Friendship Over

From the age of 17 I have been very good friends with someone I will call Liz, which is not her real name. On leaving the school where we met, we remained in touch. She was in Hull and I was in Manchester. We had some great and some truly memorable times.

Both of us, eventually, moved back to our home city - Sheffield - me for a man and a job, her to mend a broken heart. We saw each other regularly and for a short time shared a place together, with another friend.

We became really close and told each other everything. (Well, not quite everything because I don't  think we ever do tell anyone absolutely everything.)

Liz and I got married the same year and had our children more or less at the same time. We were both teachers. We even job-shared when our children were small. We phoned each other most days, went out together, took holidays together. Our husbands were friends and socialised together. They were friends at university.

And then - Liz had a hysterectomy. I visited her in hospital and she asked me to pick her up and take her home when the hospital discharged her. I did - of course. But what I didn't realise straightaway was that I had brought home a different person. It seemed that not only had she had her uterus removed, she had had her personality taken away too.

Very soon after leaving the hospital, she started online dating. With alarming speed she had built up her number of dates to at least four a week, with four different men.Yes, she was still married but she had become very unpleasant and disrespectful towards her husband, who, within the space of six months, since she came out of hospital, had decided, with much encouragement from Liz, to get a job abroad. His first job was in Namibia and he took their youngest child.

Free, almost, with just her teenage elder child, who was very studious, living with her, she bashed those dating site keys with energy and abandon. Her tops got lower, her skirts got shorter, her hair got blonder and her heels got higher. She slapped the make up on too, in a way in which she had criticised women who did that in the past. She was barely recognisable in her appearance but more importantly, her character had gone through a metamorphosis. She was loud, talked over people everything was on her terms and on her agenda.

She fell in love twice - with the second one she was circling around the love object's house - at 3am. She suspected he might be seeing others so she was out checking for unknown cars in the area, no doubt belonging to a woman who her love object was at that moment sleeping with. Frankly her behaviour became demented.

Incredibly, that was only the start. Liz met a man in Leicester with whom, after just a couple of meetings, she fell madly in love. She told me all about him. He was handsome, apparently, he was highly intelligent, he was wealthy, he drove a BMW. He was also great company, interested in everything, thoughtful, considerate and generous. They had a connection, she swore they had.

I met him. He was not good-looking. In fact, he was rude. He asked my friend who was also at my house and who was a belly dancer, if she could show him her moves, until my husband thankfully piped up, 'Mate, can you stop. She's obviously not very comfortable.' He did stop, but not before telling my husband he was being ridiculous. We then told him that he was rude. So, this wonderful man was falling far short of what Liz had described.

Sadly, the relationship continued. He told her that she was not the one. He told her that she was too
fat, too short, her hair was too frizzy, her nose was too broad and that she was too old. Once during sex, he stopped proceedings and told her that her nose hair was distracting him. He removed it there and then.

Inevitably, things got worse. And she was paying for everything - drinks, meals, plane fares, supermarket shops, in fact anywhere they went together - she paid. He tried to finish with her, told her she would never be the one. He wanted someone younger, slimmer, prettier. She would never fit the bill. You can't fault him for not being honest.

He had a foot fetish. He loved women's feet. He loved the toenails varnished, the feet to be deeply
tanned, adorned with toe rings and strappy sandals. She immediately started to 'dress' her feet. Pedicures, stick on toe nails, with inlaid beads, tanned body and feet and toe rings. Frankly, she looked like an ageing prostitute.

Our meetings were now infrequent. After spending so much time together, I hardly saw her. The times I did see her were unenjoyable. The conversation was one-sided. It was all about her - her thoughts, her feelings, her anxieties, her activities. So why did I stick with her? Well, clearly the longevity of our friendship, shared experience and closeness were considerations. Now though, I was beginning to feel differently. She started lying to me. She phoned me at work a few times, demanding I go to her, because she was distraught. He had told her he was seeing other women. No, he would not stop seeing other women. He didn't love her, he told her. I was summoned to comfort her and to encourage her to hold fast to her decision to leave him for good. She made many excuses to not meet when we had arranged to meet, because she was seeing him, but she lied about it.

She didn't leave him, she couldn't leave him she said. But you're utterly miserable and he says he doesn't love you, I reminded her. He looks women up and down when you are with him, young women who wouldn't even look at him, though you seem to think they would be keen to go out with him, which really is delusional. This man is fat, unfit, not good looking, arrogant and rude! i did not mince my words.

Things got worse. She began spending whole days sitting outside his house. He would turn off the lights, barricade himself in with furniture and not answer the phone. What she was doing was proof of her insanity.

Not long afterwards came the climax. She had persuaded him to go for a drink with her - she would be paying of course. Coming out of the pub, he told her that he didn't want her to stay over and so she should drive home. Slightly inebriated and very upset at his hundredth rejection, she started to pull at his clothes, apparently ripping his leather jacket and his shirt. He called the police. She was arrested and bungled into the back of a police car. She was not released until 2pm the following day. In her cell, she had dried cornflakes and having nothing to read, asked for a book. One was thrown in through the slot of her cell. It hit her on the head.

At court a magistrate said that she must have a Restraining Order. It would she said, 'protect her from herself.'

She told me this after the trial when she came round to regale me. Her main concern was that in the court her ex had said that once, they had got on. She hung onto this as a drowning man clutches at a straw.

It was April. Liz was at my house,we were sitting in the garden. She had come to tell me about the trial. She couldn't understand why she had been given a restraining order. I said I could understand and that the magistrate seemed to understand her. She stood up, told me that I was upsetting her, knocked the cafetiere, the cups, the plates and the biscuits with a sweep of her arm onto the ground. My dog was terrified. She stood up, grabbed the birthday presents I had given her from the kitchen table and began screaming at me.'Your job is to listen!' She told me. I told her that I had been listening to her for the last ten years. She carried on screaming. I told her that she was screaming in the street. She got into her car and drove off at high speed. And that, was pretty much that.

Looked after Children

Looked after children - or LACs as they are often referred to, are those children who are in foster care or who are living in children's homes. If ever there was an unfortunate acronym, it must be this one. LAC is a term I have heard teachers and lecturers use frequently and far too often with the hearing of the children themselves, the LACs. The children or young people might not know what the acronym stands for, and in most cases I am sure they don't. Education, just as the other professions, is full of acronyms. They work as a kind of shorthand between professionals and usually it doesn't matter whether the students hear them or not. But LACs is different. If they hear it, it might well be deeply affecting. There was no ill-intent in the formation of this acronym, but LACs clearly suggests something is missing, something is not complete and for looked after children, that is undoubtedly the case.

These children are in foster care or in children's home because of some kind of family break up. They are often traumatised, always confused and mostly sad and yearning for their former lives, despite the neglect, the violence, the neglect and the misery.

Children, more than any other demographic, feel it acutely when they are different from others. Different is what they do not want to be. How often do you hear children saying they want something and that everyone else has got one? They want to be the same - the same as other children. They know they are not and, cruel as children can be, some of them are more than happy to point it out.

I have been involved in education and in fostering for many years and speak from experience about the horrors and the lifelong damage that some parents unleash onto their children.

If this were not enough, Michael Wilshaw, the Chief Inspector of Schools, on January 13th, pointed out the widening gap between pupils not in care and those who are. In addition, Wilshaw pointed out the lack of accountability between schools, Local Authorities and the Government regarding the progress of LACs.

This is a disgraceful state of affairs. All the more disgraceful as schools receive a Pupil Premium, direct funding, to be used solely on these pupils. It would be truly shocking if schools were less than determined to spend this money on anything or anyone other than children in care.

It is essential that these children, whose circumstances and families, for whatever reason, have let them down, are not let down again by the very people, the professionals, who should be doing their level best to even the odds and to make life as equal as possible for those who so desperately need it.

Rudeness and the lack of manners are never acceptable.

Last night, on Question Time, the panel consisted of Anna Soubry Tory MP, Douglas Alexander MP Labour, a Lib-Dem woman, Medhi Hassan, editor of Huffington Post and David Starkey , historian and presenter.

There is no doubt that David Starkey is often controversial and even, maybe, deliberately provocative. That said, it is clear that what he says, he actually believes, whereas the politicians, almost without fail, say what they think we, the electorate, want to hear. It often feels too, as if there is a battle in progress, as to which of the panel members can damn atrocities the most. In addition, they battle for first place in the 'who can be the most feeling panel member.' Honestly - do they think we are stupid? Sanctimony stinks and should be avoided. In all seriousness, they underestimate the voters at their peril.

The sanctimony battle involves serious, sonorous tones aligned with facial expressions which convey,  simultaneously,  their complete horror, shock, outrage. They have it off to a fine art. Except, that is, for David Starkey. Of course, he is not pursuing votes so he does not have to employ histrionics in the way the vote seekers do. But, if the politicians would stop this 'I'm all heart' charade, then I,for one,  would respect them more. Like the truth, pretension will always out.

What particularly struck me though, last night, was the appalling manners of the people on the panel. They interrupted each other, were particularly personally offensive to each other and were a perfect example of how not to behave. What I found especially offensive was the treatment meted out to David Starkey. There had been much vacuous talk about respect - how all of us should treat each other with respect. Medhi Hassan was particularly vocal on this matter. However, as Suzanne Moore pointed out, writing in the The Guardian yesterday, it is hard to respect a religion which doesn't respect women, and sees them as second class citizens.

Still on respect, it seemed that David Starkey was fair game. He is small, old, right wing, gay and cuts quite an odd figure. There are not many men left who are like him. For some, mainly idiots, these characteristics make him fair game - how foolish they are.

Last night Twitter carried several insults for him, calling him an  old queen, mocking how he spoke and exclaiming that he had 'lost it'. I found this unfair and offensive. The tone of the tweets was 'senile old bastard - no one need respect him.' Other panel members were rude to him, muttering as he spoke, eye rolling and pulling faces. Starkey did not do this to anyone, except for telling Anna Soubtry that she was very good at stating the obvious - impolite but true. ( Many thought the same regarding MsSoubry. One person on Twitter preferred to watch paint dry and received 22 favourites.) I wondered if any of her thoughts and words had any originality at all. Her answers were predictable and often swerved the real question. She perhaps had a ticker tape transplanted into her head.

Douglas Alexander was all bleeding heart, Mehdi Hassan deigned to admit that the atrocities in Paris last week were horrific and bleated a little about his faith being hijacked. The LibDem woman was so unmemorable that I cannot recall one word she said. I would not care if I never hear another word from any of them.

The one person from Question Time in whose answers I was interested, was David Starkey. He was knowledgable, spoke eloquently and was for the most part polite. He was, by far, the one from whom, I wanted to hear more - much more. Judging from the audience applause, I was not alone. From him, I actually learnt something.

Ched Evans and a little redemption.

I feel confident that you will have heard of Ched Evans. He is the footballer who has been convicted for rape and who has served two and a half years of his five year sentence. Many people want to bring back hanging, the stocks, tar and feathering for Ched Evans alone.

Before continuing I must make it clear that rape is a heinous crime. Nothing will change my mind on that.

Ched Evans has always denied he committed rape, which explains why he has neither shown remorse, nor apologised to his victim. The victim, at the time of the rape, claimed that she was almost unconscious, but if you watch the video of her walking into the hotel and passing reception, she is not falling over nor does she seem in the least bit drunk. She is carrying a pizza, then remembers that her handbag is still in the taxi. She dashes to the taxi, then retrieves her bag.

Furthermore, she has claimed rape before and the most cynical amongst us might believe that she was on the make: she wanted to accuse a relatively high profile sportsperson in order to bolster her bank account. Some say she has done this previously and settled out of court.

So, should Ched Evans play football ever again? Well, it seems his chances of playing for Sheffield United again, the club he played for at the time of his conviction, are nil. However, after forays of international interest, it appears that Oldham Athletic will sign him tomorrow.

And I, for one, am glad. Not just glad for the individual but for the fact that Oldham have had the courage, the sheer gumption to defy the petition their fans have handed in and to let the young man play.

Ched Evans, if he did commit rape, raped one person, one time, when he was twenty-three years old. Those people who are demanding his head, and demanding he never play football again, must not believe in redemption. If we do not believe in and do not apply redemption that means that most of us are to be condemned forever for the crimes we have committed. Prisons would be even more overcrowded, forgiveness, a major tenet of all major religions, would be ignored and no one would ever deserve a second chance. What kind of a world would that be?

Those who say Ched Evans should not be able to play football because footballers are role models, really need to do some research. There are numerous high profile players who have committed crimes; some have been charged with GBH, others drunk driving and in one case, causing the death of two young children by dangerous driving. These people are not role models, yet they play in the highest level of English football.

If Ched cannot play football as his job, would his enemies like to draw up a lst of jobs he can do? What exactly should he be allowed to do? The fact is that whether he may or may not be guilty, he will be chastened.

The fallout from all this must have an effect on his family and his loyal girlfriend, many who say, quite cruelly, that she is a Stepford wife. I am certain that his mother in particular, must be suffering. In her eyes, no doubt, her son has been to prison and he has served his time. All mothers and fathers must be relieved when their son or daughter's sentence is served.

I am a Sheffield United supporter and have frankly been ashamed of some of my fellow fans, including Jessica Ennis and Dave Berry. Why have they come out as judge and jury? In Ennis's case I would be happy to see her name removed from the stand as I do not know what it is doing there in the first place. I am not on my own in this opinion. 'The Blades' have a proud history and it would be much more relevant to have a footballer's name on that stand. There are plenty from which to choose.

The people who are sending death threats to Ched Evans and those, like me, who stick their neck out to wish him the best, at least believe in second chances. How foolish the screamers and screechers against Ched Evans will look if or when Ched Evans wins his appeal. Or when they themselves are found wanting in a serious way. A major tenet of Christianity is 'Judge not that ye be not judged.' I agree with that, even though I am not a Christian

As for Oldham, I would like to congratulate the club for taking Ched on in the face of such negativity. and opposition. I also hope that Ched is in the form of his life and bangs in goals for Oldham left, right and centre.

The Truth, the whole Truth and nothing but the Truth

 My mother told me, with absolute conviction, that you should always tell the truth. My mother along with hundreds of thousands of other mothers, delivered that message to their offspring, fully convinced that they were doing the rock solid Right Thing by their offspring.

But, would you give that advice to your children now? Well, maybe most parents would, when children are very young but later, when the offspring are in their teens, surely it would be better to warn your offspring that, quite frequently, to lie is the best course of action, especially where people’s feelings are involved.

The Truth is a subjective concept. This notion struck me when, as a teenager, and in the sixth form, a friend began to describe a night out she and I had had. As she talked I listened in disbelief, wondering if I had actually lost my mind and had not, after all, been there with her. As she continued, employing superlatives every other word, she looked at me as if to say, why are you not joining in my report? I smiled, pathetically and realized that she was in fact, being sincere. So, out of some sort of loyalty for our friendship, I gradually became more animated and joined in, adding phrases such as, ‘Yes, it was great, really good,’ and ‘Can’t wait to go there again.’

The truth, at least, my truth, was that the night was OK, but nothing much more. It was not even pretty good - it was just OK. My friend had either never experienced the joy of a good night out, or her expectations were set very low. Another possibility could be that I was a profoundly unsatisfied person, nothing was ever good enough for me and I should be more appreciative of the social opportunities that came my way.

The concept of truth is a very important one; one upon which the principles of law depend. The jury, all twelve who are signed in, are instructed that they must find the truth.  The prosecution and the defence must do likewise. A mistake can lead to a wrongful conviction; or a guilty person walking free. 

 In my twenties I had a friend who was one of the most generous people I have ever known. She told me of her family background, her wealthy parents, the boarding school she attended until the age of sixteen and the horses she had owned and loved.

Later, I discovered, by means of a mutual friend, that this life that she had constructed for herself was pure fiction. She lived in council house in Stockport with her mum and disabled sister. She was a persistent credit card fraudster and a shoplifter, which might have explained her generosity. The thing is though, that without her horses and general ‘romancing’ a euphemism for lying, I would have liked her just as much, if not more, because I would have felt empathy for her real situation whereas I was rather in awe of the horses and the boarding school. It saddens me to think that she felt she had to invent and embellish in this way, for us to like her.

Truthfulness is of great importance but there seems to be, quite often, instances where the truth is amorphous and often hard to pin down. That said, we know, each of us does, what the truth really is. Apart from necessary white lies, such as telling a friend who has spent a fortune on a dress, that she looks lovely, when really we do not believe that that is the case, we all know when we are telling the truth and when we are distorting the truth and producing a version of the truth which better suits us. And who has never done that?

Death and dying - my friend has six months.

At the weekend, I found out that my friend, of many many years is dying of lung and liver cancer. We met at a cafe and the first thing she said was that she was so pleased that she and her husband, who split up five years ago, were back together. 'We were both stupid, proud and trying go make a point.'

She said that now, with just six months left on this earth, she realised it didn't matter who did the ironing and who cleaned the toilet. All that mattered, she asserted, was that you looked after each other, had mutual respect and told each other how you were feeling. For example, if you have had a bad day at work, or performed badly in an interview, don't just sulk, leaving the other one to wonder what he/she had done wrong and feeling unjustly treated and  resentful - speak and explain. She advised too that you don't blab to your friends all the ins and outs of your relationship. Sometimes your confidantes can come back to bite you. Intriguing...

I was intrigued and as she talked I was overwhelmed by the calm way she talked and smiled even - and laughed! I even began to wonder if she was not dying, if she had been cured. I gathered myself and asked her how she was. 'I'm ok. I've had almost two years to get used to this. There is no doubt it changes you, makes you think differently and though I am afraid of how I might die, I am not afraid of being dead. It'll happen to all of us.'

'How is your mum taking it?' I dare to ask.

''It's awful for her - just awful. She tries so hard not to cry but she cries all the time. She wishes it was her and not me. This is one of those times, when I wish I had a sibling.'

'Do you think that would make any difference to your mum?' I asked.

'She would have someone to comfort her, someone to live for. All she has now, or will have in a few months, is a dead daughter.' She looked very troubled for a few seconds, then pulled herself back into the moment.  

What was so troubling and paralysing in our conversation was the realisation that I could not ask any questions about the future, or talk about my future, and was very aware to try not to mention it. So many of our conversations are to do with our future plans, including holidays, Christmas, hoping for a better job, moving house or considering a new pet. Everything about our lives presumes a future.

She had to go, she was going to the hospital for a 'procedure' - some small operation which would make her more comfortable. We hugged and I cried. She smiled. 'Remember me smiling - please. And healthy looking not this skeleton I have become. Oh, and at the funeral, please wear something brightly coloured.' And she left.

I was at work the next day, when my mobile rang. It was lunch time. My friend's husband told me that she had died, her body wasn't strong enough to withstand the small operation. Her death was very peaceful.'

At the funeral, which was very well-attended, I wore a bright blue dress. No one was in black. She would have loved it.

We share the planet with animals - not ours to abuse

On Twitter, many organisations and individuals are involved in preventing animal cruelty. On Facebook too, there are many contributors concerned with preventing cruelty to animals as well as gaining convictions for those who somehow think they have the rightt to inflict cruelty on a sentient, living being Consequently, I see photographs and videos that people post online to show the world the true horror and scale of animal cruelty.

I will not describe the pictures to you here - I will spare you that horror, but I will say that the cruelty depicted of all sorts of animals suffering, and suffering so badly, stays with you. Once seen, you cannot unsee. Strangely though, I am glad that I have seen them. Those images stay with you and spur you on to do what you can to prevent animal cruelty. Shocking, chilling and even frightening though the images are,  and such a damning indictment on humanity, nevertheless, knowing what is happening creates groups of people who are determined to do all they can to prevent cruelty to one more animal.

Some people seem to labour under the delusion that animals are there for human use entirely, for those who so wish to abuse them because they are 'only animals.' Animals are sentient, feeling and often intelligent beings. If you have ever owned a dog and looked into its eye you will immediately understand that that dog has a soul and can be loyal, protective and tuned into your moods.

Such horrors happen to animals that we should all be ashamed of. How will history judge us? Bull fighting? Really? Did they allow that? Barbarians!

As Mahatma Ghandi said - 'The greatness of a nation and its moral progress can be judged by the way it treats it animals.' Just so.