Porn and Sexy Ladies

Strangely, over the last week, the subject of porn seems to have risen its head a number of times. (Ooops – that sounds like some dreadful pun. But maybe I’m just being smutty!)

It started last weekend, with a small group of friends, after a couple of drinks. I have no recollection of how the conversation started, but I do remember that it ended up with two friends, one male, one female, insisting that all men look at porn.

For reasons I don’t want to get into here and now, I got upset about it. I don’t mind admitting that it is something I am very uncomfortable with. I can intellectualise it, and reason that if it’s not harming anyone involved in its production, and is only exposed to consenting adults, it should not be a problem.

But as a woman, I have to say it makes me feel cheapened. I guess it doesn’t really matter if Joe Blogs wants to look at porn, but I would be upset if a man I was involved with was looking at it. I also worry about how children view it, how it affects their attitudes to women and most of all, how scarily easy it is to access on the Internet.

Given my feelings on the subject, you can imagine my surprise when I got a phone call from my youngest child’s teacher.

Having reassured me that my child was not in any trouble or at risk of life or limb, she went on to explain that there had been a little ‘incident’ at school.

It transpires that two of the children in the class had noticed the cards in phone boxes, advertising the services of… well… prostitutes. One of the children (both are boys) had decided that some internet research was required.

And so, when his mother left him for five minutes to print out information for his Olympics project, he decided to do a search for “sexy ladies”. What he discovered, was undoubtedly more than any child of his age (7 yrs old) could have predicted. I did not see them myself, but I understand that they were graphic images. Nice.

The following day, having stashed his print outs into his school bag, he decided to show a couple of his class mates – with my child being one of them.

Clearly, the two children that were shown the images were shocked.

“They were totally inappropriate, Mum.” I was confidently told (by my 8 yr old). And I don’t doubt it.

They told the teacher that the child had inappropriate pictures in his bag and all hell broke loose. The child was dragged off to see the deputy head, his parents were called in and the child was left in no doubt about the seriousness of his actions.

And that’s where I started to get concerned.

Had the child done this before, and been told it was inappropriate behaviour, I would have supported the school’s actions. But as it is, he had never done this before and could not possibly have known what he was going to encounter.

So do I blame the parents? Knowing them as I do, no, I don’t. I cannot believe there is a single parent out there that hasn’t, at least once, taken their eye off the ball for just a moment. And that’s all that had happened.

When I caught up with the father of the other child that was shown the print offs, I was interested to hear him also voice his concern that the child should not be made to feel shamed. In fact, there was a part of me that could see a little glimmer of entrepreneurial spirit in his actions – although I suspect his parents have greater hopes for him than his becoming the next Hugh Heffner!

Without in any way wishing to diminish my child’s concern at what he had seen, I did find myself smiling on the way home in the car.

As I said at the outset, I do have a bit of an issue with porn. Sorry, but as a woman, I just don’t like it. But any worries I may have had, about teaching my children to be respectful of women and their bodies, seem (for the time being at least) not to be an issue.

Dating Coach or Emotionally incontinent F*ck Wit…? You decide…

We live in a mad and crazy world…

I met up with my great friend @AHLondon_Tex today.  She had cunningly arranged for the kids (hers, mine, and an assortment of others) to be ‘entertained’ elsewhere, so that we could have a good catch-up.  

Her Russian friend, Anechka, was also there.  

For background reference, Anechka is a very attractive young mother, whose husband has decided to ‘absent’ himself from her life, without giving her the courtesy of a divorce.

As a result of his two year absence, A has decided that, should a romantic opportunity present itself, she should not turn it down.

And so, a couple of weeks ago, she took herself off to the cinema alone.  On her return, she bumped into a tall, handsome English man… 

Having made eye contact, he approached her and struck up a conversation.  He explained that he lived round the corner, thought she was very attractive and asked if he could take her for a drink sometime.

She was flattered by his attention, gave him her number and suggested he give her a call.  Over the next couple of days they texted each other and arranged a ‘date’.

So far, so good…

They met in a friendly local pub and the conversation seemed to flow well.  It was at that point that she asked him what he did for a living.  To begin with, he avoided her question, which struck her as ‘odd’ and made her more curious.  She asked him again, and somewhat reluctantly, he explained that he was a ‘Dating Coach’.

I’ve heard of dating coaches before, but never actually met one.  Neither had A, who was a little surprised by this revelation.

Naturally curious, she asked him what type of people he ‘helps’.  He responded by telling her about his most recent client.  An unhappy, overweight, 22 year old ‘virgin’, with a whole ton of problems.  Apparently, he takes his ‘clients’ out on the street to help them ‘chat up’ women and get their phone numbers. 

It immediately struck me that his ‘training’ might help a 22 year old virgin get a date, but then what?  It’s not going to make him any slimmer, more attractive, help him address his personality issues, secure a second date or finally address his virginity!

But I digress…

Having been slightly stumped by the revelation that he was a Dating Coach, Anechka was more than a little alarmed when he started getting a little ‘fresh’ with her.  And when I say ‘fresh’ I really mean ‘outrageous’!  Call me quirky, but I find it a little odd that a Dating Coach would think it appropriate to stick his hand up someone’s dress on a first date.  Had he introduced himself as a ‘Get Laid Quick’ coach, I might have been less surprised.

Feeling more than a little uncomfortable and realising that the guy was actually quite dull, not to mention a pervert, A decided to make her excuses and go home. 

Over the next couple of days, there was an exchange of texts.  I have to confess, I thought it was rather forgiving of A to even speak to him again.  Then finally, the fourth day after the ‘date’, A decided to ask how the 22 year old virgin was getting on.

The reply was extraordinary.

It read:  “You said how is “your” Virgin.  This implies that said Virgin is someone important to me.  This client is not important to me and we don’t have ongoing contact.  Meeting him was not a significant event in my life.  Anechka, I did not understand your reference.  Perhaps you should consider that the fault lies with your poor use of English rather than criticising my mental faculties or integrity.”

To be brutally honest, I’ve always suspected that ‘Life Coaches’ and ‘Dating Coaches’ are not much more than pub psychologists, acting pompous and charging a fortune.  But this one seems more like a sociopath.  I’m just glad A got out of it in one piece and not after having her drink laced with Rohypnol.

It just makes me more convinced than ever that the best way to meet someone is through friends.  And if you do go on a blind date, for goodness sake go somewhere public and make sure they know exactly where you are going.

And as for ‘Dating Coaches’, the more I think about it, the more I think it’s not so much the ‘blind leading the blind’ but more ‘the emotionally incontinent guiding the f*ck wits…’  

And to think the f*ckwits have to pay for this service!

What a load of bollocks!

I’m sorry – but there really is no other word for it.  It’s bollocks!  

We live in a mad and crazy world! 

The object of hatred…

This morning, my lovely postman delivered me a very interesting letter.

When I picked up the envelope, I instantly recognised the handwriting as that of my ex-mother-in-law.  My heart sank.  The last few unsolicited letters from her have been unexpected, unprovoked, unwanted and deeply unpleasant.  Actually that’s not strictly true.  Her letters have been deeply offensive and threatening.

I had a dreadful ‘sinking’ feeling as I opened the envelope.  It seemed to contain reams of paper.  She has a bizarre habit of sending me printed copies of the e-mails that she has sent to my ex-husband, accompanied by offensive letters addressed to me.

I am fully aware that my ex-husband has all but moved his new girlfriend into his flat.  By all accounts, she is nice to my children and my ex’s behaviour is much better towards the kids when she’s around.  I have no desire to meet her, but I have positive feelings about her.  But more significantly (given their behaviour) I am aware that she has been introduced to my ex-parents in law. 

Throughout the time I spent with my ex-husband, I was subjected to some exceptionally bad behaviour by my in-laws.  Being objective about it, it seemed clear to me that the abuse was not personal to me (they barely know me, as we have spent so little time together).  Their problem was that they saw me as the woman who had ‘stolen’ their son - as as such, I was the object of their hatred!

So when I heard that the ex had introduced his new girlfriend, I did wonder how long it would be before she become the new focus for their dreadful behaviour.  And I wondered whether they would then leave me alone and focus their venom on the new incumbent.

And so, back to the letter…

Just as predicted, they have decided that they don’t like the new girlfriend.  They have sent their son a letter outlining their reasons for disliking her and told him that she is not welcome in their home. 

He has replied in defence of her and told them that conversely, she thinks highly of them (that bit made me laugh out loud!).  He has also told them that he will not tell his girlfriend what they have said, as he does not want to tarnish her view of them (he doesn’t need to, they do that very well by themselves!).

All of this private correspondence has been printed out by my ex-mother-in-law and posted to me with a covering letter, apologising for anything she has ever done to hurt me.  Absolutely bizarre!

Having expected to get one of her abusive letters, I had a real mixture of feelings about what I had read.

Part of me felt great pity for my ex-husband.  He did not choose his parents.  He can do nothing about their behaviour – and they are unbearable.  I also feel great sympathy for his girlfriend.  Whilst the ex-MIL did outline some rather odd behaviour on her part, there was nothing that she did that warranted them barring her from their home and making unpleasant personal remarks about her. 

I also felt a huge relief that, as predicted, the burden of their dreadful behaviour has been lifted from my shoulders.

But this was all tinged with a bit of sadness too.  To read my ex-husband’s defence of the woman he has known for such a short while, whilst knowing that he did not do the same for me, is undeniably hurtful and distressing.

I was then stumped about what to do.  In the past, I have always told the ex when I have received unpleasant letters from his parents.   But I don’t know what good would come of telling him about this latest letter.  How would it make him feel to know that I had read such personal correspondence.  No one expects a private letter, written to their parents, to be sent to probably the one person above all others that they would hate it to be sent to (in this case ME!).  What would it achieve?  Absolutely nothing but his distress. 

And so, I have decided that I should allow myself a smile and a chuckle.  I think I deserve that, having been the object of their venom for so long. 

I now feel officially ‘divorced’ from the in-laws… and let off the hook.  I feel sorry for the ex – but I feel great for me.

Being a single parent is tough…

Being a single parent is tough.  Isn’t that what they always say?  You read about it in the newspapers and in magazine articles, see it enacted in TV soaps and hear interviews on the radio discussing it.  It always seems to be accompanied by a weary sigh and a sense of hopeless resignation.

To be really honest with you, in practical terms, I can’t actually say that it’s tougher than when I was married.  My ex-husband did none of the domestic chores or kid related stuff anyway.  So on some levels, life is actually easier.  After all, there is less laundry and fewer people to feed.

That said, I do have days when things really get me down.  And the last 24 hours has been one of them. 

Over the last week, the three of us have all had a terrible stomach bug.  A really aggressive bug, which left me (somewhat embarrassingly) crashing into the wall of a friend’s house, whilst struggling to make it to her sofa to lie down.  It was only 8pm, but I was worried that they would think I was already drunk!

My friend subsequently dragged me home and put me to bed and had to come back the following morning to walk the dogs for me, as I just couldn’t get up. 

This was followed by a couple more days of feeling like death warmed up, whilst simultaneously trying to get my eldest to study for his school exams.  Not an easy feat, when you’re doing it by yourself.

But finally, I was on the mend, and the kids went back to school. 

Then yesterday, my little one came home from school with his exam results.  He is still very young and it’s a huge pressure for these children to be doing them.  As he announced his results, I could tell that he was disappointed with the Maths result.  He got a really good mark, but he was upset that he had done less well than in his previous exams. That said, his English had improved significantly and overall, he did really well.

Unfortunately, however, this wasn’t enough for his father. 

Having not seen their Dad for over a week, the little one was clearly looking forward to his mid-week visit.  He wanted to tell his Dad his exam results.  And that’s when it all started going wrong. 

That evening, I had three calls from the kids.  Firstly, the eldest was really upset because his Dad had been really foul and grumpy with him.  Then I had another call from his, just because he was feeling upset and needed to talk to his Mum.  Then I had the little one on the phone, hiding in the bathroom, to say that his Dad had told him that his results were only "acceptable" and that “he should have been getting higher marks” and that “it wasn't really good enough”.

He was so upset - and I was too.  I just wanted to drive over and collect them.... but of course, you can't can you?  

I was at a friend’s house for supper when the phone rang, which was fortunate, because I was so upset, I needed supportive friends around me. 

The situation made me feel helpless and impotent. Unable to protect my two children from someone I shouldn’t have to protect them from anyway.  And whilst trying to keep a practical head on my shoulders, I realized that I had to keep it to myself.  It’s important that the kids can phone me when they feel upset.  Alerting the ‘ex’ to their call would seriously backfire if he took away their phone.

So, sometimes it’s really very tough being a single mother.  And today is definitely one of those days.  Even my friend and Guru @AHLondon was stumped as to how to deal with the situation.  And really, seriously, she knows most things!

But I am a glass half full person and I will plough on…  I may be a single mother, and it may be tough, but I will never be a stereo type!

Sometimes it’s OK to have an affair….

The last week has been manic.  Having been busy over the four days of the Jubilee (which I thoroughly enjoyed, despite the terrible weather), I then had two sick kids, followed by a sick me!  Not what you need during the half term!

However, in the middle of all this frenetic activity, I was thrilled to see a text message ping through from my great friend @AHLondon_Tex, telling me that she had arrived in the UK for a visit with the kids. 

Having not seen her since Christmas time, we had plenty of catching up to do.  And we were joined by another friend of hers, that I had not met before.  As the conversation progressed, I learnt that this other woman is possibly in the most difficult situation of any woman I know.  And it has called into question the whole case of whether it’s OK to have an affair when you’re married.

In brief, this woman’s husband left her and their children, to live abroad.  He supports her and their children financially, but it is very controlled.  There is no joint bank account.  He has no assets in this country and is living a whole other life abroad.  He visits the children on a regular, but infrequent basis.

This woman came into the country as the spouse of someone who was working here.  She does not work herself and to my knowledge, does not have a work permit – besides which, she is the full time carer for her children. 

Her husband does not want and will not grant her a divorce.  He is effectively keeping her a ‘prisoner’ in her marriage.  If she goes to divorce lawyers, she has no way of paying them.  She is not familiar with English matrimonial law and knows that if she does try and divorce her husband, it will be outright warfare.

She has, on one level, resigned herself to the impossibility of the situation.  But she is a young, beautiful woman.  She has every right to find happiness and another relationship.  Nevertheless, she is also a married woman and she fears that in her circumstances, no one would be interested in her. 

I felt quite flummoxed when she explained her situation.  I do not know anything about international law – so I was completely unable to help on that front.  But I have no doubt in my mind, given her circumstances, that she should be allowed to have another relationship, married or not. 

Clearly, she too feels that having been ‘left’ and knowing her husband has created a whole new life for himself, she should be allowed to ‘find someone’.  But she seemed to feel paralysed by the thought that any ‘decent’ man would not want to get involved.

And on this point, I really sympathise.  Do decent men engage in relationships with married women?  Do they take the circumstances into consideration and treat each case on its merits?

What’s the answer to this conundrum? 

Well, I realise that there will be men out there who just wouldn’t want to get involved in what they might regard as a very complicated situation.  And I believe in honesty being the foundation stone of any relationship - so there has to be full disclosure at some point. 

But maybe that’s just the thing….  It’s all in the timing and being clear in her own head about how she presents her situation to a potential boyfriend. 

I realise that this situation is more complicated than the norm.  However, for anyone embarking on a relationship, following a marriage breakdown, we all have ‘stuff’ which needs to be disclosed at some time, but maybe not on day one. 

I do have a terrible habit of saying too much.  It stems from a deeply rooted need to be open and honest…  But I have had to learn that sometimes, at the very early stage of a relationship, when you’re just trying to find out whether you like someone, there are things that can wait to be said.

I would never normally encourage someone to get involved in a relationship when they are still married.  But in this case, I really hope she does.  She is a beautiful young woman who has every right to find happiness.  

The Secret Life of a Divorcee – One year on

I can hardly believe that it has now been a year since I was sitting in my kitchen with my laptop, nervously writing my very first post for this blog.

At the time, the ink on my divorce papers was not even dry, I had ended the terrible re-bound relationship I’d been in and I was very scared about what the future had in store.  I felt isolated, very lonely and terrified at the prospect of being alone, for the first time in almost 20 years.

I set up my blog because I wanted other women, who found themselves in the same position as me, to know that they were not alone.  But what I never imagined was that so many MEN would find my blog and get in touch with me, sharing stories of very similar experiences.  That was probably the biggest bonus I could ever have had and I feel very flattered that they have felt able to share their personal stories with me.

And now, here I am.  One year on.  And what has changed?

I’m still single.  But the difference is, I don’t mind it!  I’m not saying I ‘like’ it.  But I’m OK with it.  Society expects us to be part of a ‘couple’.  If we’re single for any length of time, it starts to question what’s ‘wrong’ with us.  Well, here’s the thing…  There’s nothing wrong with me.  I just know what it’s like to be with the ‘wrong’ person.  When Mr Right turns up, it will be a different matter!

Am I still lonely?  I have my moments – but I have become so busy with new friends and a very different social life, that I now have days when I want to turn invitations down, so I can have a quiet evening alone.  A year ago, I was terrified of being alone.

Is it scary to go out on my own?  No, it is no longer daunting to go out socially by myself.  I used to be very nervous of meeting new people and going to parties or events alone.  I just felt conspicuous – and I had to adjust to being ‘the divorcee’, which many married women see as a threat.  And it used to feel really weird going home alone. I was scared that if anything happened to me, no one would find out until the school wondered why the kids hadn’t been collected.  But now it doesn’t bother me – and for someone who is as shy as I am, that’s a big deal.

What impact has writing this blog had on me?  Well, from the e-mails and messages I’ve had through the blog, I have realised just how ‘normal’ I am.  I have always believed that you should be ‘loyal’ to your husband when you are married.  As a result, I never talked to anyone about the issues I had with my ex-husband during our marriage.  The net result was that I felt like I was alone, that my issues were unique.  But they’re not.  My ex-husband belittled me constantly and made me feel useless and unattractive.  I now realise and accept that the problem was with him, not me.

In addition, I have been taken aback by the kindness of strangers and had my eyes opened to the very many shades of grey that there are in life.  I have always been a bit of a cynic with a very black or white view of the world.  I am now slightly less cynical, less judgemental and able to see there are many shades of grey.

For those of you who read my blog on a regular basis, you will have noticed that I have not posted for over a week.  I’ve been thinking long and hard about my blog and the direction in which I want it to go.  I’ve even considered whether it has run its course.  It has certainly been cathartic and helped me air my feelings.  But am I done yet? 

I asked a few people whether I should wind it up – and I was really flattered that they genuinely seemed to think I shouldn’t.

So for the time being, I’m going to continue.  But before I go on, I just want to thank a few people who have made a big difference to my life over the last year.

It’s always hard when you start to thank people who have helped along the way.  There are so many people who have helped me, just by reading my blog and giving positive feedback.  But in particular, I would like to thank (in no particular order!):

AH London

The “Two Robs”!

Pommie Knight

Julian

Sarah

Running Man

& last, but by no means least….

Blind Date Man

Thank you for all your kindness and support!

Lara Lakin

An embarrassing encounter

When I got up and looked in the mirror this morning, it was as I had feared.  Between my nose and top lip, I have a big red angry graze. And as strange as it may sound, I felt I would rather tell someone I got stubble rash in a random encounter with a stranger, than admit to why it is that I have a graze above my top lip.

My brother mistakenly thought it was eczema.  I was Skyping him, so that was easy to pull off!  But I’m not sure that I’ll be able to pull it off with everyone else.  School run won’t be a problem.  I’ll just stay in the car and wave through the window, and they’ll send the kids out.

You’d have thought that my face had taken enough battering this year, what with my smashing my head on concrete and giving myself two black eyes.. but oh, no…

Gay friend Julian has been on the phone in tears of laughter – and has promised to come over later to have a closer inspection, before having another good laugh at me. 

Even he admitted that despite looking like his head has been boot polished, he too would rather admit to stubble rash from a random sexual encounter, than what I did to myself!!!!

Finally, at lunch time, I met Running Man in the park.  Unlike Julian, RM was a bit more polite.  He did that very ‘British’ thing that I do too.  He pretended not to have noticed. 

Why do we Brits to it?  Why do we like to ignore the elephant in the room?  And why do I have some weird need to explain myself? 

I decided that there was no way that I could go running for an hour and not mention the bloody great red marks on my face!  So I hit it head on.

“Have you seen the mess I’ve made of my face?” I enquired.

“Well, I didn’t want to say anything.”  He replied. “But, yes!  What the hell did you do?”

And so I confessed.  In vain hope I begged him to promise not to tell everyone I know…  but frankly, I’m not that hopeful…!

“Tell them it was a random sexual encounter, tell them ANYTHING – but DON’T TELL THEM that I had a bit of bother trying to wax the fuzz on my top lip!” 

“Moustaches are very ‘in’ this season!” he quipped.  “Have you thought of wearing a novelty moustache to hide it?”  

Ha bloody ha! 

My attempts to try and maintain my appearance went horribly wrong, when I used the wrong waxing strips on my top lip.  The wax was thick and gooey, and just bloody stuck to me.  In my desperate attempts to get it off, I managed to remove a few layers of skin, leaving myself bleeding, sore and down right embarrassed.

But why do I feel so embarrassed?  Why should something like waxing your top lip – a thing that women the world over do on a regular basis – be something I’m so desperate to hide?  And am I alone?  I really doubt it.

It’s all about mystique isn’t it?  Wanting to create a perfect image of ourselves, where we don’t have hairy legs or a bit of fuzz on the top lip.

It’s a symptom of our society.  Wanting to kid everyone that our lives are perfect. 

But our lives never are.  And they would be so much happier and easier if we could just relax and ‘let it go’ a bit.

Strangely, confessing to Julian and Running Man was the worst and best thing I could do.  It had a very cathartic effect.  Maybe it was just the endorphins released when laughing our heads off – or maybe by ‘letting it go’ a bit and admitting that I’m human, just like everyone else, I felt released from the pressures and constraints of ‘womanhood’. 

Hair transplants and knocking shops….

And so, finally, he’s back!

My dear friend Julian has been to-ing and fro-ing from his Mum’s house for the last month, because his Aunt is very ill.  So I haven’t seen very much of him for a while.

But yesterday, his message pinged through asking if I was free for a coffee at 11am!  He appeared at the door looking slightly odd, before he explained that he had finally done it… He’s decided to have a hair transplant. 

Now I’ll be honest, there was a little bit of me that wanted to laugh.  Not because of his decision, but mostly because Julian is fair, and they had painted a hairline onto his head with some strange dark substance, which, to be honest, looked a bit like boot polish.  And considering his mirth at discovering me in the garden a couple of weeks ago, with my arm up to the shoulder down a blocked drain, it’s definitely my turn to have a giggle!

It’s easy for us girls to laugh about something that does not often affect our gender – but for men it is a big issue.  I know so many men who are terrified of loosing their hair.  If he’s prepared to stump up the cost and go through the pain of the procedure, why shouldn’t he?  You go for it J!!!

Well, having explained the whole ‘hair transplant’ situation, J then had me in stitches recounting what had happened to his mother last week. 

Julian’s mother owns a beauty salon.  Business has been very quiet recently, so when she received an unusual request, she said ‘yes’ when on another occasion, she might have declined.

The caller was a man.  He was very concerned about ‘discretion’.  He wanted to be sure that the ‘treatment’ he required could be done in a private room.  J’s mother assured him that he would of course have a private room and that they would be discreet. 

It transpires that the caller wanted to have full makeup applied. 

Now I’m no prude.  I understand that people sometimes want to do these sort of things.  And if they want to do it at home, or somewhere that caters specifically for this type of thing, then I don’t see that it is anyone else’s business.  But J’s mother runs a beauty salon – and if I’d been her, I’d have been very concerned. 

But J’s mother is a very broadminded woman with a gay son – so she was un-phased and booked him in.

On the day itself, a tall, fat, bald man turned up, with a bag containing a dress and shoes.  Having been shown into the private treatment room by one of J’s mum’s employees (Emma) he changed into his dress and Emma helped him style his wig.

With wig and dress in place, Emma went on to apply false eyelashes and full makeup.  So far so good…  but of course, this was the point at which it all started to get a bit… well… ‘dodgy’. 

It has to be noted that Emma is a very nice girl, but she sure ain’t the sharpest tool in the box!

 The next request was that Emma take a photo of him on a rather old, battered looking mobile phone.  But before she took the picture he asked whether she would mind just tying his hands to the back of the chair! 

Without batting an eyelid, Emma cheerily did exactly what he asked and took the photo. 

Now, maybe it’s just me, but on hearing this story, I couldn’t help but think it was a bit ‘odd’ that a man who is so concerned about ‘discretion’ – ie, not getting found out, should want photographic evidence!  But I digress…

Photo taken, he then requested that he be left alone, tied to the chair, for an hour.

It just happened that J’s mother was busy with another client at this point, oblivious to what was going on, as Emma cheerily obliged and left the man on his own.

Finally, the ‘session’ was over, the man was untied, and Emma took off all his makeup and led him to the till to pay.

It was at this point that J’s mother appeared.  The man was £50 short.  He refused to pay anything other than cash – as his wife would see any payments on his bank cards.  After a heated debate, J’s mother realised that her options were simple:  call the police, or tell him to leave and never come back again!

She decided on the latter and watched in bemusement as he hurriedly drove off in an expensive car, dress and shoes on the seat next to him.  

The prospect of what might have happened if she’d called the police was only just beginning to sink in.  Imagine trying to explain to the police what had just happened at a respectable beauty salon!  Quite apart from having to convince them that you’re not running a ‘knocking shop’, imagine if the local press got hold of the story.  It could have ruined her business and reputation.

As J and I recovered from fits of laughter at the whole incident, J patted the new stubble growing back on his head.  And with a thoughtful look he said:

“I know people think gay men do weird things, and I know I look like I’ve got boot polish on my head, but some married men do the strangest things.”

Fair point.  

Mumsnet… I’m disappointed.

Last week I wrote a post about a woman called Lucy Allan and the horrific experience she had at the hands of social services. 

Having been made aware of my article, Ms Allan copied the link to the Mumsnet website’s discussion forum.  A heated debate ensued.  Some contributors did not believe her story (although it has been well documented); others said it was ‘unhelpful’ to parents who might need help and be discouraged from seeking it; but most significantly, many more people, who had had similar experiences, had the opportunity to tell their stories. 

The net result:  OUTRAGE!  The feed was taken off Mumsnet and Ms Allan has now been banned.

Seriously!  A woman who has: been wrongly accused of being a threat to her child; been threatened with having her only child taken into care; had to spend £10,000 in legal fees to clear her name; and finally lost her job, has been banned from Mumsnet, for telling her story.

I swear you couldn’t make it up.

Personally, I am hugely disappointed at Mumsnet, which claims:

We try, as far as possible to let the conversation flow and not to over-moderate. Mumsnet is a site for grown-ups.  

Mumsnet makes clear that it is not a lobby group, but is very powerful when it comes to campaigning.  And they cover some contentious issues.

Needless to say, things being as they often are, the timing could not have been worse.  Only days before the ‘Mumsnet’ incident, in the very same London Borough where Ms Allan had previously worked, a baby and toddler were found dead, presumed smothered by their mother.  It is a horror story like no other.  A photogenic couple with two beautiful kids… presumed double infanticide, assumed to be committed by the mother.  What more reason could there be for Social Services to be allowed to intervene and put kids into care.

But there’s the irony.  I don’t think that it proves that we should be more supportive of Social Services.  I think it just proves that they are getting it wrong all round.  Not every time, maybe.  But when they do….  the cost is devastating.

The media have speculated that the mother of these two tiny children, who were found dead, was suffering post-natal depression.  If she was indeed suffering post-natal depression, her case was missed. 

Is it too much to suggest that maybe… just maybe, if less time was wasted persecuting someone who was ‘self reporting’ as having depression (such as Ms Allan), this poor woman might not have been missed.

But all this aside, I feel that even I myself have diverted from the crucial point.

Ms Allan herself is not suggesting that social services should be disbanded or vilified.  She is simply asking that they are accountable – just like everyone else.  That parents who are being accused of being a risk to their children have a right of reply.  A right to know WHAT they are being accused of and accountability if they are wrong.

And as for Mumsnet…  I have always thought it was a great forum.  I like the fact that they support family issues.  But on this occasion, I think they copped out.  The very fact that this topic has caused such a furore, demonstrates just how important it is to people.

Sorry Mumsnet… but I’m disappointed. 

If you're doing nothing wrong, you have nothing to fear...

Social Services – Isn’t it time they became accountable?

I have been trying to write this blog post all week.  But I have been going round and round in circles – because it’s such an emotive subject.

Over the last couple of weeks there has been considerable media coverage of Lucy Allan, who was wrongfully accused of being a risk to her child and threatened with having her only son taken from her, by social services.

Rather than spell out all the details in this post, I will put the links to the articles at the end of this piece.  But in brief, Ms Allan went to her GP suffering from depression.  She saw a locum, to whom she voiced her concern that her depression would affect her son, to whom she is very close.

This conversation triggered a chain of events that would finally lead to her being investigated by social services, being at risk of having her son taken from her, losing her job and having to spend £10,000 on legal fees, to prove she was of no risk to anyone.

It’s the kind of story that sends a chill down your spine.  A tale of faceless people, making devastating decisions which rip families apart.  And with absolutely no accountability. 

In Ms Allan’s case, the ‘powers’ that be have conceded that she is of no risk. But they are under no obligation to apologise.

In the greater scheme of things, Ms Allan was one of the lucky ones.  Being well educated, intelligent and considered; having a kind and supportive husband and the financial means to fight her case; she is no longer in imminent danger of losing her only child.  But the fact she was even considered to be of risk, will remain on files for the next two decades.

Over the last couple of years, going through divorce proceedings and a huge upheaval in domestic arrangements, I have undoubtedly been suffering from stress and depression. 

There is absolutely no doubt that this has had an impact on my children.  How could it not affect them?  It was the one thing that worried me more than anything else and I tried hard to protect them from it.  But I didn’t go to my GP.  I dealt with it in my own way, bumbling through, often really struggling and feeling alone.

At this exact point in time, I can count four female friends who are going through their own traumas.  Each and every one of these women is deeply concerned about the impact it is having on their kids.  But not one of these women is prepared to go and talk to their GP about it, because of what will be written on their files and because they are so concerned about the possibility of social services becoming involved.  Ms Allan’s case just confirms all their fears.

I was brought up during the 1970’s, when attitudes towards parents’ rights to treat their children ‘as they saw fit’ were entirely different to today’s socially accepted views.  Whilst many of the changes in attitudes we see today are for the good, I fear that in certain areas, it has gone way too far.

There will always be extreme cases, the ones that hit the headlines, where children have been subjected to horrific abuse.  I don’t think anyone would question the need to remove these children from their homes.  However, I strongly believe that there is an enormous middle ground.  Families who are struggling to cope, for a variety of reasons.  But instead of making it a priority to help those struggling parents in order to keep the family unit together, the first response seems to be to remove children. 

Over the years I have met countless people whose childhoods were less than ideal.  In today’s day and age, these people could well have been removed from their parents, had social services become involved.  But is this what they would  have wanted?  To be put into foster care, or a children’s home.  Ripped away from their family and friends, from their school and everything that is familiar to them? 

I very much doubt that they would.  They would probably just rather their parents were given help and support, to overcome the issues at home, and create a more stable environment for everyone in the household.

Surely the whole purpose of ‘child protection’ is to protect the child – not just remove them, at the drop of a hat, from loving parents who might just need a bit of help and support.  Why is there not more emphasis placed on helping families, rather than punishing them?

The legal system in England states that we are ‘innocent until proven guilty’.  We have legal rights.  Evidence against us has to be presented.  And when the state carries out a huge miscarriage of justice, apologies and compensation are paid. 

But when a child is removed from its parents, they are not assumed innocent.  They are not presented with the evidence being used against them and no apology or compensation is made.  But this all pales to insignificance when a child has been taken into care.  When is the last time you have heard of a child being returned to its parents, when the social services have been wrong?

Surely it’s time for the system to be reviewed. 

After all, if the Social Services are doing a good job and not harming children, they have nothing to fear… 

Isn’t that what they say to the parents….? 

To see more about the case involving Lucy Allan, or support her campaign to improve UK child protection legislation, click on the links below:

This Morning (please be patient through the ads!)

London Evening Standard
Support Lucy Allan's campaign to improve UK child protection legislation HERE.

The 40-something Triathlete!!!

40 Year Old Woman Does First Triathlon (wearing red nail polish) and Survives!!!

I had really wanted to post about this yesterday, but I have to say, I was so wiped out, I didn’t have the stamina.

For those of you who are new to my blog, I have been training for my first ever triathlon – at the ripe old age of…. 40-something!  And the event took place on Sunday.

This whole plan was hatched a couple of months ago, when a friend of mine, Claire, suggested it.  Feeling a little nervous, I ran it past Running Man (who has a lot of experience doing triathlons), who thought it was a fantastic idea.

Unfortunately, having signed myself up, Claire pulled out due to illness.

Although I really wanted to go ahead with it, the thought of turning up on my own was terrifying.

But then things started to turn around.  Claire volunteered to be a Marshall, as did Sarah, who also agreed to look after my eldest for the night, as I had to be at the event at 6.00am to register.   

And then, the night before the event, I got another supporter.  RM’s cycle race had been cancelled, due to the horrendous weather.  He was really disappointed, so decided he’d come and join Claire and Sarah in supporting me. 

Suddenly, I started to re-gain a little bit of confidence.  After a quick supper at Sarah’s, I raced home to set out my kit for the next day and set the alarm for… oh-my-god… 05.25…!  Believe me… I don’t ‘do’ mornings!

As the alarm rang at the appointed time, I rolled out of bed and into my new Tri Suit.  As I did so, I could hear the rain pouring down outside.  It had been raining all night and was showing no sign of abating.

At 6.00am, Running Man arrived at the door.  All of a sudden it started to feel ‘real’!  I started getting anxious.  I didn’t want to be late.  I was worried about coming off the bike on the wet roads, or maybe just drowning in the pool!  What if I couldn’t find my bike, amongst the 99 other competitors’ bikes or got disqualified for losing count of the number of laps I’d done? 

For the first of many times that morning, RM just said:  “Stop worrying!  You’ll be fine.  Just enjoy it!”

And then we were off…

Having registered and parked my bike, RM and I went to wait with the other competitors before going into the pool.  And this is where I probably went a bit ‘wrong’!  I had a dreadful cough and cold, so decided a couple of ‘puffs’ of Ventolin would be a good idea.  I then downed a Caffeine shot to get me going… 

And we were off to the pool.  After a short briefing I was in the water – and feeling very anxious.  Four lengths later, I came to a grinding halt.  The combination of nerves, Ventolin and Caffeine had made my heart start to race, I felt like I couldn’t breathe.  I started to panic and almost burst into tears. 

My friends were all waiting for me at various stages of the race – and so was my son!  How could I possibly tell them that I’d only managed to swim four lengths, before having a panic attack and pulling out.  As the world came crashing down on me, I felt a tap on my shoulder from the Marshall, checking that I was OK.   I asked if I could take my goggles off, having mistakenly thought that wearing goggles was obligatory.   Once I’d removed them, I instantly felt better and decided to continue with the swim.

Panic over, I completed the swim and scrambled out of the pool, running through mud and rain to my bike.  Having put my wet muddy feet into my socks and shoes, I threw on a warm top and waterproof jacket and was off.

The bike ride went much quicker than I had imagined, although all I could think of was the panic attack in the pool.

As I returned my bike, the sound of my son, Sarah and RM cheering me on gave me a real boost.  As my run began, my legs felt like jelly and the rain and wind were whipping my face.  I tried to tiptoe round the puddles – but it was hard going.  And then….  I needed a pee!

I have joked about this before – and I guess it was inevitable – but I had no choice but to have a Paula Radcliffe moment.  Fortunately, there was no one in sight and a very handy tree!

As I ran on, I could see Claire in the distance, shouting words of encouragement and ready to hand me a cup of water.

“You’re doing really well!  Just keep going!”  she shouted as I set off again.  It’s amazing what a difference it makes when people are encouraging. 

Finally, muddy, wet and exhausted, I saw the finish line.  My son’s voice rang out “C’mon Mum, SPRINT!”  And just as I was about to cross the line, some twerp, young enough to be my son, sprinted ahead of me.  WHAT A T*SSER!  My son was not amused!  Neither were the Marshalls (who gave him the same finish time!). 

And it was over.

I had completed my first ever Triathlon.  I was hugely disappointed that my swim had nearly written the whole thing off, but, I did it!  I finished the course… and three really great friends had got out of bed at 6am to witness it! 

Did it boost my confidence?  You bet!

And will I do it again…?  

Have a guess!