Good things have to be paid for with bad things ... not good!

Thursday, 22nd July 2004.

Since I came back from London things have been pretty shitty. So much
has happened that I'm going to summarise a bit.

I wanted to work flat out on the re-write for, Devil. I stupidly asked
or six weeks, I should have made it six months, it's a big job. I'm
little over half way through and things are getting on top of me.

Agency work is a pain in the arse. They are taking the piss. Last week,
for instance, I did three nightshifts with a terminal cancer client.
This was on top of my usual full time rota. I'm just not getting any
time to work on my writing.

We are being victimised. Things have reached a head. It has come to the
point where I want to move away from here. The only thing stopping me
is Col. I'd like to move to London. Here I can afford a three bedroom
terraced house, what could I afford there? I would have to have at
least a yard if not a garden, I have a cat, dog and the polecats. Col
has made it clear that he will never leave Ulverston. He won't come
with me and I don't want to leave him behind. How often would I see
him? once a year? twice?

So, what's brought this about? You remember Marty was beaten up, quite
badly, by four sixteen year old boys not long ago? They gave him a
concussion. I reported it to the police and the ringleader of the boys
was given a caution on a common assault charge.

Apparently this was not the right thing for a parent to do. You are
supposed to sit back and do nothing when your children are beaten to a
bloody pulp. Grassing carries penalties.

The boy has learned that he can't hit Marty. He has 'employed' a gang
of eleven to fourteen year olds to do it for him.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. After the beating at school by the
sixteen year olds things were quiet for a time. Marty was called names
in the street and at home but he can live with that. Then, while I was
away at London we were broken into. All that was taken was Marty's play
station 2 and all of his games. A carrier bag full of dog dirt was
emptied into his bed. I didn't inform the police on that occasion.
There were two reasons for this. One was that if it was the gang after
Marty I figured that they were best ignored rather than antagonised.
And two, I suspected that it might be Sian's son, David. I am close to
Sian and although David is pure trouble, and although I hate Marty
knocking around with him, he is family and I wanted to deal with it
myself. It was complicated because I suspected that Marty himself might
have had something do to with the taking and sale of his PS2 and games.
David is a bully. Marty is terrified of him. David is motivated by
money and would sell anything he could get his hands on. If he wanted
Marty's playstation and if he forced him, Marty would have let
him.

An example of this is that while Marty was staying with Sian (and
therefore David) David was taking his lunch from him everyday. David
gets ?2.50 every day for his lunch. I only give Marty ?1.50 (and
usually make him a sandwich) David was forcing Marty to buy two burgers
for his lunch every day (cost from school of exactly ?1.50) and then
forcing Marty to give him one of them despite having two pounds fifty
of his own. The kid is a greedy, selfish, nasty little bully. Marty was
too scared to tell Sian or Den what was happening. I hate that he won't
stand up for himself. Anyone who wants to can take a pop at Marty and
he will just stand and let them. All this put quite a strain on my
relationship with Sian. She was great having Marty for me while I was
away. She's a kind person with a lot on her plate with her health and
David. David's a little bastard and the sooner he gets sent away the
better. And the way he's going, he will. He's already well known to the
police.

So the first burglary went without being reported.

A few nights later I was sitting working on Devil, when Marty came
charging up to the front door. He hammered on it like mad. I could
actually see through the frosted glass as a boy rammed him into my door
and started punching him in the face and body. By the time I got to the
door he'd hit and kicked him at least six times. I knew the boy. It was
one of the 'Cray Twins'. These boys are a pair of young thugs that are
constantly in trouble with the police. They haven't bothered us of late
but with them joining forces with 'the gang' they are back in
business.

I ran into the street and chased them down the road. I only saw one boy
at that point actually hit Marty but there were four of them in all,
the two Cray's, another boy that I also know and the ringleader of the
gang. They were faster than me. I sear that if I'd caught up with them
I would have used physical violence against them. Several people heard
me threatening them and made statements to that affect.

Marty was in a bad way. The Cray is only twelve, same age as Marty but
he's a vicious little thug. He broke Marty's cheek bone, blacked both
his eyes and gave him bruising to much of his body and one leg. The
police were brilliant. They want to convict this gang of lads as much
as I do but people always cave in before it goes to court.

Two minutes after the police left the same lads were back again. They
hammered on my window almost breaking it and shouted, "fuck you, fuck
you, grasser." I was going to just ignore it. We've had that often over
the last couple of years. But one of my neighbours called the police.
They came back for a second time that day.

The Saturday before last, Marty had to go to the police station to have
his injuries photographed. He had to go to the hospital for a head
x-ray. And, for the last week of term I had to ferry the poor kid to
and from school because he was too terrified to walk.

This Monday I had to take him to Walney to be video interviewed. This
acts as a statement to be used in court in the case of minors. It was
lunchtime. We were only gone for two hours.

When we returned we had been broken into. The strange thing was that
nothing seemed to have been taken. I still don't understand that. It
ruled David out completely. There is no way that little shit would have
left empty handed.

Whoever it was, had been through every room and every drawer and
cupboard in my house. My jewellery box was open and 'spread' on my
desk. I don't have any valuable jewellery. I'm allergic to metal so
never wear any. However, I do have a couple of rings. One has a chip of
diamond and seven small rubies. Another one is diamond and sapphire.
Neither of them is worth much and only cost about a hundred quid each
to buy. They would probably sell for about twenty pounds a piece maybe
a little more. There were also the two pieces of jewellery that Marian
bought me as keepsakes when she was dying. They are still in their
boxes. Again not worth much but they would have a small saleable value
to anyone wanting quick money. I have a brand new Seconda watch in my
desk drawers, it's still in the box. And, perhaps most surprising of
all, they had taken my digital camera, that Rick bought me for my
birthday, out of its case. They actually had it in their hands and yet
they chose not to take anything ? Why? These were all things that would
fit in their pockets. I don't understand it. They moved my bed. They
took gifts that I have bought and put away for Christmas out of my
wardrobe and rifled through my underwear drawer along with all the
others.

The police came. They were fantastic but were baffled. They left saying
that I must secure my house because at the very least it was a warning.
These people know exactly what I have now.

Marty was terrified. He gets scared about things sometimes, irrational
things as well as the rational fear of people breaking into our home
and taking our possession. I know it is illegal to leave a child under
fourteen unattended but sometimes, if I just have one or two half hour
calls, I leave him at home rather than make him sit in the car while I
work. He's petrified of being in the house alone in case someone comes
in and hurts him. That means that I have to get him up at six thirty
every morning to come and do my early calls with me, poor kid.

That same evening I had to take Martha to Bookers and Tesco. Again, we
were only gone just over an hour. Before we left we went around the
house securing windows and doors. When we came back the front door was
still locked but the backdoor and back gate were wide open. Marty's
new, three day old (second hand) Saracen bike was gone. I'd let him
have it to give him something to do during the holidays. I knew when he
got it that it wouldn't last long. The last two bikes he's had have
been stolen. We don't have a shed or anywhere to keep them. Although I
always buy him a bike lock with each new bike, he soon gets out of the
habit of using them, "But, I only came in for a drink. It was only left
unlocked for five minutes," is the usual tale.

We called the police out again. I was furious. The poor kid can't have
anything for them. I know most of the police officers by name
now.

The police said that the scene of crime bloke would be out the next
morning to fingerprint. As it happens we got Marty's bike back later
that night. The thugs smashed it up and left it in an alley with
buckled wheels a twisted chain and knackered gears. It's unfit to be
ridden and as uninsured. Apart from my car insurance I have no
insurance at all. Something I keep meaning to do something about. I
even got as far s ringing my car insurance people this week. They
quoted me almost four hundred quid because I wanted to add accidental
damage and protection away from he home. Sod that. Martha says she pays
about a hundred and fifty. I'll ring her company.

The fingerprint man came earlier than expected the next morning. I had
called work to take the morning off and set my alarm for a blissful
eight o clock. The police came at seven thirty. He came in and shouted
up the stairs. The front door as wide open! That was it; Marty was even
more frightened than ever. Someone had been in our house while we
slept. Kali, who sleeps on the third floor, can't have heard them or
she'd have raised hell. It looked as though whoever was doing this had
a key. He took fingerprints and got plenty of samples but of course we
don't know how many are ours yet. He talked again about changing locks
and making the house secure.

He did a house check and discovered that, although it shuts properly,
the kitchen window will open with a light tap, even when the handle is
secured. This was how they were getting in when the house was locked
up. He still advised changing all the locks anyway and securing
windows.

Tuesday night Col came out and fitted me a cat flap so that I don't
have to leave my window open for the cat. Max is terrified of it and
won't entertain it. I hope he gets used to it soon. Col changed both
back and front door locks to five lever, super duper, security things.
And, he nailed down my kitchen windows. Total cost for locks and flap,
a hundred and thirty pounds. Col has been absolutely fantastic, bless
him. Of course, they can still break a window to get in.

Yesterday morning I went out to my car. There were over twenty new
scratches on all four panels, bonnet and boot. The scratches cover the
length and breadth of my car. They are deep, malicious and done out of
sheer spite. My car is old and knackered. As soon as the tax runs out
I'm going to scrap it and buy another old knacker. But, what if it had
been a good car? Or what if it had been a friend's car? Or worse, what
if it hadn't been scratches but cut brakes or something
dangerous.

Apart from coming out with me, Marty hasn't left this house alone in
over a fortnight. It's the summer holidays and my kid is scared to
leave the house. He hasn't got a playstation to play with anymore. He
hasn't got a bike even if he would go out to play. Where is this going
to end?

Things are pretty grim at the moment.

On a totally different subject, I'm reading a book. It's called, The
Curious Incident With The Dog In The Night Time. It's a fictional book
written about a boy with Asbhergers syndrome, a form of autism. In the
book the child's mother runs off with another man but his father tells
him that she is dead. This reminds me of a game I used to play when I
was a child. I haven't thought about this for years but I remember when
I was probably about ten. I used to imagine that my mum wasn't really
dead. I imagined a whole life for her. At the time, although I was
there when it happened, I didn't remember that my mum had been
murdered. I thought she'd killed herself to get away from me and dad. I
was a horrible kid and my dad was a horrible man, it made sense to me.
In my fantasy game I almost convinced myself that one day she was going
to come back for me. I think in the end I sort of half believed it.
It's strange that I'd forgotten doing that when it took up such a lot
of my childhood.

You remember the decorators from hell? Well, they are back, only
they've changed into the builders from hell. Same firm, same people,
same boss, but now they are doing building work as well as decorating
work. They took the whole summer last year to paper my living room.
Only woodchip, I wasn't allowed to have anything else even though I
offered to pay for it myself. That was a year ago and it still hasn't
been painted. They fitted a new interconnecting door. That hasn't been
painted either.

And now they are roughcasting the outside of the house. They never come
when they say they are going to come. They do nothing when they do come
and the whole thing is a fiasco. They arrived today, four hours late.
They stayed five minutes to drop off some sand and then they went
again. That was it. My landlord will be billed for a day's work. And if
he's prepared to pay it then more fool him. I have told him that they
are useless but because the boss of the firm is his brother in law he
will insist in using them.

The polecats are fine. Amazing isn't it, no mishap, death or
destruction for almost a month? Max has made a full recovery after his
injury. I never did take him to the vet because by the time I came back
from London he was fine. I still feel guilty about that.

Doing well with my weight loss again after a long, long stick I have
lost one stone and six pounds since coming back from London.

I am going out for dinner with a man next Saturday (not this one
coming, the next). I have no illusions. He's a fitness instructor and
though he says my physical appearance isn't a problem (as they all do)
it will be. He might put up with it for awhile but in the end they all
dump me for someone better looking. I'm not going to sleep with him.
I'm not over Rick so it would be wrong to begin another physical
relationship. Don't even know why I'm going really. What's the
point?

Life is shitty again but then I had some good and exciting stuff, so
it's time to have some shitty stuff now. Things will improve again I
expect. I just wonder how my son will view his childhood when he looks
back on it. I hate that he's going to have bad memories of these years.
He doesn't deserve that. I feel very sorry for him.