I arrived at the airport and got a cab to get into town; the cab driver was lovely and remembered me from my last visit. Then he proceeded to use his mobile phone with one hand and drive with the other, surely if he recalled me he would know I was a cranky confrontational bitch!

 

“Mate, if wanted to be in a car with a man driving dangerously with one hand, I would get an unlicensed rape taxi, so quit with the mobile and put both hands on the wheel please, that’s what I am paying for” I snapped. He called me something nasty in Welsh, I think? Is ‘moaney Cuntish person’ a Welsh saying? I don’t know…

 

On entering the Marriot Hotel, I spotted the lovely comic Bennet Aaron, he looked worried. He had good reason, seems our hotel booking from Jongleurs had gone suspiciously missing and we were now homeless. Do bear in mind that NZ are playing Wales at rugby and Cardiff town is like Bethlehem… no room at the inn.

 

So after much hand wringing and lying through their teeth, we were told the rooms were booked wrongly! Who knows? Bennet called Jongleurs and we are moved to the Future Inn (which doesn’t have space capsules, which quite frankly means the name is not befitting my idea of the future, I want a robot in my room that can wash my pants).

 

Anyway I am now in this hotel, the internet isn’t expensive but it is far away from the gig and I am pissed off. That will be another expensive cab journey to work! Arrrggghhh!

 

The good news is that this hotel has a digital juke box in the room and I am chilled listening to Crosby-Stills & Nash…not cool I know but I am old.

 

I do love Cardiff and I do love the job, but I hate all the shit that goes with it.

My dearest blogging mates, I don’t often write on my blog to appeal or ask for help as you all well know, but hear me out.

 

Whenever we think of Nigeria and charities, we always think ‘Scam Spam’ and switch our brains off.

 

I just watched a Dispatches documentary programme in the UK about children who are beaten to death or abandoned because some local nutter in the Nigerian Delta region decided for no good reason that the kid was a witch. Often the kids are killed, or the parents have to pay shed loads of cash to allow some local ‘Prophet’ (read con artist for prophet by the way) to cleanse the child.

 

The whole thing is absolute rubbish but the Nigerian Delta region is steeped in suspicious Christianity/ witchcraft practises for years now and the whole thing is exacerbated by propaganda films made by some crazy church leader who infects the brains of these poor people with arcane ideas of witches. They say kids as young as one year old can kill an adult with a spell! The sign of witchcraft in a child is crying at night and a high temperature, which covers just about every baby in the world to be honest!

Jesus would weep if he saw what these lying rats do in his so-called name.

 

Trust me you would only have watch five minutes of this British documentary and you want to get on a plane and rescue the kids yourself.

 

Gary Foxcroft is an ordinary bloke from England and he is the director of the charity, he was studying in Nigeria when he realised the problem and is dedicated to helping the children. The link below is the website, please click and help if you can?

 

http://www.steppingstonesnigeria.org/

              

It is a charity that rescues, protects and fights for the rights of these abused kids, please click on the link and see if you can help them in any way?

 

Thanks to all my blogging friends for any help on this issue.

We keep getting told that an Arctic Blast is coming to the UK. Now that sounds like a cocktail to me, does it not? The weather in Glasgow was awesome today, those Autumnal leaves as a backdrop to my lovely city is just wonderful to gaze upon.

 

Ashley and I went out for a meeting in Glasgow with a TV person, not much I can write about here as nothing is ever set in stone until the ‘cheque hits the mat’ (as they say in my family), but exciting none the less.

 

We had a great lunch at The Rogano, which is one of Glasgow’s oldest and most famous restaurants. It has original Art Deco fittings and Ashley has been eating there since she was two years old. It was where she tasted her first real champagne and where she gulped her first oyster (not aged two of course). The food is great and they do amazing seafood as a speciality.

 

My dad and mum are currently staying at our lodge up in Balmoral; it is just beautiful at this time of year. I know Princess Diana famously hated Balmoral and the surrounding area, but I adore the place. Our place has an onsite swimming pool, the lodge includes a sauna, Jacuzzi etc…but I can never get the week off at this time of year to go visit. My dad meanwhile has all the time in the world to go there and he and mum love the place. He called me to describe the beautiful leaves, the glowing sky, and the sharp bright sunlight and made me all jealous. Though I am happy he gets to see it all.

 

I am busy here at home; husband and I are trying to get all the paperwork sorted for the next tax year and accounts. It bores me to death and makes me want to drink bleach and needles just to get away from it all.

 

Life is nice today; it could all go wrong tomorrow though!

Two weeks ago a terminally ill girl won the right to refuse treatment after a hospital ended its bid to force her to have a heart transplant. Hannah has a hole in her heart and copes with various symptoms from previous childhood illnesses.

 

Hannah is aged 13 and had decided she wanted to die with dignity and fought for her right to do so, tooth and nail.

 

Hereford County Hospital child protection team contacted authorities and threatened to remove Hannah from her parents care if they failed to bring her to the hospital for the live saving operation.

 

Her parents were swamped by the might of the social services and hospital protection team, but the parents stood by their daughter’s decision and the case has been dropped. Hannah is now at home and preparing to die in her own time.

 

Meanwhile in the rather down market poor area of Haringey London, the social services, the child protection team and a paediatrician failed to recognise the systematic abuse of a 17 month old boy who was found dead in a blood splattered cot last year.

 

The wee boy named Baby P attended the hospital where a prominent paediatrician failed to notice his broken back and several broken ribs; he was allowed home to die at the hands of his mother and her abusive boyfriend. The doctor said the baby was ‘miserable and cranky’ two days before he died. I suspect his broken spine, ripped ear and numerous injuries might have made him rather upset.

 

Baby P had been the subject of many social services enquiries and was on the child protection register, and despite that, the social work team were at pains to keep the family together.

 

Haringey social services seem to have learnt no lessons from the Victoria Climbie case in 2000 when Victoria managed to slip through the social care net and died at the hands of her carers.

 

The court case surrounding Baby P has led Lord Laming to start an investigation into the issues surrounding his horrific death.

 

He said “It would be awful wherever it happened, but it seems particularly sad that is has happened in the same area where Victoria Climbie experienced this same awful cruelty and a terrible death and involved the very same services”

 

Social services do a sterling job when they get it right. Yet there are too many social protection workers who are determined to ‘keep families together’ and in the process manage to let real evil bastards slip through the net. Adults who are determined to torture kids will manage to dupe the authorities into believing everything is fine with their kid. Like the mother of Baby P, she smeared chocolate over his bruised face, yet the care worker couldn’t tell the difference between the dirt and the cuts. That’s appalling and worrisome.

 

I am sure Baby P would have said different if only he could have had a voice, he wasn’t allowed to speak, he couldn’t speak, he was battered and cowed like a small tortured animal.

 

The social services in Haringey need to account for what went wrong, yet again another ‘investigation’ will occur to please the government and the do-gooders will bleat their excuses. Someone somewhere let that wee boy down and that needs to be addressed.

 

Things won’t change unless you go live in Hereford, where it seems the social services are determined to get involved in the care and protection of your child.

There is nothing I hate more than restaurant staff that ignore you and sit chatting SHIT for ages. I took my daughter out for dinner and we sat there starving. “Well, it’s not a secret anymore” the annoying blonde waitress giggled. “I knew you kissed him” squealed the red haired girl.

 

The red haired girl sat stroking the blonde girl’s hair and a big daft young bloke was plaiting the red girl’s hair. They were the tableaux of annoyance.

 

Ashley and I were the only people sitting down, so it wasn’t as if they had much to do, but a fucking menu would have been welcome. We were too tired to fuck off elsewhere. So I eventually shouted “Hello” and then acted nice as those bastards can pee in your food.

 

The food arrived and it was not too bad, but the staff need bludgeoned to death with a blunt spoon.

 

Today started with a call from the man who is supposed to fix my laptop and he was late, the insurance I took out on my laptop gives me home visits if it is fucked and my keyboard was worn out and the click button on the internal mouse was broke.

 

He eventually arrived as I was leaving. Husband was now in charge of the geek and I left the geek instructions. “Do not do anything that wipes out my memory, just fix the keys please?”

 

“I can’t guarantee that” he said smiling.

 

“No, you will guarantee that” I said not smiling.

 

“I can’t guarantee that your memory will be fine, but I will try. By the way I have parked my car in your private car park out the back will it be ok?” he added.

 

“Yes, it will be ok, but I can’t guarantee that, now fix my laptop with minimum damage to its well being” I said as I slammed the door leaving.

 

Husband gave me a hushed whispery telling off in the hallway. “Don’t be nasty to the bloke”

 

“Fuck off…and if he screws my laptop, you better go set fire to his car” I hissed back.

 

The rest of the day went fine. Had some meetings that went relatively well and hopefully will be fruitful as the year wears on.

 

Spent the night clearing out the hall cupboard which smells funny and none of us can figure out what the damn smell is. So every article was emptied out and washed down, but we still can’t figure out where the strange smell is coming from.

 

In the midst of the clear out Ashley found our old vinyl LP collection and demanded she get them. I told her “No” and she sulked. I have no idea why she wants them….probably because she thinks everything is really hers and can’t quite grasp why she can’t get everything she sees. I may bite her when she is sleeping and see how she likes that.

 

Had a rant about crap TV to my husband who sat there nodding. I mean seriously how can that much shite get commissioned? I can’t be the only person who screams at the telly. The thing is… everything I hate seems to be everything people on a UK comedy website forums LOVE… I know this because I googled the name of the show and screeds of adoration came up. I must be one of those people who hate things that everyone else just raves about! You know that feeling when you stare at a painting and everyone sees something that you just can’t? I see a big square red and brown box that a toddler with a squint may have painted with a potato stamper and other people see genius works of art and pay millions for it.

 

It’s all fucked. I hate that type of comedy TV sketch shit where a bunch of students have got together and created something that doesn’t have a punchline but has a ‘deeper meaning’ and annoying emotional-haired boys squeal with hysterics at it.

 

WHY? I don’t know….I am probably too old and dim to get it.

 

I also watched the Sarah Silverman sketch where she swims about like a mermaid then pees a bed and gets her friend and a policeman to come quick to her house because ‘There has been an accident” is the unbelievably bad punchline and I pulled a nose hair out to relieve my inner pain. Was that FUNNY…honestly? Really? People laugh at that?

 

It’s me that’s got it all wrong, I can feel people writing back as I type this telling me I am shit and a crap comic. They are probably right; I have no sense of humour.