My son's been victimised again.

Wednesday 3rd March 2004.

More trouble with Marty, bless him. I've been at the shop all day while
Martha had a day out with her daughter. Half two, I got a call from the
school to say that Marty had been seriously assaulted by four sixteen
year olds. These lads have been bullying him for months now. We've had
three incidents before today.

A few weeks ago, they lifted Marty up and put him upside down in a
wheelie bin. The bin was empty apart from some rancid rubbish in the
very bottom, so he more or less fit in it. His legs were left dangling
out of the top while the lads jeered and called him names. Marty has
inherited my full lips and the whole school call him, 'fish lips,' I've
told him they will be his greatest asset in a few years. Anyway, these
boys said they were going to stuff his mouth with raw fish, until he
choked on it, if he told anyone.

The second incident was during half term, they threw him over a wall
into a flower bed. That was on a Wednesday too. We went to dancing in
the evening and had to leave early because Marty had such a bad back.
The next day he couldn't walk at all. He was bad with his back for
almost the full week of his holidays.

Last week. I asked Marty to go and get a pint of milk. He came back in
crying, the same lads had been hanging around outside the shop and as
he tried to cross the road, they pelted him with large rocks. I went
out and told them to try tackling someone my size, but I only got a
load of abuse. One of them came right up into my face and told me to
hit him. He towered above me. It was so bloody tempting and if there
hadn't been a load of witness's, I might well have taken him up on his
offer.

Today they got him in the changing rooms after his drama class and in
front of one teacher and the whole class, they pulled him off a bench
by his legs. Banging his head on the concrete floor and then one of
them punched him hard in the stomach. Mart was dizzy after banging his
head and fell onto the floor where four of them, all sixteen, started
kicking him repeatedly right in front of the teacher.

He was sick, but seems fine now. When he was seven he was pushed off
his bike by another boy, this one was fifteen. He punched Marty because
he said Marty was cheeky to him (quite probably was) he ended up in
hospital for a week with a ripped spleen.

I've played holy hell at that school today. When I got there the
investigation was under way. I object to my son being interrogated when
I wasn't there. They kept me waiting for twenty minutes, not knowing
what state he was in. I'm not a patient woman and by the time they did
finally deign to see me I was at boiling point. I asked what was going
to be done about it. They have launched a full investigation. I
demanded to see the ringleader of this gang, the one who had actually
punched him. The same one who gave me lip, but the school refused and
said it 'wasn't policy'. To hell with that, I'm Mark's parent and
guardian. He has been assaulted (again) and I'm not going to sit by,
while some politically correct, mamsy pamsy, school lets these thugs
get away with that. When they wouldn't let me confront the boy, I asked
for his address to take the matter up with him and his parents. They
refused that too. I suppose I understand their position now that I've
calmed down. I could have gone round causing trouble. But I know damned
well that if Marty's done something wrong, I'd appreciate someone
coming to the house to tell me so that I could deal with it. I said
that if something wasn't done about it I was going to stand at the
school gates and deal with the matter myself. They said that was
threatening behaviour and wouldn't be tolerated. I got a bit hotheaded
I suppose So, I'm expected to sit by and let my eleven year old get
beaten to a pulp by kids twice his size and weight and five years his
seniors? I can't stand bullies. Eventually, I said that I wanted all
four of the thugs EXPELLED, not suspended and that I'm getting the
police involved. This GF lad even threatened Marty in front of the
headmasters. He said, "I'm going to fucking get you after school,
Simpson." He has no respect or healthy fear of authority because he
knows they can't do a damned thing to him. Marty was expelled last
month for putting his hand on a girl's leg and I expect at least the
same for these lads. I fought to get him back in. The school say they
are taking the matter very seriously, well they better had be. Or I'll
sort the little shits myself.

Mark is too scared to go to school tomorrow, he's terrified of leaving
the house. I'm so bloody sick of him being victimised by anyone who
fancies having a pop at him.

Several hours later: I did call the police. A lovely man came round who
was very supportive. I made him a coffee, and innocently flirted to get
him on side. Flirted is probably the wrong word, it's Martha who always
accuses me of flirting with everyone. Charmed is probably more correct.
We did the technical stuff and the bottom line is that these boys are
still minors. The charge is, 'common assault,' the most minor of the
violent offences. He said that the case wouldn't even come to court and
that the boys, would be taken to the station and given and warning at
best.

I asked him what I was supposed to do to protect my son and explained
that the poor kid is terrified to set foot out of the house. I reeled
off the names of the four boys concerned and a few others in the gang
and the policeman knew of every one of them.

The first question I asked that he couldn't answer was, "Are this GF's
parents approachable people?" He said he couldn't comment. Then he gave
me a strange look and said, "But, I know from experience that some
parents couldn't give a damn what their kids get up to. You understand
what I'm saying?"

I knew then that I could talk to him. So I said that I realised there
were some things that he couldn't say. I gave him my sweetest smile and
said "So, please can I ask a few questions lovely and if you can't
answer just say, 'no comment,' for yes." It was like playing charades
but without the actions.

"Have these lads all been in trouble before?"

"No comment."

"Thank you. Have they done this kind of bullying before?"

"No comment."

"Are we likely to have any repercussions from this?"

"I have known boys like this to start a vendetta after the police have
been involved."

"What sort of vendetta?"

"Things like windows being smashed, houses broken into, cars being
vandalised. More bullying."

"That's not what I want to hear. So, have I done the wrong thing in
calling you in."

"No, I want you to report anything that happens."

I asked what the point was if nothing could be done.

He told me that he's going to arrange a meeting with the headmaster
tomorrow, for GF and his parents to be there and that he's going to
attend and come down as hard as he's legally allowed on the boy and his
folks.

We talked some more and I said, "I've got a six foot four son, who
could make GF pee his pants by just looking at him. I abhor violence
and wouldn't let him hurt the boy, but what if, one night he had a
quiet word in Mr F's ear?"

He gave me that same look again and replied, "I couldn't condone
that."

We sat for a second and then he sort of scratched his head as though he
was trying to remember something and said, "But I have known cases
where adults have taken things into their own hands and we've never
heard a peep about it." He nodded his head emphatically and we
understood each other.

In other words the police can't do a damned thing to stop these lads.
They know they can't be touched and come out of the station feeling
bigger and harder than they went in. He was saying that the only thing
they understand is someone, bigger and harder still, breathing on
them.

I will not have violence. But I think Mr GF needs a little bit of a
scare. I was talking to Col tonight and said I'd do it myself, but he
said that the only way he'd get the message from me is if I did
actually hit him. Col thought that with me being a woman, they'd just
laugh at me. All he will have to do is threaten him and he'll get the
message loud and clear. My son can be very intimidating without having
to lift a finger.

Isn't it a horrible world when the school, police and any other
authority have absolutely no power to punish young thugs? We should be
able to trust these people to keep our children safe but their hands
are tied and the damned hooligans know it.

I never did tell you about my new computer did I? Well paraphrasing
here. I've got a beauty. Don't like the keyboard because it's not touch
sensitive, and out of every fifty characters I type, about twenty fail
to register. It's a bugger, becase my sentenes ed up loking lke ths. I
could start my own personal text language.

Anyway bear with me, this is relevant so don't you dare go to sleep on
me dear diary. Last month Martha got her teenage daughter Andi up for
school and then because they were running late, she went to the shop
and left Andi to get herself off to school. Andi ran a bath ? and then
went back to bed! This was at eight thirty. I had the shop that
afternoon and at half past two Andi came into the shop white as a sheet
and crying her eyes out. She had fallen asleep and had just woken up.
The house was a mess. Two ceilings had completely caved in and the
house was filled to thigh level with water. Everything was
ruined.

I gave her a cuddle and told her it would all be alright, but I was
doubtful that Martha would go so gentle on her. The poor kid was
distraught. The result was that Martha got thousands of pounds from the
insurance. Problem was the majority of it was in Curry's vouchers. She
replaced everything she needed to spend a bit frivolously and still had
well over a thousand pounds left.

When my computer blew she offered to get me a new one on her vouchers.
I refused and kept refusing for three weeks while I slowly went
demented without a computer. Finally, she said that I wasn't much of a
mate. She had a load of monopoly money that she didn't want. I needed a
computer but couldn't afford one. And Martha wanted some real
money.

Well put like that I could hardly refuse. She said, I'm bloody hard
work. So, last week we went shopping and played mercilessly with the
poor blokes in Curry's. One man said that for the six hundred quid
deal, I could have a fifteen inch flat screen monitor. When he brought
the box down, it was only a fourteen inch screen. I said that I knew it
was cold outside, but that was ridiculous. I looked him in the eye and
asked him with a grin if he always added a couple of inches to his
estimations. I think it will be awhile before his mates let him forget
that. The computer came with free software. One piece was a garden
designer thing. I told the man that I don't have a garden, so could I
have a scanner instead please. When we were leaving I asked them all if
they'd come home with us and install it bearing in mind that the
workers were our best buddies by this point. There were several times
they didn't think they were going to get their sale with my
indecisiveness. I told them that my car was unpredictable and if it
wouldn't start I expected them all to come and give us a push as part
of the service. I think they were relieved when we finally left.

I upped my overdraft to the max ?450, and paid for the rest of it with
my credit card, or will when the cash comes through. So everybody's
happy, but I'm in even more debt. Until November last year, I never
owed anyone a penny. Now I have three maxed cards and a substantial
overdraft. I bought a hundred copies of each of my books. So apart from
the computer none of it was for me exactly and I'll have it paid off
within a year ? or die trying. We do okay though and still have enough
money left for a few treats.

Things are going brilliantly with Rick. I'm going to stay at his house
on Friday. That's scary. He was going to come through here so that we
could go out but he has to take his son to work on Saturday morning and
then pick him up again a lunch time. We desperately want to see each
other so it makes sense to go through there. We are going to the local
pub. What if his friends don't like me? What if I trip over my feet or
do something daft to embarrass him? I can do anything in my stilettos
bar walk in them. What if his son, who is going to be at home, hates
me? What if his wife (he's separated) pays a visit? It's scary as hell,
but I can't wait. I've asked if he minds me talking about him in my
diaries and he says it's flattering and he doesn't object at all. This
relationship is only a week old, but it's very intense. It's like being
a teenager again and having all these feelings that you don't know what
to do with. He's so thoughtful. He insisted on driving through to pick
me up on Friday and then take me all the way back home again on
Saturday afternoon. I said that I'm perfectly capable of driving myself
but he pointed out that if he came for me, it would mean several more
hours together, can't argue with the logic of that. We both have busy
lives and finding time to spend together isn't easy. He has two kids
and I've got Mark, so I'm not going to miss out on any opportunity to
be with him. I'll drive myself in future but at least his car has a
heater and music.

T asked me to send the edited diary scripts to go out to the agents
tomorrow. I transferred all my writing files over from the old
computer, but that file has been corrupted and won't work. It means the
stuff he needs (by tomorrow morning) is still stuck in the old
computer. I've set it up in my bedroom and sometimes it plays ball and
sometimes it doesn't. I just hope I can get what he needs to him on
time.

I've just tried a drink of coke, to see if I can manage a couple of
voddie and cokes on Friday. The voddie is no problem at all, it goes
down quite well. I'm afraid the coke is a no go. I still can't do
bubbles. Suppose it will have to be voddie and orange cordial, I can't
drink neat vodka all night, he'll think I'm an alkie.

I'm trying to come off the Zoton. (third attempt.) This is day five and
so far I've had no problems. Hope I can ditch it this time. The tablets
(for reflux) are strawberry flavoured. I have to take them first thing
in the morning and they are bloody vile. I've been okay for about three
days the other two times and then I start getting heartburn and in
panic at the slim possibility of throwing up. I run like hell to get
them.

I'm being very grown up and sensible. I asked the doc the other day
about having one of these new hormonal coils fitted. Hell, as if I'm
not hormonal enough without having a hormonal coil to contend with as
well. I wonder if it throws tantrums and cries a lot. I don't cry much,
but I can throw a spectacular tantrum and that's without the help of
the manic menopause. The doc said that my insides resemble half a pound
of chopped mince, okay, I admit, she never said that, (it's my
interpretation) but she did say that I haven't got enough cervix left
to maintain a coil. Bugger. It means I'm back on the pill. I normally
have the problem that I go to get one and find about five days worth
that I've forgotten to take. It shouldn't be like that this time
though, (why change the habit of a lifetime) because if I don't take my
monkey disease pills (rhesus disease! ) I begin to resemble the
elephant man in 24 hours, with all manner of strange swellings and
alarming rashes. So if I have to take them I can take my pill at the
same time. That's the theory anyway. They take a month to kick in. My
rash has been a lot better lately. Still not brilliant, and the doctor
is still nagging me to sue the hospital for using metal staples on me.
I love what they did to me, so I'm certainly not going to complain
about it. I've got my life back.

For the past couple of weeks I've been trying that Actimel stuff, you
know, 'feel better in two weeks or get your money back,' Well I feel
tons better, but I think it's got more to do with Rick than a daft
yogurt drink &;#61514; After not losing much for the last three
weeks, I gave my body a good talking to. This week I've just been
having the Actimel and have dropped ten pounds. I feel fantastic.
Haven't done much walking this week with one thing and another, but the
weather's been awful. Still, been doing the dance mats and exercise
bike though. I had to cancel dancing tonight with Marty being iffy and
the police coming. He's fine now, back to normal but terrified of going
to school tomorrow.

I rang the school at ten o clock tonight and left a machine message
saying that it was ten pm and Marty was still up and very upset because
he was so worried about going to school. I said that I want him to be
supervised because GF has threatened to get him. I told them that if my
son is hurt tomorrow that I'm holding them responsible and that I will
be taking him to, and picking him up from school.

Busy day tomorrow. It's world book day and I'm teaching a full day
(including an extra lunchtime hour) of year eleven's. Tough cookies.
I've been really looking forward to this one. I love the challenge of
the older kids. But now I'm dreading it in case Marty needs me. I did
consider keeping him off school tomorrow, but there is nobody to look
after him, I don't think Walney school would be happy about me taking
him, it doesn't look very professional and I can't cancel because it's
an important booking and they have altered the whole days schedule so
that I can have double lessons with the whole year.

I've done the last two Tuesdays at Lindal primary school. And I'm back
there next week. I've enjoyed it but I find the younger kids too easy
to work with and a bit limiting. Last week, I had the same year group
all afternoon, split by the afternoon playtime. The kids didn't want to
have their break because we were in the middle of an intense
brainstorming session surrounding the fascinating topic of MURDER. Of
course, I'm not allowed to say,' Brainstorming' in the schools. It's
not PC, we have to call them, 'thought showers'. Please forgive my
sewerage of a brain but they always put me in mind of golden showers
and it's only a matter of time before I say the wrong thing.

I've introduced a new characterisation exercise this week and the kids
love it. I've cut lots of 'people' out of magazines. The kids take it
in turn to come and, 'lucky dip,' a picture, then they have to tell the
story behind the person. Nine year old's have wonderful
imaginations.

I have never once been supervised at Lindal. I've had some fantastic
references from the schools I've already done and they've been passed
on to the education board. Apparently I was sanctioned several months
ago to take lessons alone. Five years ago, I was virtually illiterate
(where writing was concerned anyway) and now I can hold between twenty
and seventy kids captivated for two hours at a time. I know my lessons
have got to be preferable to double maths, but I put a lot of thought
into making every lesson fun. I take a spectrum of years four to eleven
(8-16) and run the lesson according to age. I love it but it still
amazes me that I can do it.

I turned down a terminal client today. I feel so guilty, but it's for
the clients own good. I love doing terminal care, but I've got such a
lot on at the moment that I couldn't put the hours or energy into it.
When I do the terminals, because they are very short term placements, I
tend to do as many 24 hour sessions as I can. I like to see the care
through from beginning to end. It's important to the client that they
have someone they know with them when they die. I take it very
personally and hate it if I have to come home and am not there when
they most need me to be. I did a lady last year E. We thought it would
be a 48 hour stretch at most, but she hung on and surprised us by
lasting almost three weeks. Because she had a huge house with plenty of
rooms, I was able to take Marty with me on the sleepovers. So I didn't
have to leave much. I'd gone home to get clean clothes and have a bath
and she died. I'd promised her that I'd do my very best to be there for
her, and I felt that I'd let her down. It's very emotionally and
physically tiring and I didn't feel that I could give this man the care
that he needed. It would have gone a long way to paying off my credit
cards though depending on how long he had. Does that sound very
mercenary?

Oh ,well busy day tomorrow. Suppose I'd better hit he sack ?

2 days!