more about me

hmm so I saw my umm let’s call her half-sister because apparently that’s what she is, for most of my growing up I called her cousin because that’s what they told me she was, right up until about maybe three four years ago now she came up to me in the high street -I tend to avoid all forms of family no matter what label they give themselves *shudders* if you hang around long enough one day you may get to know why, so she says to me ‘oh we are sisters you know’ just like that, no pleasantries, no how you doing, just launches straight into your parents lied my father is your father now get used to it.

my head was mangled by this information, by all accounts I now had two possibly three half brothers and three half sisters, and I don’t like any of them,

growing up which as some of you may have guessed by now was a true hell, nightmare doesn’t cover it what I went through books could be written about and social workers dream of being handed a case like mine, but it was back in the 70’s and all sorts went on then that are frowned upon now nay some of them are even illegal now,

but somewhere inside my brain something tiny raised its head and latched on to this information, you see in my dantes inferno of a childhood the main demon was the man who occupied the role of father, he was large threatening dominating victorian oh and a free mason to boot, whilst I wont go into detail the hell he made us live through sheer hell, abuse was the core of every type you think of, and yes I do mean every type I am sure you don’t need me to go into details suffice it to say there was enough happening for me to file a court case,  but the one type he excelled in was mental, he dished out physical and other forms just as some kind of pastime but he really enjoyed and took a great deal of pride in the mental and emotional abuse, that was his forte.

one small example to show you how his thought processes worked; he would on occasion bark at me when I chose to try something like make up – I had a choice go scrub it off or it would be scrubbed off for me because and I quote “that body is not yours to ruin with make up it is mine I made that body therefore it belongs to me and I will not have you destroying my property” yup that’s my ‘dad’ for you

when I was young right up until around the age of about 12 I had very long hair reached right down so far I could sit on it, it was always kept in a middle parting straight and two plaits one each side – I hated it, I would have preferred it maybe shoulder length and I dreamed of having a perm this was late 70’s early 80’s was just joining us and I idolised charlie’s angels and Jaclyn Smith,

see how beautiful is she classically gorgeous and I so wanted to look like her ahh well

see how beautiful is she classically gorgeous and I so wanted to look like her ahh well

to me she was so beautiful and her hair was gorgeous, it was what I dreamed of looking like – I mentioned the idea of having a perm and yup you guessed it I wasn’t allowed on account of it not being my hair it was my fathers he had made it and I was not allowed to ruin it with silly perms, harrumph I was getting quite peeved with this life, I played with the idea of rebelling one day and he wasn’t in the country he worked abroad a lot but I had some money from babysitting and I went and bought some hair bleach got my aunty to bleach my hair and then I went to the local hairdressers and had it all cut short, very short, not a shaved cut no this was the 80’s remember and lady di was popular so I went in the hairdressers and asked them to cut it like lady di and lo and behold all my hair was gone ^_^ course all my bravery faded as soon as I heard he was coming home, only one thing for it I ran away didn’t get far and was suitably punished the minute I was dragged back ho hum but thing is the seed of rebellion was planted within me then ^_^

the aunty in that case was great she was young very young she was 15 when she got with my uncle the same uncle that is now supposed to be my dad -confused yet ? ^_^ you will  be ^_^

I remember one year she asked me what I wanted for christmas which was great as my own parents didn’t do christmas much and I whispered I would love some hair tongs but I wasn’t allowed any on account of it not being my hair and god love her she bought some and on the day she gave me a normal present of a jigsaw and then when the beast wasnt looking she slyly handed me another package gesturing to me to stay quiet, I did of course and later ran excited to the bathroom to unwrap it and yes it was hair tongs I was so thrilled ahh she was great and I figured out why because she was not a blood relative therefore she was nice she only married into my ridiculous dysfunctional family poor thing- many years later she left my uncle/dad and was given a safe house she would never be safe as I told you my ‘father’ was a free mason and held a lot of power, my uncle/dad had a first wife before this nice aunty but she escaped the years of abuse and my ‘father’ pulled strings and got the kids taken off her and given to my uncle/dad poor first wife was more than ostracized had to live so far away from here she may as well have gone abroad and she didn’t get to see her children again until they were fully grown and able to go see her themselves.

so family back grounds you know my so called father the abusive meglomaniac specializing in violence and mental abuse as a hobby he was middle class with aspirations and hated my mother because she ruined all those aspirations, you see whilst my ‘father’ had grown up in a wealthy middle class family with high hopes – my nanna, his mum was awful you could see immediately where he got his airs and graces from,she would not let us kids sit down on her sofa until she had place both a layer of newspaper and a layer of plastic sheeting on top of that, I remember once we were having a cup of tea and I was given a biscuit and I went to dunk my biscuit in my tea and she slapped me soundly across the face and went right into one about manners and grace and being a lady and how disgusting it was to dunk biscuits in tea.

I never did it again.

she had a small closet under the stairs where she would send you if you were bad didn’t bother me so much as I did work hard at keeping them all happy but I remember being told how my nana and grandad had been very strict when my uncle/dad and ‘father’ were young and nanna had broken uncle/dad’s arm and shoved him in the closet that was enough to teach me so I worked hard at being good, didn’t want my arm broken.

grandad I never really got to know much he seemed quiet to me but he died when I was about 4 so I can only vaguely remember him but he had owned a string of businesses all were bingo halls and in our back garden of our house the old one-armed bandits would sit growing rusty and grimy with the rain and we would use the big old pennies yup that s how old I am ^_^ still played with big old pennies one the one-armed bandits^_^

so you now have the one side of my upbringing nasty, strict, Victorian and perverted/abusive so back to why my ‘mother’ was supposed to have ruined my ‘fathers’ plans so you get the scene silly fancy rich boy thinks too much of himself thinks he can do anything right up until one day he decides to take advantage of a young gypsy girl who had the morals of an alley cat.

yup now you see the other side my mother, she born from a Romany gypsy my nanna and an irish gypsy – my grandad, not both were kicked out of their respective clans because in gypsy law you have to marry within the camp or you’re out, so nanna was kicked  out by the romany clan and grandad had already left his clan cos of all the trouble he caused – he was a large red-faced irish gypsy with a talent for drinking beer, see my rich grandad dies from smoking and my poor grandad dies from drinking, again he died when I was a baby so luckily I didn’t have much cause to meet him I saw a lot of my tiny romany nanna though and she was a character all three foot of her, she never made any sense and was devout catholic everywhere you looked there was tacky velet crosses with jesus on or kitsch 70’s paintings of our lord or mary and she was constantly counting the rosary, that’s when she would actually let us, she lived in many different places but I only remember three and the last of these was a flat literally covered in religion and mounds of clothes everywhere she would star in a reality show now if she was still with us, but often we would travel all the way to yorkshire to visit and get there and she would be in one of those moods where she didn’t want to talk to anyone so we would sit outside bored and listen to our mam shouting through the letterbox to let us in she would shout back quite a lot of colourful language that always translated to no ^_^

so me mam then, well as you can see she had a colourful character as her mother and grew up in total poverty, obviously any money they had grandad would spend on beer  and nanna would pray to god about it, cos let’s face it when your husband is out all night every night drunk and having fights cos he is some hard faced irish gypsy then really the one course of action that is going to solve everything is praying, she prayed night and day and never saw her life get any better,

you see this lovely romantic notion of gypsy life? well in reality it is nothing like this

you see this lovely romantic notion of gypsy life? well in reality it is nothing like this

it was a lot like this except these are smiling i don't remember smiling I remember being fed a plate of beans that was it nothing else just a plate with beans on and I felt sick couldn't eat it sometimes you got offered a sweet -that was stuck to toher sweets in a sticky disgusting rack of hard boiled sugar caoted with bits of paper fluff and other bits of much that I dare not ask as to what it was

it was a lot like this except these are smiling i don’t remember smiling I remember being fed a plate of beans that was it nothing else just a plate with beans on and I felt sick couldn’t eat it sometimes you got offered a sweet -that was stuck to other sweets in a sticky disgusting rack of hard boiled sugar coated with bits of paper, fluff, and other bits of muck that I dare not ask as to what it was

mum was young and beautiful a real stunner and she came up from the poverty stricken gypsy filled back streets of down yorkshire way to visit the little seaside town of where  I live now except then it was the early 60’s and she looked amazing ‘father’ decided to take advantage and before either of them really thought about they were married- mother had told father she was pregnant so he had to marry her, turns out she wasn’t but lesson learned the hard way, roughly five years later I was born into this household of victorian abusive bastard on one side and drunken alley cat of a gypsy mother on the other, so is it any wonder I constantly have a war going on in my head, one side is trying to better myself work hard be respectable the other side just wants to run free travel and explore, sigh so goes the merry go round of my mind.

now remember the backdrop to all this is the 60’s and the 70’s so yup you guessed drugs played a rather large part and it often gets to difficult for me to talk about as things went very dark but one small example was that amongst my toddling around at age 2 I found a bag and I played with the contents, the resulting hospital visit was blamed on scarlet fever because my parents couldn’t tell the doctor that they found me playing with a bag of lsd tabs now could they, all I remember is I was convinced that I was poorly because I had been in a field and a huge cow had licked my hand, probably best trip of my life and I was too young to be afraid still I survived but I must warn you don’t ever give any kind of drug and definitely not lsd to a toddler or any child it is wrong on all levels I was just unlucky to have ridiculous parents

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