarkets requesting they arrest her and ban her from the shop and see how accessible the drink is to under age children. Again, they sympathised but said they could not do that.


Things came to a head when she came home drunk at the age of 13 and threatened me again. I called the police myself. They arrived and again said they could do nothing, until she swore at me. The police woman saw red and picked E up with a single hand and placed her against the wall, her legs dangling, saying she was arresting her for potential breach of the peace. 
I can remember standing in the police station another time terrified of the unknown process as she had been caught shop lifting and bragged about it. Instead of a cell, the police relented and kept her in a holding room with me. The shame burned on my face as she was finger printed, yet looking at her she merely shrugged her shoulders, smirked saying it was cool.


I was beginning to wonder where this was going to end. As always, E made her own choice. She had gone on a holiday to her fathers as agreed by social workers. I had paid for her to go. She rang me and said she wanted to live with her father permanently and that she was not coming home.
Her father smugly said he would keep her safe and she would come to no harm. 
E had always put her father on a pedestal, and I know she always will. What did I do? Drag her back? What would have been the point. I told her I had only ever tried to do the best for her, and that it was not my job as a parent to make her unhappy. My own mother did not agree with me and stated I should have made her return.
E was now 15. I knew I had to let go. I had done my utmost to show her a different way, take her on holiday, encourage her to read, get an education, take pride in herself. 
In the end we all know the consequences of our actions and we have to take responsibility for them. I am a mother, a nurse, but I am not a qualified psychologist and that is what she needed. But not just any one. The one who flatly told me the only way she would ever function in life was to be locked up for a period of time on treatment. But this never happened, she simply slipped through the system. She never fitted a text book definition, but then what is "normal behaviour".
I don't blame anyone for this, I merely wished at that time there had been better education for professionals and schools and parents in how to deal with these problem kids. We dump them in different areas, we lock them away. But does anyone really understand why they do what they do?


In truth I do blame myself. I will never forgive myself for not getting her away sooner. I will never know if this would have made any difference whatsoever. As we all know in hindsight we would all do things differently sometimes, but as parents we can only do what we think is best at the time.


What is she doing now?...
She stayed with her father, the episodes continued and in fact got worse. 
She is now 20, has been in violent relationships and is now still in one and pregnant.


What can we do as a parent?...
Simply be there to pick up the pieces.


All I would ask is, don't judge anyone in this situation and that they are not bad children and we are not bad parents. There needs to be continued support and help for anyone in this scenario. I know that in Es case that the following is true


                        "You will always find me singing this song"......

Thanks to a Twitter chat with @craig_caerdydd about this subject for the inspiration for this blog, and thank-you all for reading
x

Mr Darcy with a large dose of Hugh ~ Follow you, Follow me

#.......In your arms I feel so safe, and so secure.....

Well, it has been some time since my last scribing
Much has happened in my Numpty life
Make yourselves comfortable and I shall begin.

There was a night when I was going to leave Twitter, this had been building for some time, and I had every intention of never returning and tweeted this in a roundabout way.
That night, one DM arrived, in my inbox. This was from someone I had followed for a while and we had called each other "kindred spirits", sharing love of literature, music, humour and sensitivity.
I was drawn deeply to open the new avi picture of the man on the account, and as it opened fully, my heart pounded. The most amazing smile and eyes I had ever seen, but with a story behind the smile. For some reason I was compelled to find out what his story was, which I did over many months, and knew that his face had captured my emotions so deeply, that night.

     "Write a message from the heart, it might just be where the future will start"  (JD)

Our love of reading and writing had meant we had read each others blogs and been drawn to each other by an invisible thread of destiny, written in the stars.
Who followed who on Twitter was unimportant, the meeting of minds was the key. One followed the other, the other followed back.

Whilst I am here, thank-you dear readers for patiently waiting for Ms Jones voyage of discovery to pick you up. I know I have left you standing waiting in the dark, but if you would like to pick up your cases, carrier bags, pampered pooches and the like, we can still make the train of life with a few minutes to spare.
Has everyone got a seat? I can see some standing in the aisles and one perched on the overflowing litter bin and the couple sitting on each others lap in the luggage rack. Alas, even with a season ticket of life, I am unable to guarantee you a comfortable repose.

We are off! Hold tight, it is a bumpy ride, I know we have obstacles in our way, but have no fear, as it is nothing that cannot be overcome with a little perseverance. The way to the new world ahead is lit with such blinding glowing rays at the ende of the tunnel.
This journey seems to have taken years, but then it really has, a real voyage of self discovery. During this journey, I have not changed, I have merely shed many outer protective layers  revealing my true inner self.
This train is so cramped, only 2 carriages with the old fashioned slam doors and push down windows. You see me standing amongst umpteen holdalls, rucksacks, bags and I fear I may disappear in an ever increasing pile of bags. I giggle as a group of around ten guys jostle past - a stag party en route somewhere whose non dulcit tones of badly copied pop songs fill the air.
As the fields of destiny pass me by on either side of my carriage, I am led back to poignant parts and conversations in my life, afore mentioned. Whereas before, I had always been filled with dread at the track ahead that was my life, I am now aware of an overwhelming excitement as the train trundles on.
This excitement built to fever pitch and I feared my heart would burst out of my chest.
At last the train ground to a halt, only I stepped off, as if it was meant to have always been that way.




The carriage was full

Only one stepped off and faced

The other who waited

Bags dropped, they both embraced  (JD)


The moment I had only dreamed could happen in my wildest dreams happened. That look, that smile, those words, it was as if the world stood still and here he was in front of me in real life. Before we had met, I had always known he was "the one" no doubt in my mind, and trust me when you realise that, then you know, and whatever happens hold tight and never let it go. These opportunities come but once in a lifetime yo! (thank-you Eminem!).
We have had difficulties and it was to be expected that some people could never understand this situation or how it came to be. As with a lot of life situations you soon find who true friends are and who remains loyal. This is all old news now, but all I want to say here is that we had come to be in this place after being open and honest and true to our selves. It was not as it appeared to some, and for those who judged wrongly they have a right to their opinion, but I also exercised my right to choose not to listen to their slander.
To those who stood by us, I just want to thank you from the bottom of my heart for being there and for knowing the real me and not wrongly judging me.

I have never ever looked back since that day on the platform. My life now has meaning, I am happy for the first time in my life, I look at the man by my side and feel an incredible pride and furnace in my heart for him. Although it hurts dreadfully to be apart for long, we also have that freedom and independance of spirit individually to be who we are.

I truly hope that if you have not already found such love, that you do, and I do believe it is there for all of us.
I do feel this is a spiritual event and I will thank God every day of my life, and above all, I thank my gorgeous man, for coming into my life, showing me what love is, and I will be indebted to you for the rest of my life.

@jsdax - I love you, I love you, I love you

xxxxx




"Every day is such a perfect day to spend, alone with you....I will follow you will you follow me?.....#



This is the end of this blog, but I will be continuing my numpty rambles in a new one.
Will you be aboard the next train?


All my love

Ms J

XXX