Faith in Humanity

This morning I had an accident. Ironically I was on my way to a doctors appointment. Instead of going to the doctors, I ended up in an ambulance on gas and air and then in hospital.
Anyone would think it was Monday after today’s events.

Note to all, don’t bother rushing for a bus or train or anything really, it just isn’t worth the pain or panic.

This morning whilst rushing for the bus, I fell. I’m not sure if I lost my footing or I tripped, or exactly what happened to be honest, but I ended up on the floor, half into the road, unable to feel my legs.
I remember looking up and seeing a group of people at the bus stop. The bus pulled up and they all just got on, leaving me laying there. It was freezing out. -2C. I remember seeing headlights approach me and then disappear.
I tried to get up and I couldn’t. I started to panic. I’d hit my head and couldn’t feel my legs. I’m not even sure how I managed to get my phone out of my pocket and call the emergency services.
I remember crying.
I remember suddenly feeling pain in my knees.
I remember my hand, trapped under me pressed into the frozen ground, half numb, half hurting.
Finally someone stopped to help, 7 or 8 minutes after I’d fallen.

I remember being on the phone to a woman at the emergency services, trying to tell her where I was. Confused, cold and in pain. She was sending an ambulance.
I then called my husband. He spoke to the woman who’d stopped to help me.
I didn’t even see her face. Only thing I can recall was her black fleece with HM Prison Service stitched in with white thread. The other thing I remember was a mans work boots.

Someone covered me with a blanket and put something between my face and the floor.

I vaguely remember another woman’s voice saying she’d knocked on a few doors asking if they had a blanket she could borrow. They said they didn’t have anything like that. She called them wankers. I think I might have laughed.

I spent nearly 50 minutes on the floor before the ambulance arrived and got me on to a stretcher and into something warm. During that time I was starting to panic. Trying to control my breathing so that I didn’t have an asthma attack.
I was so cold.
My blood pressure was a lot lower than it should of been. The paramedic said from the shock of the fall and the cold.

My husband met me at the hospital as I was stretchered in and out straight into a cubicle. I had vitals taken, pain relief and saw a doctor within 20 minutes. Within 30 minutes I was taken for X-rays, which thankfully showed that there wet no breaks. I’m now on crutches. It’s hard to use them.

I can’t sleep, even though the drugs I’ve been given make me incredibly drowsy. I’m laying here, in pain, my knees on fire, my neck sore, wondering why I laid in the road and people ignored me. Cars drove past me. At least 5 people were at that bus stop and no one stopped to see if I was ok.

My husband said perhaps people in the cars didn’t see me because they were concentrating on the road. I’m not a driver so I can’t really comment on it I guess. But I should point out that my back pack is part grey part yellow with a few florescent stripes on it. It’s designed to be reflective. I’m not exactly small, how could you miss something like that?

If I saw someone fall and not get back up then I wouldn’t just walk away. I couldn’t.

It makes me incredibly sad that people saw it happen and just walked away.

I do however feel so incredibly grateful for the 3 people who did stop their cars to help me this morning. And to the London Ambulance service who helped me and gave me immediate pain relief and didn’t cut my trousers off me.

I feel grateful to the few people who read my Twitter and Facebook feed who took the time to send me a message asking if I was ok and wishing me to feel better soon.

I feel incredibly sad about the people who I thought cared about me and that I mattered to haven’t bothered to see if I’m ok.

I often wonder why I spend so much of my time and feelings and energy caring for people, and being there for others, when they don’t in fact return the sentiment. Of course, I’m not saying I do it because I expect something in return. I do it because I truly care. It hurts that the people I thought cared, seem not to.

Right now I hurt, in more ways then one.

a city in flames

Last night I sat glued to my television, flicking from news channel to news channel, horrified.
I stayed up way later than I should of, watching horror after horror unfold.
I listened and watched the reports as it got closer and closer to my home, not frightened, not yet.
I woke this morning, showered, dressed and grabbed breakfast, glued, yet again, to the news reports. The horror continued into the night.

My city is literally burning to the ground and it’s heart breaking. Thousands have lost their homes, businesses, jobs, cars, and lives in a matter of days, adding to what is already a difficult time across the country.

What started off as a peaceful process to complain about the death of Mark Duggan has turned into an absolute slaughter-fest across London. The stories surrounding his death are not crystal clear and the IPCC are investigating, but I suspect it will be a while before we find out the entire story.

His death is being used as an excuse to destroy our city and economy. An excuse for yobs to terrify the Capital City. An excuse to steal what they can’t afford. An excuse to create mayhem.

The police are working flat out to bring control to the streets.
The fire service is working flat out to bring fires across the city under control.
The London Ambulance service and hospitals are rushed off their feet, helping those injured, suffering smoke inhalation and most likely panic and anxiety attacks, not to mention regular emergencies.

Looting and Rioting has spread to Birmingham, Bristol, and other cities.

My heart breaks for London and it’s people. My heart breaks for those who have lost everything.

Anger wells up inside of me, these people are creating absolute chaos and a part of me wants to grab the nearest shotgun and start taking people out.

I’m wondering when this will end. When will London be controlled again. How much damage has been done and how long it will take for people to recover, for London to recover.

It’s a sad week for London. A sad week for the UK.

London Riots

Watching the news I am saddened by the turmoil in London. I have so many words, and at the same time, no words at all.

The number of people who’s livelihoods have been destroyed, property that has been destroyed, homes destroyed, costing millions of pounds.

People are using the shooting of Mark Duggan as an excuse to cause trouble, make crime and steal, and they should be ashamed of themselves.

Tottenham, Peckham, Hackney, Lewisham (less than 2 miles from my parents), Catford, Croydon, all across London there are scenes of burning buildings and cars and riot police.  It’s moved on  to Birmingham and rumoured to be kicking off in Leeds.

The emergency services are stretched far and thin.  It’s time to call the Armed Forces in.

London is a war zone and it breaks my heart.




Massive massive thanks to ALL of the emergency services for their hard work over the last 3 days.

the problem with…

I’ve not been feeling myself lately.  Today especially.


Lies. Petty ones.

Lies damage things.  Trust, Self-esteem, confidence, careers, relationships, and well, quite honestly the list goes on.

This one lie, it’s pretty hurtful if I’m honest.  It’s damaged my trust and unfortunately my ability to eat in front of my work colleagues, I’m now very self-conscious.

Considering I love cooking, and therefore eating (don’t get me wrong I’m not a pig, although if you listen to this one colleague of mine, I am) and parts of this blog are all about food and recipes, this poses a problem.

How in light of this opinion lie, can I enjoy cooking, and eating, and creating recipes and meals?

Over the last fews days I’ve not yet figured that out, and I’m not sure when or how I will.

Since this lie reached my ears, I’ve eaten less, and lost a dress size.  For the first time in my life I am conscious of what I eat for fear of people judging me.  It’s unhealthy and the stepping stone for eating disorders.

I am determined not to take this path.
I won’t let your lies do that to me.

You are pathetic and petty and mean, to make up lies about someone who’s done nothing but be friendly and nice.  You’re the second colleague to tell lies about me, and no doubt I’m sure you won’t be the last.

Office politics eh?

When one has friends like this, who needs enemies!

The Genre of Abuse

Ever since Dave Pelzer’s book “A Child Called It” hit the shelves, it seems that hundred of other people have chosen to write about their childhood/teenage experiences of abuse.  I call this the Genre of Abuse.

I enjoy reading, in fact enjoy is a bit of an understatment.  I have hundreds of books, I’d have so much more if I could. I’m the type of girl who checks out 10 books at a time from the library and reads them in a week.  So when Dave Pelzers book came out, I thought, “ooh wonder what this is about”, read the inside cover, decided it wasn’t really my thing, but I’d give it a go anyway.  I got to page 7.  After that I vowed that I’d never read a book about child abuse experiences ever again.

On Wednesday I picked up a book by Toni Maguire called Don’t Tell Mummy
I read it in less than 2 hours.  I was horrified, saddened, shocked, in fact I was a whole lot of things.  How someone can abuse a child is beyond me.  Despite not having children of my own (not yet anyway) I felt my maternal instinct kick in, I felt the need to protect the little girl in the book, I felt compelled to read on, despite how horrified I was.  I decided that afternoon that I would never be able to be a social worker.  I would never be able to work in child protection, I just wouldnt be able to cope.  How people who work in those industries cope, I’ll never understand.

I’ll never understand how someone can turn off the images, the evidence they’ve seen and carry on with normal everyday life.  I’ll never understand how someone could abuse a child and act like it’s the most normal thing in the world.  I’ll never understand it.  I’ll never understand how someone who has been abused can write about their experiences for the whole world to read, and last of all, I’ll never understand why people buy these books to read them.

Part of me feels that I’m being very close minded – however I just cant bring myself to read them, nor can I bring myself to explore the reasons behind why they are written and why other people choose to read them.

These books are wildly distributed, in stores, supermarkets, online, which means anyone can buy them.  The book that I read, I got from my Mother In Law’s book shelf, she had it because it was given to her by a friend.  This friend obtained it because it was given to him by a friend.  She only gave him the book, because someone gave it to her 8 year old daughter as a birthday present.  In this hand me down chain, I’m the first person to have read it, it simply went from hand to hand and then on to a shelf.  However, who gives a child a book about a womans experience of child abuse?  Clearly someone stupid, or just very ignorant.
8 year old girls deserve books about girls their own age, ponies, princesses, harry potter, anything else but that.

I read a lot of different blogs, in fact most of the blogs I read are what are known as “MommyBlogs”.  Despite not having my own children, I enjoy reading what other “moms” deal with, the experiences they face with their own children, their own dilemas, and I know that one day my own blog will be completely restarted and I’ll be a mommy blogger too.  In reading all these different blogs, I’ve yet to come across a blog about child abuse, however I imagine the subject creates such strong emotions, that it’s unlikely that I’ll ever come across a post.  I doubt any mommy bloggers read my blog, but I do want to know their opinions.

I want to know if I’m the only person who feels like this, or if there are people out there who have similar feelings.  If people with kids have the same reaction as people without kids, if people with maternal/paternal instinct have the same feelings as those without any maternal/paternal instinct.

thoughts people, give them to me.

What do you think on the Genre of Abuse?