Telefonica Trials

A confused post about Telefonica…

Life in Spain is good most of the time. Despite the ‘little annoyances’ we have been subject to over the last two years, it is still a great place to live, no question. But when things go wrong I wish we didn’t nearly always encounter the ‘manana problema’. And it is a refreshing change when ‘manana’ turns out to be today… or perhaps it doesn’t…

I will explain…

To publish a post to this blog I need to use the Internet, obviously. But in actual fact, I am writing this entry on a blog poster and hoping it will eventually be published, as at this precise point in time we do not have access to the Internet; at least, not reliable access anyway.

This is not an unusual occurrence. Our ‘rural ADSL’ has its moments of being offline at some point every two or three days, but usually only for a few minutes or a couple of hours at most. Sadly this time it could be intermittent (or offline completely) for a few days.

Internet Statement by altemark on flickr

Telefonica are very proud of their rural ADSL network, and I guess, all things taken into consideration, they have a right to be. Spain isn’t an easy region to make available to the internet, with its mountain villages tucked away everywhere off the beaten track and the rather haphazard system used for the telephone lines. And recently, rural ADSL has been upgraded; no longer do we have to wait for ever for a webpage to load or give up the opportunity of watching a funny YouTube video because of slow download speeds. Now our line speed is respectable (well, respectable for rural ADSL anyhow…). We can log on and browse with the rest of the world and not forego pages which are heavy to load.

And when you consider where the telephone boxes are situated in most rural areas, it is no mean feat that they work at all. In our village, the switch box is housed in a ramshackle hut down an alleyway between two houses. It looks like it would make a great hiding place for local strays, allowing they could find their way through the heavy locks which look sturdier than the shack itself (and nothing appears to deter the local stray cats and dogs).

But so far the switch box has weathered most (but not all) storms and the wires do not appear to have been chewed into or disturbed by anything. There again, allowing for the current situation, I could be wrong.

Two days ago our phone lines went down. Not an unusual occurrence either. But a telephone call to Telefonica (with the constantly repeated phrase ‘English’ given to the answerphone message) and an explanation to the English speaking operator (always easier…) got a fairly swift response. The engineers fixed ‘el problema’ the very next morning.

Not so the Internet however.

I was working in the kitchen when I heard the neighbour’s telephone ring and I thought “great, now I can get on with my work on the net”. But it wasn’t to be. The little ‘msn messenger man’ spun round and round trying to log me in, with no success. Never mind, I tried loading Firefox , as Internet Explorer is a pain in the backside loading anyhow. But nada, just the ‘this webpage isn’t available’ notice.

So still no Internet.

After checking all connections in the house, my husband reluctantly called Telefonica again (he hates having to repeat ‘English’ several times to the answer phone…). He explained the situation (”Si, ahora tenemos una linea, pero no, no tenemos el internet” repeated several times, just to make sure…) and the woman on the end of the line said she would call the engineers again, but it may take a while for them to respond.

I guess they hadn’t thought to check that the Internet switches in the telephone box were still working when they checked out the phone switches. An easy mistake to make, I guess, after all, no one had thought to mention that we had no Internet, we assumed they would realise this as the phone lines were not working…

Anyway, within a few hours the engineer turned up to check the Internet switch in the phone box. Sure enough, it was faulty. He rang us to say it would be ‘manana’ before he could fix it and went away. The woman from Telefonica rang to inform us as well, ending her call with the usual “Is there anything else I can help you with? Have you considered getting your TV through our ADSL lines too…?” (My husband was tempted to reply that it would be nice to have a working ADSL line before considering that one, thank you…).

But strangely, as I am typing this post, the Internet is flickering on and off. Sometimes it is loading, but very slowly, sometimes nothing at all. Either way, that wasn’t happening before. Whether or not the engineer came back early to fix it, without telling us, I don’t know… It doesn’t seem to be considered important to tell us what is going on when something is mended, only when it is broken… but I do know that ‘flickering on and off’ will be a bitch to explain to the Telefonica help line if it continues…

So, if this post ends up on my blog at the same date I gave to the publication, perhaps the ‘Telefonica man’ did solve the problem without waiting for manana.

But if he did, he didn’t do a complete ‘fix’. And if he didn’t, I guess he is coming back manana… or perhaps not…

Metamorphosis - the story of a human butterfly

The story posted below was first written in late 2002. It has been published in a UK Health Magazine and a British Mental Health Journal. Parts of the initial story have also been posted on a couple of writers forums.

However, the copyright is still mine - to publish again, but not for profit - so I am posting it here, because, even though the story is now over five years old, it is still very relevant.

It is not a happy story. In fact, it is quite dark. It is also rather personal, although the characters are fictitious.

Take from this story what you will, but I hope, in a strange way, you enjoy it.

Metamorphosis

Copyright Zania 2002-2008
——————–

‘Please Katy. Just try and eat a little more.’

Here we go again. Nag, nag, nag.

‘Sorry Mum, but this egg tastes off. I’ll have some toast though, but please don’t stick butter on it. It makes me feel sick.’

Oh oh! She’s still putting the butter on. It’s as if my opinion isn’t worth listening to. Well, I’ll just have to scrape it off won’t I?

‘Don’t look like that Mum. I’m eating it aren’t I? And I asked you not to put butter on it, so you shouldn’t be surprised I scraped it off. Don’t you want me to eat?’

‘But I promised Doctor Grey I’d make sure you had at least 2,000 calories a day. How am I supposed to do that if you eat only dry toast? And look! You’ve left most of it anyway.’

‘Oh don’t fuss!’

‘Don’t fuss? You promised us you’d make the effort to put on weight. Don’t you realise how worried we all are?’

‘Well I didn’t ask you to worry did I? Why don’t you all just leave me alone!’

‘Katy! Please stay here. Don’t run off to your room again…’
________

Well that got me out of there quite nicely. Now, where’s my notebook…? Okay. So far today I’ve eaten half a slice of toast (it was thick bread so that will be 55 calories) and it had some butter on it (another 50 calories), and I’ve had two cups of coffee. I’m sure Mum put full fat milk in the coffees. Doesn’t she realise I can taste the difference? That’ll be another 120 calories. So that’s 225 calories so far today. I’ve got another 275 for the rest of the day. Not bad. Especially if I do my aerobics video and run twice round the park.

Hah! I’m still on course. I will be tiny and I will be happy!

As long as they leave me alone…
________

‘Katy! Are you getting ready? You’ve got to see Dr Patel at 10 o’clock.’

‘Yeah. I’m getting ready. Just got to do my hair.’

‘I hope you haven’t put a thick jumper on. It’s 80 degrees out there.’

Here we go again. Moan moan, nag, nag.

‘Look. If I get changed again we’ll be late.’

‘Okay. Just get down here then.’
________

Dr Patel is my psychiatrist. He spends ages asking me the same old questions: am I happy; have I tried going back to school yet; how do I get on with my mum and dad and my sister; do I like going out with my friends; have I got a boyfriend. To which I always answer: yes; no; okay; no; and NO.

It’s not true of course. I have got a boyfriend, but I’m not telling him that. Dirty old man! Last time I told him I had a boyfriend, he asked me if we had sex. Well of course I said no! I’m fourteen for God’s sake! If I told Patel the truth he’d tell Mum.

They think I don’t understand about Anorexia. Well I think I know a darn sight more about it than they do! I’m the one who’s got it after all. They think they’re clever. Well so am I! I’ve read all the books about it. I know psychiatrists aren’t sure how to treat it … I did like the bits that said that anorexics are usually highly intelligent though …

So why do they still think they can fool me!

Most of the books talk about girls who don’t want to grow up and are scared of developing into ‘sexual beings’ as they call it. Well I’ve got news for them! Me and Marcus have been shagging since I was twelve! It’s better now though. Since my periods stopped I don’t have to worry about getting pregnant. An added bonus of Anorexia, you could say!

Marcus does worry about me though… Says I’m getting too skinny. Bloody typical! It was him ogling that Suzi Marshall, with her long, skinny legs, that made me go on a diet in the first place… Well… It was one of the reasons anyhow…

________

Well. That’s another boring visit over. Complete waste of time as usual. I told Patel I was eating more. He believed me. I answered my usual yes, no, okay, no, and NO, and then he said, ‘See you same time next week’. He didn’t even ask to talk to Mum. She was well annoyed!

Oh, oh! Mum’s heading for that café. Here she comes with the excuse.

‘Do you know? My feet are killing me! Let’s go in here and have a coffee.’

How unsubtle can you get?

‘Okay. Just a coffee then. I’ll have it black. Could do with a boost after seeing Patel.’

‘What about a doughnut? Or a piece of chocolate fudge cake? It used to be your favourite?’

NO!

‘Okay. Sorry I asked.’

Good. Mum’s not going to nag me. Well not yet anyway. Oh. Here we go!

‘Mum! You know I said black! I’m not drinking that milky thing! Now I’m left without a drink. Is that what you want? Me to dehydrate?’

‘Katy please. We just can’t go on like this anymore!’

Better take it easy here or I might get sent back to the hospital.

‘Look Mum. Don’t cry. I will eat more. You can watch me at dinnertime. But what’s the point of filling me up with creamy milk and chocolate cakes? That’s no good for me! Dr Grey said I had to eat proper meals, didn’t she?’

‘Okay Katy. But this is your last chance. If you don’t eat a good dinner tonight, including the potatoes, I’ll ask if you can go back to the hospital. I mean it!’

‘Deal! As long as it’s boiled potatoes. You know that mashed and roasted make me sick.’ (And she’d add loads of butter to the mash).

________

Now you may be wondering why I’m acting this way. You’re bound to take Mum’s side. People always do. That’s okay. It’s hard to explain to people, and when I try, no one seems to understand. But I’ll give it a go anyway.

I said I started dieting because Marcus ogled a skinny girl. Well that’s not strictly true. I would have dieted anyway.

For as long as I can remember, people have said I’m ‘big-boned’. That I’m ‘strong’ and ‘sturdy’. I’ve been called ‘mature’, ‘capable’, and ‘sensible’, and everyone expects I will do well at school and get a good career. They say I will always be able to look after myself and be independent. No one has ever thought I needed taking care of and nurturing. They expect me to do it all by myself.

Other girls are described as ‘flighty’ or ‘giggly’. They say Suzi Marshall is ‘delicate’. She fainted once in the playground. It was like a ‘swoon’ from one of those old-fashioned films. Everyone rushed over to her and fanned her and brought her glasses of water. I fainted once from sunstroke. I fell so heavily I bruised my knees and cut my elbows. But my friends all laughed at me. They dragged me over into the shade and left me there.

Girls like Suzi are like fragile little birds, or tiny, gauzed-winged butterflies. When they giggle it’s like a delicate tinkle that people find irresistible. When I laugh it’s like a hippo roaring in anger!

Well I want to be tiny and fragile-looking. I want people to fret over me when I’m ill and cosset me gently back to health. I want to break out of this ugly, hefty chrysalis and emerge as a beautiful, gauzed-winged butterfly!

When I’m dainty and fragile-looking, people will call me pretty and boys will offer to carry my heavy schoolbags. All these things happen to pretty, dainty, fragile-looking girls. They never happen to fat, stumpy caterpillars.

They’ve always said I have ‘heavy bones’. I don’t know whether this is true or not, but if I lose enough fat it will make up for it anyway. They say that too much dieting makes you lose muscle. Well good! I’ll look more delicate then won’t I?

All these charts give you the ‘ideal weight for your height’. But they’re stupid! I’m much thinner than that already and I still look sturdy… Well I think I do anyway.

So now you see my plan. I’m transforming myself from a cumbersome, ugly caterpillar into a beautiful, delicate butterfly.
________

It’s a good job you can’t tell mum about my plan. She doesn’t understand and if she finds out she’ll send me straight back to hospital.

They make me eat there and they watch me all the time to make sure I don’t throw up or take laxatives. Going back there would set my plans back by months. And I’d only start on them again as soon as I got out anyway. So there’s no point is there?

Just a few more weeks and the transformation will have taken place. I will shed this ugly, hefty chrysalis and out will emerge a beautiful, delicate butterfly.

I know I’m probably putting my life at risk. Enough people have told me so. But it’s worth it. And if I don’t survive, at least when they bury me my coffin will be light.

Everyone will feel sorry for me and wish they had looked after me better when I was alive. And then they will mourn the fragile little thing that has flown out of their lives forever…
________

Is this anyone you know?

Donna and Steve both grew up on a council housing estate somewhere in England. The place was rough and you had to be tough to survive there. Donna coped by making lots of friends and trying to be one of the ‘in crowd’. Steve made lots of friends too and, like many of his mates, he got into trouble with the police; nothing too serious: shoplifting as a kid, and taking part in a gang fight, the type of thing which is ‘usual’ in this type of area. He had stayed out of trouble for years, but, again like most of his mates, he had a healthy dislike of the local constabulary.

Donna and Steve started going out together. It wasn’t long before Donna got pregnant, despite being on the pill. The two of them loved each other by then, so when it was suggested they get married, they both said “why not?”

Donna had the baby, a little girl, and she was followed one year later by a little sister. Times were hard; they lived with Donna’s mum and she was able to mind the children while Donna did part-time work in the local bingo hall. Although jobs were very difficult to find, Steve managed to get himself a job in one of the local factories. The pay wasn’t that great, but it was better than ‘being on the social’. They still had money worries, but they survived and they were happy. They were eventually offered a council house on another estate nearby. The estate was newer, but even rougher they the one they lived on, but the offer of a house for themselves was something they couldn’t turn down, so they moved in.

Steve still saw his mates for the odd game of pool and made new ones down at the local pub. Donna met her workmates now and again when her mum could babysit, but most of the time they were happy to be at home together with their two kids. They got on okay with their neighbours and were an accepted and liked family in their community. Times weren’t perfect, but they were quite good.

One day Donna’s sister got married and the family went to her wedding reception. It was a good do and Steve had a fair bit to drink, but was happy and sociable as he always was on occasions like this. The couple left the reception before most of the others there, as they wanted to put the children to bed.

On the way home, Steve was bursting for a pee. He just couldn’t wait much longer, so he popped down a dark alleyway while Donna kept watch for passers by. But she didn’t notice the policeman until it was too late.

The policeman was not in a forgiving mood. He cautioned Steve and took him down to the local police station. An upset Donna ran home with the kids and rang her mum, who suggested a solicitor ‘just in case Steve needs one’. The solicitor was good; he went straight down to the police station. Within a couple of hours Steve was released to appear at the magistrate’s court in a few days time.

The charge was ‘public indecency’. At the court, Steve was given a conditional discharge and told that if he committed no other offence in the next six months, no further action would be taken against him. The solicitor asked for assurance that, when the six months was up, there would be no mention of this offence on public criminal records. He was given that assurance.

A chastened Steve went home with a very relieved Donna. And they got on with their lives. A few of Steve’s mates ribbed him about his ‘offence’, but the whole thing was soon forgotten.

Two years went by and Steve and Donna now had another little girl. Like her sisters, she was very well loved and cared for, but the couple decided that enough was definitely enough as times were harder now and it was a struggle to pay the bills. But they coped.

One day Donna came home from fetching her eldest daughter from pre-school. She was a bit concerned over something the mums had been discussing in the playground and later that night she told Steve.

It appeared that one of the women had found out from ’someone at the council’ that their estate had been chosen as an area to house sex offenders and that some of them had been living there for several years without anyone knowing about it. Donna was worried. Like many of the other mums she had begun to let her eldest daughter out to play in the communal area in the square right outside their house. It was a nice place for the kids to play, with swings and a slide, a high, see-through fence and in full view of all the houses in the square. Donna had thought it was safe… until now. She thought it would only take one glance away and “anyone could run off with one of our kids”.

Steve told Donna she was exaggerating; they knew all their neighbours and they knew that everyone looked out for everyone elses’ kids as well as their own, but if Donna felt she didn’t want their eldest daughter to play out there, then it was up to her. Donna agreed that he was probably right, but she would only let their daughters play outside from now on if she or her mum were right there by their sides.

The next evening, Donna had more news to tell Steve. The mums were forming an ‘action committee’ to force the council to name the sex offenders so that parents knew who they were and could keep their kids away from them. Steve suggested that this was unwise, as “the nutters on the estate will have a field day starting riots and beating up these guys and people will get hurt.” He told Donna she would be best to stay out of this committee and Donna agreed, but secretly she kept in touch with the women who had formed the group, just to keep informed of what was going on. She figured it would be safer for her kids that way and her mum agreed with her.

Over the next couple of weeks, the committee grew in size. Their ‘leader’ informed them she had found someone at social services who was going to try to give her some names, even though it would cost this person their job is they were found out. Donna said she wasn’t sure it was a good thing as “things could get out of hand”, but no one agreed with her, so she kept quiet and didn’t say any more.

Two weeks after this, Donna had problems getting her eldest daughter to go to her pre-school class. The little girl was sobbing and it took a lot for Donna to get her to explain what the problem was. Other children had been picking on her and saying “nasty things” about her dad. Donna took the kids round to her mums and then went to the pre-school to have a word with her daughter’s teacher.

The teacher told Donna it would be “best for everyone” if she kept her daughter home for a while. Donna asked why, but the teacher refused to give her any more information, except to ask her “is everything alright at home?”

Donna said, yes, of course, everything had been fine until this morning, when her daughter had become hysterical about being taken to pre-school. She asked again what the problem was, saying surely she had a right to know about anything concerning her daughter.

The teacher refused to give Donna any details, saying it was “against professional ethics” for her to do so, but she did suggest that Donna question her children very carefully to see if anything was troubling them. Then she told Donna that she really must end their meeting now as she had to be somewhere else very soon.

Donna was upset and confused. Her daughters were happy. Her and Steve cared for them well and they had a good relationship with their children. She was convinced there was more she should know. She waited outside the pre-school and cornered the teacher when she came out.

It took a lot of pleading on Donna’s part, but the teacher finally relented and told her. There was a rumour going around that her husband was a sex offender. She admitted to Donna that she had already contacted social services about her daughter, even though she had shown no evidence of being abused, “as she thought it was best to do so in the circumstances.”

Donna was horrified. It was almost too much for her to take in all at once. Not only was her eldest child being picked on and bullied at her pre-school, but now her husband was being tainted as a sex offender and the dreaded social services were going to get involved. She could lose her kids over this, and she knew the rumours about Steve were not true… or at least, she thought she did… She ran back to her mum’s in tears.

Donna’s mum had always been a woman with lots of common sense. She said that, in her opinion, there was no evidence in the slightest that Steve was a sex offender, but she did add that Donna would be well advised to talk to the kids about their dad “just in case”. She also suggested that Donna and the kids move in with her for a couple of weeks, “until this all blows over”, just in case “the social tries to get involved”.

Sadly, this did make sense.

Donna left the kids with her mum and went home to pack some things. It was getting quite late now and she guessed Steve would be home already. She didn’t know how the hell she was going to explain her actions to him, she would just have to try to get it through to him why she was doing this and explain that she still loved him and that this move would only be temporary.

But she didn’t get the chance.

As she turned onto the estate she heard shouting and the sound of sirens in the distance. She turned into their square and was met by a very large crowd of neighbours, shouting and cursing and throwing bricks and whatever else they could find… at her house.

Before she could do anything, a couple of women grabbed her. One spat in her face, the other punched her in her stomach. Luckily, her next door neighbour stepped in and dragged Donna away. He took her around the corner and checked if she was hurt, then he told her what was going on.

The ‘committee’ had published a list of sex offenders on the community centre door. Steve’s name was on that list. As they lived nearest to the community centre, their house had been the first target, but there were other houses in other streets begin attacked right now. As far as he knew, Steve was still inside and the police were on their way “to calm things down.” He suggested that Donna get out of the area as quickly as she could. He would have offered to drive her to her mum’s, but his car tires had been slashed by the mob, thinking it was Steve’s car.

As he was talking, the police arrived. It took them some time to ‘calm’ the crowd before they could get inside the house. They found Steve unconscious on the living room floor. He had been hit on the head by a well-aimed brick thrown through the living room window. They managed to bring him round before the ambulance arrived.

Steve was escorted to the ambulance by a large group of policemen. Donna was held back by their neighbour, who still feared for her safety. Then social services arrived.

They questioned Donna about their kids. Where were they? What had they told her about their father? Could she bring them in so that they could see the children for themselves? Donna thought quickly; she knew she was in danger of losing her children. She said her children were with a relative in Wales and that she was going there herself in a couple of days. ‘The social’ were not happy with this story. They said they would “leave things for now”, but that Donna “would be hearing from them again shortly”.

She then ran all the way back to her mum’s, tearful and frightened, for her kids, for Steve and for herself.

Donna’s mum was relieved to see her. The riots had made the early evening news and she had seen Steve taken away in the ambulance, but while Donna had been grilled by social services she had been doing some investigation of her own. She had found a women’s refuge where Donna and the kids would be safe. There was no way they could stay at her house. She was prepared to defend them in any way she could, and she did not care a bit about broken windows, but she knew that Donna lived for her kids, and if the social came to take them away, there would be no way she could prevent it. Reluctantly, Donna knew this made sense. While she packed what little stuff she had there for the kids, her mum called the refuge. Within a few minutes, a refuge worker arrived to pick them up. It was safer than risking a taxi.

The women at the refuge did not ask questions about Steve, they just welcomed Donna and tried to make her and her children as comfortable as they could. When the kids were finally settled down for the night, they sat with Donna and let her talk. It soon became obvious to all of them that Donna did not think Steve had harmed their kids in any way, but was now confused “in case she had missed something she should have picked up on.” They took stock of the situation.

Despite the late hour, they called their solicitor and set things in motion for the next day. They also called an independent child psychologist and, with Donna’s agreement, she was going to have a chat with the girls the next day. They all assured Donna they would not contact social services and neither would the psychologist unless she thought it was absolutely necessary, and even in this case, she would tell Donna what she was going to do first.

Nine a.m the next day the psychologist and the solicitor arrived at the refuge. The psychologist talked to the girls while the solicitor explained to Donna, and another refuge worker who was there as Donna’s advisor, exactly what was going on.

It transpired that Steve was on the sex offenders register. With a bit of ‘persuasion’ the solicitor had been able to find out that this dated back to the conditional discharge he had received for ‘public indecency’. It appears that, although the records had been taken off the criminal list, the original paperwork was still available. The zealous policeman who had arrested Steve had taken it upon himself to put the charge on record at the police station as a sex offence. Rightly or wrongly, all police records on sex offences were kept, even when a lesser charge was given and eventually taken off the court records, the original charge still remained on police records.

The solicitor said this was not ‘correct legal practice’ and also applied to cases which had been thrown out of court. He guessed there were many people on police records for ’sex offences’ who really should not be on there at all and most likely did not realise they were. It appeared that the ‘person who works at social services’, who had given a list to ‘the committee’ had found access to these records when they had been unable to find the real ones. That person had been fired and charged and would most likely be imprisoned for this offence and that, if Steve so wished, he could file a complaint and even make some money from this considering all the pain and anguish he and his family had been put through.

At this point, Donna’s refuge advisor suggested that this probably wouldn’t help Steve much at all, as there would always be some who believed him to be guilty of these offences, whatever evidence was produced to the contrary. She said that ‘mud sticks’ and Steve and Donna would never be able to feel safe living on that estate again. Being able to sue was all very well and the continuing problems the family were going to face would also aid them if they chose to do this, but there were some things which could never be undone, and she thought this was one of them. Donna had to agree.

There was also the point, the advisor informed her, that unless a case was made and won against the police and the person who ‘leaked’ this incorrect evidence, Steve would remain on those police records as a ’sex offender’ despite not having been charged for this offence. Social services could still take it upon themselves to take the children into care, especially if they thought that Steve could be guilty and that Donna was not accepting this fact. Basically, if Donna moved back in with Steve, or even if the family moved elsewhere, their children would not be safe from the clutches of social workers. Reluctantly, this time the Solicitor had to agree.

As they were finishing their rather inconclusive meeting, the child psychologist appeared on the scene. She said she had spoken to and played with the girls and in her opinion there was absolutely no evidence of any sexual abuse having happened to any of them. In fact, she added, they were the happiest and most well adjusted children she had seen for a long time. The only thing they were unhappy about was not having seen their daddy for what seemed to them to be a long time.

Although this was very reassuring news to Donna, it left her in a quandry. She desperately wanted to see Steve, to see if he was alright and she wanted him to cuddle her and tell her he loved her as much as she loved him. But she had to think about her kids. If she went anywhere near Steve she was in danger of being followed back to the refuge and discovered by social services. If she told Steve about suing the police to clear his name, he would most likely disagree, as the less he had to do with the police the better he liked it. Which, of course, left her in the position that if she returned to him under these circumstances she was in danger of losing her children.

The solicitor and the advisor offered a solution. The Solicitor would take her to see Steve (who was still in hospital with concussion). The advisor would follow in her own car. The solicitor would explain the situation to Steve and offer his advice. When it was time for Donna to leave, the advisor would bring her back to the refuge by a roundabout route. She was used to this, she told Donna with a smile.

The only stipulation was that the children remain at the refuge. It wasn’t wise to take them anywhere else at the moment. It was also suggested that, however much he pleaded, Steve should not be told where the children where, as he could ‘make things difficult without thinking’. Donna knew this made perfect sense. She also knew this would hurt Steve and the kids, but what else could she do? She agreed to these terms.

Steve was happy and relieved to see Donna. He had been worried for her and the kids, especially when the police had told him she was not at her mum’s house. He wanted to see the kids too, where were they? The solicitor was introduced and he tried to explain the situation. Steve was not impressed.

He was angry and hurt. His sense of injustice was overwhelming. All he wanted was to be with his wife and kids and get on with his life. He knew it probably wouldn’t be possible to live in their old house, and “why would I want to live anywhere near those bastards again anyway?”. But he wanted his wife and his kids back now!

But no, he had no intention of suing the police, “or the fucker who dropped me in it for no reason”. Like many people on that estate, Steve had a strong dislike of the police, but also a strong fear. As far as he was concerned, he would never get justice by suing them. “All that will do is drag my name and my wife and kids through even more mud and the bastards will still find a way to wriggle out of it.”

He pleaded with Donna. “We’ll go somewhere else, start afresh. Stay with your friends until I’m out of here, but then please come and meet me and come away with me. We’ll find ways around all this, I promise.”

But Donna knew that wasn’t going to work. She also knew that, once Steve was out of hospital, he would go on searching until he found her and the kids. He had the right. He had done nothing wrong. But she couldn’t lose her kids. She hugged him and kissed him and said it would be alright and she would be back there to see him tomorrow… and then she left.

She didn’t return.

Life was hard for Donna for a long time after that. The refuge helped her move quickly to another home at the other end of the country. The solicitor helped her change her and her children’s names, free of charge as she had no money. Her children were distraught for a long time and Donna herself ended up very depressed. But she refused to visit a doctor to get medication. She was too scared that social services would be informed and she would lose her kids.

The new refuge set her up with a false address so she could contact her mum, who missed her greatly but who also understood that, for Donna, this was the only way she could survive. Her mum also knew that this was the only way she could not be forced to give anyone details of where Donna really was. Donna’s mum kept in contact with Steve, who also moved away, but after one initial row, they never actually saw each other again.

Ten years have now passed since the ‘incident’. Donna has seen her mum quite a few times over the years at different locations. She has never seen Steve. Donna’s mum informs her that Steve has put divorce papers in action, as he wants to get married again. Donna is relieved to hear this, as she felt unable to do this herself for fear of Steve finding out where she lived. She is also very sad.

Nowadays Donna has a new family. She has been living with her new man for the last two years. He knows she has a secret in her past, but he also trusts Donna (although he doesn’t know this was once her name), so he tries not to pry into her past. He hopes that one day she will trust him enough to tell him her secret. But he is content with things as they are.

Donna and her new man have a daughter who is worshipped by her older sisters. The family is happy, the older girls are doing well at school and have lots of friends. They tell their friends that their mum is divorced, but they can’t remember why, and this is the truth. The eldest two daughters remember that they once had other first names, but they both prefer the ones they have now, so they never tell anyone what they used to be called.

Donna works for a firm of solicitors now. While she was at the refuge, she studied and got some qualifications specifically to work in law. She would study to become a solicitor, but she is afraid that too many questions would be asked about her past, so she has decided not to bother for now. She is content to study law in her free time and the partners at the firm are happy to encourage her. Of course, they do not know why she is so keen to do this.

One day, when her kids are grown, Donna will still be young enough to take a law degree and then she hopes to practice criminal law. You see, she felt the injustice of what happened just as keenly as Steve did and she intends to fight back.

It is unlikely that Donna and Steve will ever meet again and, if they did, it probably would not be a happy reunion. Steve has never forgiven Donna for deserting him in his hour of need and, to be honest, Donna has never forgiven herself for this either. One day she will encourage her daughters to meet their real dad, but only when they are old enough to be safe from the clutches of social services. So it will be a few more years yet before she gives them this advice.

As to the moral of this story? What can I say? Everyone did what they thought was right at the time. Wrong decisions were made causing a great deal of anguish and many regrets. Justice wasn’t served and, in circumstances like these, probably never would have been.

I suppose the only morals we can draw from a tale like this are “think before you act,” and “get your facts right first.” And I’ll leave it at that.

But if anyone chances by and reads this tale, just remember, this could have happened to someone you know. Just be grateful that someone wasn’t you.

__________________

This is an addition. Please look at Rickys Life and again be grateful this hasn’t happened to you or someone you love.

Is the concentration on SEO ruining online sales writing?

I do not browse the web comparing blogs and websites as much as some posters here who I could mention as I prefer writing to my standards rather than someone else’s. This isn’t snobbery (at least I hope not!). It is a personal decision which works for me and enables me to produce unique writing for advertisers and publishers. Whether or not this would work for you I cannot say; it is all a matter of using your instincts as well as your writing skills.

I am telling you this as a means to get to the point of what I am really writing about here (I tend to ramble when I am unfocused ). Today I thought I had better do some research if I was going to contribute effectively in all ways to Writing-Resource and that meant checking out the blogs of some of those who write for profit. What I found gave me the assurance I needed that there is much more that can be done to sell effectively than is going on within the blogging fraternity at the present time.

The first object I found when arriving on several of the main blogs in the ‘make money online’ niche was a ’sign up for my RSS feed’ box. Several had a similar introduction:

Hello there I’m (insert your name here) the author of (insert blog’s name here). If you’re new to (insert blog’s url here), you may want to subscribe to my RSS Feed (linked of course). Thanks for visiting.

This struck me as rather odd. If I am arriving for the very first time at someone’s blog, why on earth would I want to subscribe to their RSS feed without checking whether or not I liked their blog first? And why does the quote end with “Thanks for visiting”? I’ve only just arrived here; do you want me to leave already?

No, I am not stupid; I know this is all about getting RSS readers in the attempt to raise your blog’s PR, sales potential, or whatever else the ‘SEO elite’ are suggesting this week. I also realise that the top of the blog has become ‘the’ place to post links to your RSS feed, but I find it all rather strange and inappropriate (call me old fashioned, I dare you) and if I find this behaviour inappropriate, I am sure other people arriving on these blogs think so too.

Do blog writers really think that by pushing their RSS feeds without first engaging their visitors this will get them sales from their adverts? Or am I being harsh here in wondering whether selling the blog itself when it has a high RSS readership is more at the top of the bloggers mind? (I told you I had done my homework).

I could go on with this, noting the innapropriate placing of keywords in written text in the hope of catching the attention of the search engine spiders. I realise the importance of keywords. Of course I do. But attention to how you insert those keywords in written text is surely of major importance in addressing your readership? Or is your primary plan to address spiders? I guess I have answered my own question there. Sad, but true.

My question therefore is this:

Is the concentration on SEO ruining online sales writing?

Aren’t we all striving to engage our customers in a debate which ends in a sale? But how can we do this effectively if we annoy or confuse our readers at the outset?

And, lastly, does anyone care about this other than me?

Aroma Therapy

The challenge of being competitive

I am a competitive person. Give me a challenge and I will do my darnedest to complete that task to the very best of my ability and even try to outdo your efforts at the same task along the way. I will then strive at that task, gaining kudos and respect for my ‘knowledge and hard work’ and I will succeed pretty well.

But one day, out of the blue, I will wake up and find that the challenge is no longer do-able. Either I have accomplished all I set out to do in the short term, or, more likely, something has put me off the challenge in some way. That ’something’ could be a slight hiccup along the way, some criticism of my methods, boredom, or, most likely, complete burnout.

Like many competitive people, I live on a constant roller coaster. New things to do (especially if there are rewards along the way - praise is as good as any here) give me a high. I will be on ‘all systems go’, not sleeping much, eating snacks when I can be bothered, and completely involved with my ‘project’. This inevitably leads to exhaustion and, often, to depression.

At these times, I wallow in self analysis for a while, read, watch TV, and browse the net. I am not completely ‘out of it’ at times like these. If I find a subject which fires me up for a while (a discussion on the web for instance), I will take part and the old sense of purpose will come back. But this is just ‘browsing mode’. There is nothing concrete in what I am doing; just getting my strength back and waiting for a new challenge.

‘New Age’ Friends say it is because I am an astrological fire sign - full on burning flame one moment and burnt to a cinder the next. A shrink I once consulted in a particularly low period told me I was bipolar and offered me drugs “to help get you stable again”. I refused his help: (a) because I hate taking drugs prescribed by someone paid by pharmaceutical companies and (b) because I am not bipolar - not in the dreadful sense that many suffer from this illness - and taking onboard a ‘bipolar’ label would be, I think, a complete disregard of the suffering people who have this horrible illness have to go through.

As an aside here, it riles me when I hear people say “oh, I can’t eat that, I’m allergic to it,” when most of the time they have ‘discovered’ that wheat, tomatoes, fizzy drinks, whatever, makes them a little bloated, or perhaps have the runs for a day or so. That is intolerance people, not allergy. If you were allergic to those tomatoes, you would be in hospital right now, being pumped with anti-hystamine or some other life saving drug. Tell someone allergic to nuts or penicillin that you are ‘allergic to wheat because it makes your stomach bloated’ and see how they react. Don’t take on labels to be ’special’ or ‘different’. It’s not polite to those who have the illnesses and have to live with them.

(And yes, I know that some intolerances are bad - I have a close relative who is coeliac and has suffered badly because of this, but eating gluten will not threaten his life outright. It would in the long term if he carried on eating gluten and suffered anaemia as a consequence [or even lymphoma], but, in the short term, eating gluten will only give him the shits. If he were allergic to nuts on the other hand and ate one by accident, that would be a whole different story).

But back to where I was (I do tend to ramble a little…). So, I am a person who likes a challenge, works at that challenge until burnout, then abandons that challenge for pastures new, after a short break to get my breath and my head together.

Why am I telling you all this? Because I am in the process of setting up a business which could be lucrative. I have partners who, like me, are determined to make that business a success. The last thing I want is burnout in the middle of this operation and that’s what scares me. I don’t want to leave my partners struggling to take on my tasks as well as their own while I ‘chill out’ and look for new challenges.

How do I work this so that I do not go overboard on working at the project until it does me in mentally and physically? At the moment, I am taking time out to write online to put these things down ‘in writing’ and clear them out of my head, as it were.

Will this work? I haven’t the faintest idea. But I do feel better for having a (rather long) say on this (and other pet dislikes of mine along the way). And that’s got to be worth something. Hasn’t it?

Why we set up this site

Over at the Writing Resource, we are busy building a website which not only provides written content for blog and website owners who are too busy to write their own content, we are also in the very early stages of setting up our Writing Online School.

In the midst of all the chaos (and the ongoing writing projects we are paid to do), we discovered that we all have the same problems when it comes to writing: we all have days when we feel like writing, but the last thing we want to do is write the material we are being paid for. I know, that’s not the best way to run a business, is it?

The other ‘problem’ we all share is this: we want to write, and we want our words to be heard (and paid for, we have to admit ), but we cannot simply keep making new blogs for every subject we want to write about - these could be political, humorous, health and fitness, ‘how to’, our own research on products, general theories on anything, rants, recommendations, and general ‘blurbs’ which could just be of interest to someone else out there … Many of us have the odd erotic story we would love to see in print too, but it is only the one. How can you set up a blog with just one story, how ever good it might be?

In other words, we discovered we were all looking for somewhere to ‘go into print’ with anything we felt like. We all agreed it would be nice to have comments about this too (and that we would try not to get too upset if our ‘great works’ or ‘clever rants’ were cut down to size by others - at least we have all said we will not react badly to this… ).

So we agreed, “Why not make a blog/site where we, and anyone else who wants to, can post their writings? There would be no obligation on our part to print them (or even comment on them) and we would not claim ownership of the writings. Publication would be free, no strings attached.”

We have the subdomain at Writing-Resource.com, so why not put a Wordpress blog on it and see what happens?

Now we are waiting for the first brave person to come forward and post their thoughts online.

We promise we will be kind!