Wednesday, 28 February 2018

Tainted Love

Short Story
by Stephanie Geary
The steam from the boiled kettle rises and I blink myself out of my reverie and slowly go through the motions to make myself a cup of coffee. I add sugar and stir absentmindedly whilst adding a dash of milk from the milk jug. My mind and body are moving in slow motion and I gingerly take my hot cup to the kitchen breakfast bar and climb up onto a stool, my eyes moving around the room but unseeing. I knit my hands together on my lap and bite my lip, wincing at the pain. My mind is trying to figure out today’s events; I know I am in shock, but I need to figure out how my life got to here.

I hear the distinct sound of a cat’s meow and I see Tammy, our tortoise-shell feline enter the kitchen. I wonder whether she can sense that something is wrong; does she know what has happened here today? I get up slowly and go through the motions of feeding her. Tammy is rubbing herself around my legs, but I don’t pay much notice. My mind is elsewhere.

I return to the breakfast bar and take a few sips of my coffee, the bitter-sweet taste hitting my senses and allowing me a moment of clarity. Once I finish my drink I instinctively carry it straight to the sink and wash it up before drying it vigorously and placing it neatly into the cupboard dedicated to mugs. There is never any time to breathe in this house, never any time to relax. Everything must be done as he demands it, whether it be cleaning, talking or even how we dress. My husband is not one to be disobeyed. He makes the rules and we obey them. So I wash this cup up quickly and without delay, any mess of any kind would only bring on a torrid of abuse so I do anything I can to avoid it.

My mind wanders back to the day I met him, and I wish I could go back and tell myself to walk away. I wish I could yell, plead or even beg that stupid naïve girl to run as fast and as far as her legs could carry her. But then I remember, without him there wouldn’t be HER and she is the one shining beacon in the whole of my bleak, ugly world. Our daughter Gabby is coming 8 years old and she is a beautiful, intelligent little girl. She has her fathers looks but her mothers heart and I am very glad of that. I know she sees how her father is; she sees his anger and his violent out spurts. Gabby sees and hears my terror of the man she calls Daddy, but she has never spoken of it. Of all his faults, he has never placed a hand on her. He has shouted at her and spoke viciously about me in front of her, but he has never physically hurt her. Trevor keeps all that special treatment just for me.

When I first met Trevor, he was the most wanted man in the town, every girl wanted to date him. But not me. I had just got out of a relationship with my long-term boyfriend and I was ready to enjoy my single life for a while. Trevor saw me and wanted me. He chased me for weeks before I finally agreed to go on a date with him. He knew how to hook me, knew how to get me to fall in love with him and it didn’t take long. After only a month of dates I was well and truly besotted. He was charming and made me feel special. I would have followed him everywhere. And I did; within a few months I had moved out of my parent’s house and had moved in with him. Within the year we were married. Up until that point he was the perfect partner, he was always bringing me gifts and telling me how much he loved me. It was too much at times, but I liked it.

It was the little things that changed at first; he started coming in later from work and the gifts became less and less. There were less declarations of love and more naggings. He complained that his shirt wasn’t ironed properly or that his dinner was undercooked. The complaining was meant to confuse me, to make me pander to him. I promised to do better. I had got used to the feeling of being special and started to feel useless as a wife. I felt like a failure and told myself and Trevor that I would try better. Each day I was told something else was wrong, until eventually he took a disliking to the clothes I wore. He said it was because he didn’t like other guys being attracted to me and suggested I wore less revealing shirts and I did as he said. I stopped wearing tops with low cuts and wore trousers all the time. Whatever I could do to make him happy I did.  The shower of love he gave me came intermittently and it made me eager to get those feelings back. I grasped for any attention he gave me and eagerly lapped it up when he was in a ‘good mood’. In the beginning he never physically hurt me, it was mental abuse I endured at first, but I wasn’t to know that I was being abused until much later. There were good days back then, days when I was made to feel special again, days when I didn’t feel lacking as a wife. I welcomed those days and reminded myself that Trevor loved me and that is why he reminded me when I got things wrong. He was simply looking out for me, or so I thought.

Bit by bit I retreated into our home and stopped seeing other people in my life. My parents, my friends; they all stayed away as they always felt unwelcome and I spent so much time cleaning the house and making sure it was perfect that I never had time to visit them.  Trevor preferred that, he liked that I depended on him for company, that I had nobody else to look after me. The more time that went in between seeing other people, the less I missed them. When I found out I was pregnant, Trevor convinced me that I was better off staying in the house to keep me safe and I believed him. I busied myself with online shopping and brought nursery items and decorated our babies room. The days of my pregnancy ticked by slowly, but Trevor’s mental torture went on despite the growing baby in my belly. He bellowed at me when dinner was late on the table, ridiculed my weight as my body grew to accommodate the baby and complained at me when the housekeeping wasn’t done to his standard. From early morning until late into the night I was hoovering, cleaning, dusting, washing, mopping, wiping, scrubbing and drying. Every part of our home was spotless, but he always found fault with something; always found a spot I had missed or faltered over a cushion being out of place. There was no let up. He made me feel so low, I was tired, suffered terrible morning sickness, and my ankles were badly swollen, but I couldn’t rest. If I sat down to catch my breath he would make sarcastic remarks and ‘joke’ that I was lazy.

My naivety stopped me from questioning how he was treating me. I figured it was just his way of showing he loved me. I believed him when he showered me with love on the days he was happy. And I excused how he spoke to me, putting it down to him being stressed by his tiring job.

When Gabby was born I was expecting the whole situation to do a U turn. I thought it would show him what was important, but the birth of our daughter which should have been one the best moments of his life only helped to make him worse. It was evident days after we had come home from hospital that he wasn’t happy and when he was woken up during the night, he swore at me to get her out the room and I spent most of my nights sitting downstairs to avoid disturbing him and igniting his anger. Trevor didn’t spend much time with our daughter and he hated to see me with her, I couldn’t put my finger on it at the time and I wasn’t sure why he seemed so distant with her. Now, looking back I see that it was jealousy. For so long in our relationship he had me at his beck and call and then he had to share my attention with a defenceless crying baby. Those nights when I sat up alone with our baby were some of the loneliest yet beautiful of my life. They were bitter-sweet. I hated not sharing those moments with my husband, but I loved spending those same moments with Gabby. Her small hands wrapped around my finger and held on tight as I held her against my breast to feed. Remembering those dark, quiet nights bring tears to my eyes. I was still adamant that things would get better, that she would win her Daddy’s heart as she had done mine. I was stupid to think that he would come around, stupid to think that I could change him. If anything, he got worse. Gabby has witnessed so much heartache and if I could wish just one thing it would be that I had gotten out when I had had the chance. I should have taken our things and escaped before things went too far. But what is the point of wishing to change the past when it is not possible?

When Gabby was six months old, I was attacked by my husband. This would be the first of many times that he struck me. That first night I had been feeding Gabby when he had insisted that I come to bed, he made comments that I had been a prude since our daughter had been born and he had a right as a husband to feel loved. I laughed timidly thinking that he was joking, but he wasn’t. I could see in his eyes that he wasn’t in the mood to argue. I told him that Gabby hadn’t finished feeding and he approached me, fire burning in his eyes as he lifted her from me and placed her in her crib. The screams that rose from her tore through me, she was hungry and was venting her frustration the only way she knew how. Trevor shouted for her to shut up and grabbed me by the arm, pulling me roughly up the stairs. My heart was racing, the cries from our daughter ringing in my ears, my stomach churning as I longed to hold her to me, to comfort her. The emotions raging through me were too much and I still thought I could say no. Trevor had never gone this far before, he would stop if I said so. I pushed him away from me, releasing my arm from his grip and told him that I needed to go back to Gabby. Before I had a chance to turn away from him, he grabbed me by the throat and pushed me roughly against the wall. With this free hand he slapped me hard across the face, and his angry eyes bore into me, he told me to never try to push him away again. My head bumped roughly against the wall as his hands tore at my clothes, ripping the material. Our daughter’s cries had faded slightly, could she sense that something bad was happening?

My hands hung loosely at my sides, I knew I should fight but I was in shock. With his grip still around my throat he pulled me roughly into our bedroom and threw me onto the bed. I looked at him pleadingly and tears sprung to my eyes. Raising my hands in defence I told him that I didn’t want this. To my astonishment, Trevor laughed. He laughed at me. Trevor poked fun at my post baby body and told me I was a rubbish wife. The shame I felt washed over me. I looked at this man, the man who I loved, and I didn’t recognise him. All at once I saw the man he was, the bully that had always been hidden from me. I trembled in fear as he covered my body with his, he pulled my underwear aside roughly and raped me on our bed. My mind tried to go elsewhere but the pain was too much, he was so rough with me and I couldn’t breathe. The pain and fear I felt were unmeasurable. Once he had finished he rolled off me and he pushed me off the bed. Trying to keep as much dignity in tact as possible I gathered the bits of material that were my clothes around me and left the room silently. I managed to make my way downstairs, the pain between my legs burning with every step and when I reached the crib I looked down at my sleeping baby. Once I saw that she was okay I let the tears fall. I wanted to scream and shout, but I didn’t want to give Trevor more fuel to come back for more. A part of me died that night, but still I stayed with him.

From that point onwards, my life with Trevor became a nightmare. I no longer saw him as the man I loved, but rather the man I lived with who terrified me more than anyone or anything else. The physical and sexual abuse were daily occurrences; with every strike and every forced sex act I felt another chunk of me fall away. I considered telling my parents, confiding in them but it had been so long since I had seen them I didn’t want to have to tell them what he was doing to their daughter.  I should have left but I couldn’t make myself do it. I was too frightened of what he would do to me if he caught up with me. My only concern was my daughter, making sure he didn’t hurt her. Trevor didn’t pay much attention to her as she was growing, didn’t care too much about the milestones she reached or when she started calling him Daddy, but he never put a finger on her. Not that I ever trusted him around her. She was never out of my sight, I made sure she was safe from him every waking day. Not only with what he could or might do to her, but what she witnessed him do to me. There were times when he got a bit physical with me that she met my eye. I would say sweetly for her to go to her room and shut her door and she would obey, looking back occasionally as though she knew what I was going to have to endure.  And again, I should have taken her away from it all, but I feared him coming after us and taking her from me for good. She was all that mattered in my dark, relentless torturous days. Gabby was the reason why I got up of a morning, the reason why I could carry on.

The years had been hard for me, but if I kept her safe then that was all that mattered. He could do whatever he wanted to me, but not to her.

Today started like any other, I made breakfast for Gabby and got her ready for school. As we were going out of the door she dropped my mobile phone which cracked the screen. We were rushing out, so I left it on the kitchen counter and left hurriedly, not thinking of what Trevor might say if he saw it. When I let myself in this morning he was sat at the counter, holding my phone. The fear in my stomach, the feeling that is always there revved and churned, causing me to feel sick. The look in his face was both anger and satisfaction. Trevor loved belittling me, loved seeing the power he had over me, loved making me terrified of him.

He threw my phone at me and asked me what had happened, and I started apologising in reflex. Trevor saw the fear in my eyes and jumped up out of his seat and punched me hard in the face. I cried tears of frustration and touched the spot on my mouth that had connected with his fist. I could feel it swelling and could taste the metallic taste of blood. That wasn’t enough for him; grabbing my hair he pulled me to face him and spit into my face. I wiped it away, but this angered him more. Shoving me roughly away from him he asked again what had happened. Crying and shaking I explained that Gabby had dropped it as she had exited for school that morning. The shame creeped over me as I tried to shield myself from him by using my daughter as a reason for him to not beat me. He looked at me, twisting his hands deeper into my hair calling me and our daughter bitches, Trevor’s face showed disgust as he mentioned our names telling me that our daughter needs to learn how to behave and that he should have a harder approach with her…

My thoughts are broken by the sound of the telephone in the hallway ringing. I get up and wipe the tears from my eyes. The caller ID indicates that the number is withheld, and I chose to ignore it knowing that it is almost time for me to leave to collect Gabby from school. I don’t have time to take surveys or sign up for new windows; my daughter needs picking up. It is almost 3pm and I need to get a move on. Walking steadily to the coat-rack I glimpse myself in the mirror and run my tongue over my broken top lip which looks red and sore; a deep cut running up to just underneath my nose. I wonder if I have time to cover it up but realise it would need a lot of work to hide it. If I get asked by one of the moms how it happened, then I can make something up. I have got good at that over the years. I button my coat up and pull my long hair out of the collar, wincing from the pain on my scalp.

Then I head back to the kitchen to collect my car-keys. Tammy eyes me suspiciously from her spot on the floor before turning her head, nestling down and resting herself against Trevor who is lying motionless on the floor. I am sure I should feel guilty for leaving him lying there in his own blood, but at this moment I feel nothing.  

I am not sure if he meant what he said to come out so sinisterly, but I pictured him with his hands on our daughter and I saw red. After all the years of torment I saw him for what he was finally and without thinking I grabbed the nearest kitchen knife off the counter behind me and jammed it into his neck. The look of shock in his eyes will live with me forever. He was as shocked as I was. Stumbling weakly, he grabbed at his neck, blood spurting out and onto the kitchen floor. He slumped down and stared blankly upwards, the life draining from him.

I watched as he took his last breath, hardly realising that I was holding mine. The relief I felt when he died was so tremendous I started to laugh. I laughed and laughed until I started crying. Then I waited. I waited until the guilt and panic took over, but I felt nothing. I was glad he was dead.

Tears sting my eyes now but only because I wasn’t sure what my future held. What I did know is that this man in front of me would never ever make me feel worthless again. From this point forward, I would never let a man rule me, never live in fear. Turning my back on him I return to the hall and collect the packed bags for me and Gabby. I really wasn’t sure where I was going but at least I know we would be safe.

1.2.3.....Writing Rant

It’s probably obvious from how many posts I create, but I kind of really love writing.

I always have done.

When I was young(er) I used to create short stories and poems, even winning a couple of contests at school. When I was really little I always wrote in a diary and documented my days. This was from a very young age and I continued with it up until I was around 16. Some of these diaries I still have today.

When I was in my final year of school my dream job was to be a photojournalist, which is why I applied and got accepted for a place on the GNVQ Advanced Media and Communication course at Walsall College.

It had everything covered in the course.

Photography, radio production, tv production, even journalism. It was a perfect way for me to find my niche. My dream changed, suddenly I wanted to do everything that I was learning. I wanted to be a presenter, wanted to work in film, I wanted to write for a celebrity magazine and I wanted to do photography as a career. I didn’t have one focus, I wanted to do it all.

But life took over, I finished college and was more interested in setting up a home with Stew and I settled down. I have always and still do love my life with Stew and we have two wonderful boys together, and for a while I dabbled with my photography and I was satisfied with what I was doing.

But the type of photography I was doing was not what I had wanted to do originally. I was doing weddings, photo shoots, etc but I had always wanted to take arty photos and have a gallery opening, it may be a big dream, but it was always something I pictured myself doing if I went down the photography route. I have also always liked the thought of shooting glamourous shoots for glossy celeb magazines. One must have a dream after all.

Since doing photography work the past 10 years then I have stepped away from my camera for a while. I was happy doing what I was doing but I looked back over my life and personally I was happy but career wise I was nowhere near where I wanted to be. I looked back at what I wanted to do when I was at college and I wasn't actually doing anything I wanted to do. Yeah, I was in a cushy job, got paid well for working flexible hours which enable me to work around the boys and the school run, etc but what happened to the dreams I had when I was 17? Those dreams I had of working in TV and the dreams I had of writing for magazines or creating a screenplay that would be adored by all who watched it...

I have created a fantastic photography portfolio with my business and have got thousands of photographs of weddings, babies, etc.

Unknown to some, I also used to present at the Walsall Hospital Radio. I had my own Sunday morning breakfast show slot. I presented the show for a couple of years. :)

Those dreams from college are still in there...and at what point do I say to myself that I want to go for them again?

Do I forget about them and just ignore them? Do I wait until I get to a point in my life that it WILL DEFINATELY be too late to try? Or do I grab the 'bull' by the horns and put myself out there?

Well....if I fear anything more, then it is the image of me getting to a ripe old age and looking back with regret. I want to say I tried. It doesn't matter if it didn't happen, as long as I tried. So I have been writing more content, getting my fingers tap-tap tapping on the keyboard and blowing away the cobwebs in my imagination and have been spewing out poems and short stories. This is just a way for me to get back into writing on a more regular basis. I have been Twittering and engaging with other bloggers. The amount of bloggers I have communicated with is phenomenal. To date I have over
2000 followers and I have accumulated those since December. I use my writing page to create short stories and poems. It helps to showcase my work, get feedback - good or bad and just gives me an audience for what I produce. I don't expect big things to come from what I write, but the fact that I am trying makes me feel better about the whole 'not having done it sooner' feeling.

I have reopened the files that my book has been saved on and started going back over my notes. The story I am writing is kind of a supernatural/fantasy genre and it is far from fact, I have only just scratched the surface with it.

There are a ton of writing competitions I want to enter too, but I just have to think of what I want to write. All I have to do is try to get myself out there and hope that someone notices me.

And if they don't that's fine, because I will always be happy with knowing that at least I tried. If I don't try then I only ever really have myself to blame.

S x

Monday, 26 February 2018

'Honour' Walking Dead (spoilers)

So, following the mid season break, Walking Dead came back with a bang tonight! It was packed from the beginning with emotion, drama and it totally tugged at the old heartstrings. The aptly titled, 'Honour' was a 'cry-fest' from the start.

The opening scenes were powerful to watch, with an even more powerful song called 'At the Bottom of Everything' by band, Bright Eyes. I have literally never heard of this band before, but I have already added them to my playlist on Spotify so I can hear more of their stuff.

I'm Awake, Its Morning - Bright Eyes
A link to the song is here...
We came back to where we left off last year, with most of the group underground and devastated and numbed by the realisation that their boy cub, Carl (or as Rick calls him, CORAL) had been bitten. Anyone who knows Walking Dead and the whole zombie outbreak storyline know that this for sure signed his death warrant. There was talk online from forums and social media that this was a stunt by the show producers to keep us coming back and that Carl would survive this injury. Some suggested that it was a dream, others suggested that he would be immune to the killer-zombie-creating-bug...Some people suggested that they would merely cut the bite out, as they did with Hershel when they chopped his bitten leg off in Season 3, but I really couldn't imagine them cutting parts of Carl's stomach out and couldn't see it working.

The episode started with a strong, emotional montage as Carl seemed almost accepting of his fate. He wrapped up his wound, shared a chocolate bar with his new friend and set up the bunker for his friends and family to hide in.

We got to revisit the moment he was bitten (why didn't he fight was like he wanted to be bitten) and saw as he wrote letters of goodbye to all of the people who mattered the most to him (because he had nothing but time on his hands whilst the 'war' with Negan went on).

Scenes of him playing with his sister Judith and painting matching handprints, one big and one small were especially touching.

We switched back and forth between some of the groups as they fought to take control over the saviours. Carol and Morgan were a tough fighting duo as they dealt with the guys who had tried to take over 'The Kingdom'.

But the main focus of this episode was the fact that poor Carl was dying, he gave some touching speeches to his dad and Michonne before asking to end his life on his terms.

At times I found that the episode dragged a little bit and I found myself wondering where Daryl was. He is one of the main reasons I watch the show and he doesn't get nearly enough air time in my opinion. I felt like saying, 'OK, OK...its sad that Coral is dying, its sad that he is about to turn into a Zombie, but lets get back to the main man, shall we?' When I saw shots of him holding Judith I almost climbed up and licked the screen, but I held myself back.

The overall feel for the episode was good to be honest, it was a bit drawn out at times but it was played out quite well. I appreciate that the cast, producers and even the fans would want a good send off for Chandler Riggs; he had been in all 8 seasons of Walking Dead and I suppose it was a rather touching, beautiful way to say goodbye to the boy we had watched grow up.

Chandler Riggs

All I ask for in future episodes is more of this fella. 

Tata for now!

S x

Sunday, 25 February 2018

The Weekend is Over

Just as I get into the swing of the weekend then Sunday evening comes along and slaps me in the face with its relentless realisation that Monday is only a mere few hours away.

How did that happen?

Friday was a bit vague, especially the evening.

I left work at 2pm on Friday, went home, got ready and went out with friends for food and drinks...lots of drinks. The night started at 6.30 and I was home by 12.30. I was very very inebriated, there may have been more than a few pints of beer...may have been some drunk dancing...and I definitely dropped my new Rimmel Face Powder, turning the contents to dust.

Then came Saturday, which was very vague. It involved a lot of me feeling sorry for myself, wallowing in my own self pity as I rocked the hangover from hell. No amount of water or stodgy food would take the heavy head away from me. I just had to ride it out...which I did...with the help of a duvet, crappy tv and Pug Love.

So when today turned up I felt like my weekend had been blown...but despite the dreaded feeling that work is tomorrow...I have had a really good weekend. I enjoyed seeing my friends, they're both fab and they know it. I enjoyed seeing the Justin Timberlake Tribute, Adam Pullen....check him out on FB or Instagram if you get the chance....I had my photo taken with him and he smelled lovely. :D

And even though I was dying a little, or a lot yesterday then I still got to have lots of cuddles from my boys. The highlight was when Oliver rubbed my head and said, 'There There Mom, you will feel better in a minute'.....he really is a darling. I also picture me repeating the words to him when he is older....

So there it is, the weekend is over...we are onto a new work week. And then next Friday...I am out again!

Until the next time

S x

Thursday, 22 February 2018

Harry Pugger

Our lovable pug puppy, Harry is now 4 months old.

He has been a very welcome addition to our family and has settled in very well.
The toilet training has been tough at times especially with two boys to look after as well (and Stew :D) but it has gone a lot better than I imagined. He has now got himself into a lovely routine and he has gone from having his cage closed at bedtime to now having the run of the downstairs when we aren't there. I would love to get to the point where he can access upstairs too so he can go to bed with us, but I am not sure he will ever get brave enough to conquer the stairs...or tall enough for that matter.

The boys love Harry. Every morning he is met with the chorus of excited voices shouting, HELLLOOOOOOOO CUTIE....I think they have adopted my voice!

He is very sociable and accepts new people very well...he hasn't come across other dogs yet but it is only a matter of time before we start introducing him to other fur balls.

Harry is a big lover of chicken, back scratches and treats for good behaviour. He knows how to get what he wants with his big bulbous eyes and cute innocent face. He really has distracted us away from the crappy days we have encountered of late.

Overall we are very happy with the little chappy and he has become a lovely member of our family. 

Monday, 19 February 2018

Family Time

The past 18 months have been more than challenging for us as a family. We have gone through a few tough times and are still clinging to the hope that things will eventually get better for us and all of our close family. All we can do is try to remain normal for our boys and give them ways to distract from the dark cloud hanging over us all at the moment.

So, I booked myself a few days off work during this half term and have promised to make it more about the boys. They have witnessed enough heartache lately and they deserve to be spoilt a little.

Yesterday we took them out to Walsall Arboretum, our local park; it was cold and damp but the boys loved running around. Oliver was keen to feed the ducks and climbed eagerly onto the rockery and ran head first into walls and jumped off ledges. That boy gives me a mini heart attack with everything he does, but he does have fun. :)

Ethan was running around too and feeding the ducks alongside Oliver but he also had his dads IPhone in hand as he hunted for Pokémon! He loves that and he and Stew swap details about Pokémon that have been found. It was nice to get out in the fresh air and think about something else, even if it was just for a little while. I think he helped Stew a little bit too.

After the boys had run themselves empty, we took ourselves off to Smyths Toy Shop. My mom gave them both a £50 gift card at present to spend and they hadn't had a chance to spend it up until now, so we took them to buy new toys...not that they need any...I think its fair to say that they already have TOO many toys.

Today, we got up and booked a lane at Hollywood Bowl, Bentley Bridge. We arrived at 11.20am and we all enjoyed an hour of bowling. Ethan came out the champion again! That kid can bowl! We then had lunch at Subway, before retiring to Nanny Geary's house.

It has been a nice few days, we have plans for the next few days too, but I don't mind what we do as long as we are together as a family.

I will add more pictures to this most once I have charged my phone. :)

S x

Sunday, 11 February 2018

The Tormenter

Short Story
by Stephanie Geary

Sitting outside the school gates, I wait nervously for Stan Foster to come out of class. My mind whirls at the prospect of seeing him, knowing what I must do. Nerves and fear play a part in making my decisions. I can see a crowd forming, they have heard about what will be happening shortly. Hands in pockets, I glance at the growing audience, knowing that I am about to be put on display and that I must perform. My hands are clammy, and I wipe them roughly down my school trousers. I pull a handful of change from my pocket and count the coins.
Not enough, I need more.
What will he say about that?
I see him making his way out of the school, a group of friends surrounding him, offering him encouragement. They all look this way, none of them wanting to admit that they play a part in this scenario. As they get closer, I feel my heart racing, adrenaline kicks in and I feel ready. My eyes never steel away from his, I stare him down and gulp down on the salty saliva building up in the back of mouth and throat. I feel nauseous, but I know that is due to the fire burning in my gut.
Racing towards Stan, I see the fear in his eyes as he sees me, his secondary school bully approaching him. He looks at me, tears ready to spill from his eyes and I feel the raw fear that comes from his every pore.
And I love it.
I wish that I didn’t! I feel the hold that I have over him and the feeling of being powerful is like a drug I can’t get enough of. I clench my fists eagerly.
My audience waits as I approach my prey; all eyes are on me. I cannot let them down.

Another Blog You Say?

So, as well as this blog (Which I haven't updated as much as I would like to, because I am distracted with the other one) I also have a writing blog. This other blog is where I write short stories, poems; and write book reviews.

As previously mentioned I love writing and I wanted somewhere that I could simply use just for that.

This other blog can be found at -

I am also getting quite a following through my Twitter Page - over a thousand followers! :)
The engaging with fellow bloggers part is daunting at times, but it helps to see what other bloggers do; what their styles are and how they create traffic to their blogs. A lot of people would probably say that they wanted as much traffic as they could so that they could make money from it, etc.

But I am hoping that my writing blog will be some sort of showcase for my writing; some place that I can refer possible authors/publications onto. I do really like the thought of reviewing new books. So, I am looking at setting it up so I can receive new publications before they are in the shops so I can read them and provide them with a honest review. :D

I can but try!

Saturday, 3 February 2018

My Boys

When I say my boys, I actually mean all 4 of them.

Yes, that's right....4!

Stew my husband, Ethan my eldest son, Oliver my youngest son and Harry the Pug. I am the lone female in a household of males. But I wouldn't have it any other way.


I met Stew at college when we both enrolled on a Media course which started in October 1998. At first he was just a friend of my friends, but before long our friendship grew too and we eventually (following a hurdle or two) started dating. We moved in together a year later, which many may have thought was too soon, but we saw it as something that was inevitable anyway, we knew how we felt about one another and we were already spending all day, everyday with each and sleeping over at one another's houses. Looking back I wish we had waited a while, maybe travelled a bit before we got bogged down with rent and bills, but it obviously all worked out in the end because almost 19 years later we are still together. We have been through some tough times, but some great times too with the birth of our two boys being at the top of our greatest moments list (not that we have an actual list of course)

Last year I nearly lost him, following a very serious Road Traffic Accident. But he is strong willed and he fought his way back to us. I couldn't be more proud to have him as my husband. He is my best friend and the one person who has my back no matter what.

I look forward to the many years ahead with him.

This was taken pre-kids

My crazy nutty husband

Me and Stewart

Amsterdam Hotel

This was us in Amsterdam

One of my favourite pics, us in Nice, France


Ethan was our first born son. He came into our lives on the 22nd March 2011, but he was a part of us before that date. From the very first kick and the first scan appointments, we knew we loved him and we couldn't wait to see him. The labour and birth despite some complications at the end was trauma free and we welcomed our tiny bundle into the world. The first days of him being here went by in a daze. I was completely thrown by the whole baby thing and I struggled at first. I wasn't sure what I was doing at all and I had days when I didn't even get myself dressed; I basically lived in PJ's and went without showers for days on end! It wasn't good but I got through it. One thing that was a definite though was that I was so in love with our little boy. He was beautiful in everyway and I have enjoyed being his mom over the last 6 years. Ethan has grown up to be an intelligent, caring, sensitive and crazy little boy. He is a very loving boy, but he also has a crazy sense of humour. One thing I can say about Ethan is that he is laid back....just like his father.



This little scamp was born on the 19th September 2014. I knew from the moment I looked into his eyes that he was going to be a different character altogether to Ethan. From an early age he had a determination that I adored. As a baby, he was a bit more demanding but he had the most amazing eyes, which stopped me from ever being frustrated or cross with him. As he grew he became known as 'Naughty Oliver' by his family members. All of them love him for who he is. As do we. He is now 3 years old and knows his own mind. He likes his own company, but loves to talk and he isn't a fan of being told what to do. But he is learning everyday what behaviour is acceptable and what is not. I often hear that 'no two kids are the same' but I don't mind. I love both my boys equally for the small persons that they are. Oliver has the most enchanting cheeky smile, which he knows how to use.


Harry the Pug

And then there is Harry the Pugger. He is 3 and half months old and he is a wonderful ball of fur. We have always talked about getting a dog and then after losing our baby in November, we decided to just do it. The boys love him, he is gorgeous and definitely one of the family. He loves lazy sleeps on the sofa, food and running around biting and chewing on everything on sight. He is a naughty little buggar at times but he is so much fun. :)

And that's the men in my life. :)