Thursday, 24 May 2007


Now then as I address the reader, yes you. I want you to be seated comfortably, for this tale I am about to share is both long winded and complex but very juicy and informative none the less.
It’s a contemporary tragedy with a classic twist, not that it makes this tale any easier to digest. The question is will you overstand what is being told.

The year has begun and my feelings are already clear, I am happy. I have now faced my demons and the disappointment of 2006, the blatant disrespect endured and finding that forgiveness is the only key. As I exclaimed you can forgive but not forget.

My children are sleeping and the house is still but for the sound of my television, my tapping on the keyboard and my stomach. Yes I am alone, yes I have no man to call my own and yes I would love to be in love, real love.

I am happy with the above because I know most of all it is necessary on my journey, but I am smiling. This is me. Standard!

Chapter 1

Bang, bang, bang went my front door. The noise resonated inside my head and throughout my naked body. I woke startled and para that morning. What the fuck?

I didn’t have time to wipe my face, brush my teeth or compose my thoughts from the slumber I was just in. I jumped up to stand on my bed positioned next to the window, so I could see who the fucks knocking down my front door like police. All I could see through the small opening was a world of her majesty’s constabulary, all padded up and ready to charge.


What five-0 at my door, at what fucking seven o’clock in the morning. Nah!



Dressing and rushing to the door whilst trying to stop my half dressed teenage daughter from getting rushed by the feds at the front door, knowing she had no idea what was on the other side.

“Who else is here? Who else is in the house with you?”

“Just my kids. My two daughters. Oh, and the dog and me.”

We stood back against the front door. My left arm stretched out in front of my daughter’s chest as if to shield her from being touch by the filth.

“We have a warrant to search these premises”, said one of the officers.
I just let them pass us, what could I do. They came looking for weapons of mass destruction and they won’t find any. Sound familiar?

I could see my youngest being led down the stairs by a female officer. Her pink princess nightgown blew from the draft of the front door being wide open. I looked behind to see how many more police were present; I saw a neighbour’s familiar face. He was on his way to work, a psychiatric nurse and caring father and husband who knew everyone in my home. His face showed more than concern and dismay. He lived around here all his life and knew the drill, only months before had his sons been spared from the destruction of a stray bullet that entered his living room window from a passing ride-by shooting. He tried to smile as if to say keep your head up girl, you are okay, it will soon be over.

We were all then ushered into my back living room, with four police officers, one female, strategically positioned on all sides of the room. This was too fucking real. After a brief introduction by the head honcho, they explained why they had come and what the warrant entailed and the implications on my family if, I say if they find what they are looking for. Is it really?

“So tell me why does your name keep coming up in our information?”

“What? You tell me?”

“Were just trying to do our job, you must understand that!”

“So who do you think sent us?”

“What? I don’t fucking know but I have my own ways of investigation.”

“So go on, who do you think it is?”

“Are you taking the piss?”

“There’s no need for that. We have to act on our information; there’s been a lot of gun crime in the area you know.”

I just looked at my children who had been escorted to the arm chair opposite me, shrouded in a quilt to keep their half naked bodies warm, knowing that the heating had just switched on. I swear I saw red, I got vex and then came a tear. I gritted my teeth and motioned my hand as to encompass the whole of the eight or ten feds in my house. This is a joke, init?

“I don’t know why you’ve come here to violate my home yeah, but I’ll tell you this. I AIN'T A GANG BANGER, IAIN’T A GUN RUNNER oh, and I DON’T HAVE ANY AFFILIATIONS WITH TEENAGE BOYS.”

“Why are we here then?”

“YOU TELL ME! I don’t have any weapons of mass destruction. Look around. Didn’t your informer tell you all about me?”

“Where were you lot when all the shootings were going on, turning up hours later to cordon off the block. Where were you when the gangs of boys were loitering around outside? Huh! Where?
A woman in Moss side had to loose her son before you decide to come here, six months later!

About you want to be walking round with MP2 automatics with live ammunition?”

Silence rang through the room, what no answers, no talk, but wait!

Are you lot for real? There’s bare police turning my house inside out and I have to sit down in one place being questioned and observed. Read my body language if you’re bad, fucking read this.

“You have a really nice home. Its lovely”, said one of the two female officers.


Is she taking the piss?

“We didn’t realise from the outside that it was so big. We need more…”

Blah, blah, blah was all I heard.


“Did you do these paintings yourself?”

“Yes. All of them”

“Did you go to college?”

“What? Yes. If you look you will see, you will find a big framed certificate that says B, A, honours, two one. Oh!”

“Do you sell them?”

I just stood there looking in there blonde faces, it was the Baywatch twins, I swear they are usually on bike patrol. Riding around with their batties in the air, padded up to fuck. Don’t ask me fuck all if you came to my house on your big informants’ word, go ask them. I thought you knew all about me and my ways, because you done know am a threat to national security.

“Nah, apparently I’m a black artist!”

Just stick to the racial profile and stereotypical view that you had when you prejudged me by knocking off my door this morning. I’m an uneducated hood rat, init Mrs Bin Ladin, that’s me!

“You lot gave me a CRB check so I could mentor teenagers, teach young offenders, and your all up in me yard. Again! Wait, didn’t you try to come here looking for some dude who don’t live here just the other day?”

It was then I remembered the last time fuckry came to my door because someone was chatting shit.

“That was back in October” said the Colin Farrell looky likey.

“Yeah so, I knew I’d seen you before somewhere. It was here! You were here the last time and you were wrong then weren’t you and you didn’t get the opportunity to exercise your powers?”

I remember calling him a freak last time. He came with big and bigger officers talking about can they come in as they have information that there was a man living on the premises. I stopped them right then and there. There are and have never been any men living under my roof, oh! He was covered in tattoos, those that could be seen through his protective vest, short sleeved tee shirt and jeans. Oh, didn’t you realise you were all being observed. Pleasure, pain and the police mans work of art covering his body. He can’t tell me that it didn’t hurt the first time he tattooed his skin, how much of enjoyed it to have continued to mark up the rest of his body. I believe the word I’m looking for is sadomasochism, like I said; he’s a freak, super freak.

“Who sent you lot to mash up my home

Looking for gats? Tell them I said they can nyam shit.

“Nah! They’re not nice!”

My face was contorted, I could smell shit. Bullshit. This was bullshit. Who the fuck sent feds to my yard? I would find out, you done know. It was month four day seventeen and they had been coming from the eleventh! Yeah, this is fuckry and am not in it!

But wait, this means that someone about me is a born informer, better still feds must have trusted them for years for them to just act on any old information. Wait, it just gets worse.

There is some big shotta mole chatting to feds all day long, do they get paid? They get fifty buff on The Bill. The Sell out bustards!

Ooh, I feel sorry for who ever sent five-0 to mi yard, dats not nice but, it has exposed some fucker for who and what they really are. Who is it? Who can it possibly be, friend or enemy? Freinemy! Some one’s been watching and hating on me hard, what because I’m in my house taking care of mine, cooking and cleaning every day. Bruk every weekend hoping the petrol lasts for the school run on Monday. Yeah, and I’ve still got time to be a hot gyal, is it? Is it! Really?

Watch me yes.

This is me, I feel so I write

This blog is a testament to my feelings. The feelings that you cannot control dismiss or ignore. I’m standing here on the foundations of my life. I am but one woman, I have just one heart but god blessed me with two beautiful children. I stand here – admiring my garden and all that it contains. What can I say?
How can i say it?
What can I say?
How can i say it?
What can I say?
How can I say it?
What can I say?
How can i say it?
What can I say?
How, how, how?

Well it goes a little something like this, hit it!