Correction to Marriage Failure Blog...

I HAVE seen Paddy since the 'mental Scream outfit' incident and I saw him (and Siobhan) quite a bit before my wedding, actually in July 2007.  The weekend I got engaged.  How could I forget?  How could I possibly have blocked THAT from my mind?

PS - the rest of this blog is more than a correction, it actually goes on to describe the whole marriage proposal...you might want to go back to Facebook now that the correction has been made clear...

***

I was desperate to see Barbra Streisand live in concert and knew that if I didn't book tickets as soon as they came out,  I'd never do it.  She was playing in Dublin in the summer of 2007.  I HAD to go.  I paid for both of us to go (me and him).  AND I bought 2 extra tickets.  Why?  Because I'm a Fifer and I thought "well, I need 2 tickets, so I'll buy 4 and sell the other 2 for a profit on the door".

I ended up selling the other 2 tickets for less than I paid for them.  Clearly I'm Arthur Daly but with a subdural hematoma.  I lost £100!

Anyway...

We flew to Dublin on Ryanair. I paid 10p each for the flights, £10.00 each for carrying a carrier bag on board, £20.00 each for an in-flight vodka and £47.00 each to pish it back out. 

We arrived in Dublin, farted about on the trams and finally reached Paddy's house where I officially introduced 'him' to my ex who then showed us to our bedroom.  Apparently that's weird! My ex showing me into a bedroom with another man?  Eh?

I got on with Siobhan (Paddy's woman) like a house on fire.  She is lovely and a far better woman for Paddy than I would ever have been.  She's has him right under the thumb, I would have had him right under an axe.  She is now married to him and has his baby.  We still speak.  I plan to go to Dublin soon for a weekend, purely to see the bambino and get set up with Paddy's hairy arsed Irish mates.

Anyway...

Me and 'him' went to the Babs concert and I cried as soon as the orchestra kicked in.  You have to understand, this is the thing I'd been waiting for ALL my life.  Well, since I was 15 anyway.  Unlike many other women, a husband was NEVER on my to do list.  Seeing Barbra was.  Swimming with Great White sharks is.  Inventing a chemical that eradicates dark roots is.  Finding control pants that hold you in instead of pushing the fat upwards is.  Finding a red wine that doesn't make you look like some black toothed gypsy after 46 glasses is.

A husband?  Not so much.  Now I know why.

Anyway...

Babs was just too much to take in.  She was singing.  She had people sitting, suspended from the ceiling, in spotlight seats.  I think I made a mess of my pants with a little bit of wee.  I could die happy. 

I would like to mention at this point that I didn't know beforehand that it was an outside venue, so I'd turned up in a skirt and stiletto heels, wearing a 'booby top' and no sleeves.  It would be fair to say that, after 10 minutes, I was freezing aforementioned tits off.  I didn't care.  I won't even mention the portaloos, the bog roll stuck to my shoe and the plastic poncho - did I mention it pissed down for most of the show?

Anyway...

It got to the interval.  I was buzzing.  I was excited and nothing could bring me down.  Until I realised I needed another wee.  This meant I had to go back to the portaloos.  This meant I would probably end up with bog roll stuck to the bottom of my New Look shoes, again.  This meant I would probably end up with my poncho tucked into my pants, again.  I made it back to my seat, after fighting my way through a gaggle of crying gays, and 'he' decided we should go and see the front of the stage.  I wasn't sure cos of the mud,  my inappropriate footwear and the 46 mile hike involved as we were right in the back cos I could only afford the cheap seats!*

I struggled to the front, slipping and sliding and getting wet wipes thrown at me from the folk in the pricey seats (cos the mud was all up my legs).  I am so pleased that I made it.  I turned into techie bird.  The lighting rig alone was worth over about £100,500,000.  AMAZING.  I was in techie/singer/actor/director/general theatre mode.  I wanted her mic.  I wanted to BE her.  I was getting excited at the sight of Babs' tea table and teapot (she always drinks green tea on stage).  You could say I was slightly preoccupied.

I hadn't even noticed that 'he' had got down on one knee.

He asked me to marry him.

Wow, I was in performer mode and was NOT expecting it.  Plus there was now a camera in my face, beaming my image onto 20ft high screens.

I have now had the luxury of hindsight.  Looking back, I wasn't that excited but because 25,000 people were watching and expecting an answer, I said YES.  Did I really mean it.  Holy shit, I don't know.  At the time I thought I did. The show must go on and all that...

Thinking back, the fact that I made an excuse not to phone and tell my bestest friends in the world (who know me better than I know myself) tells me a lot.  I just didn't see it at the time.  Who doesn't phone their best pals when they've just been proposed to?  

I know who.  

Someone who is scared that her friends will tell her the actual truth.  Someone who knows that her friends have seen everything and will tell her it's not right. Someone who wants, just for tonight, to pretend it's perfect.  The way it's supposed to be.

Babs finished chanting.  I was still crying - a mix of overwhelming adoration for the artist on stage and an impending dread that my life was about to change forever and that I had just facilitated it happening...

Me and H2B (hubby to be) waited in the queue for taxis like normal people and H2B was telling everyone we were engaged. He had used his mums engagement ring to propose "because I know you'll want to design your own ring but I wanted something to give you"...what was wrong with the ring pull off a can?  Just asking.  Why did his mum have to infiltrate her way into EVERY situation?

We finally made it back to 'chez ex' and Paddy and Siobhan were waiting with champers, bless them (they knew H2B was going to propose). I can't believe I didn't see it coming.  I thought he would at least wait until Christmas after our latest drama had time to settle down!  Ooft!

Anyway...

We had a lovely night but, thinking back, there was something in Paddy's demeanour that told me it wasn't all okay.

Jump forward...

I now find myself a divorced (mental) woman and the words of Paddy's last phone call still ring in my head:

"well, he did always smell a bit of the lavender if you ask me"

Yep, Paddy thinks hubby was more than a little effeminate. So does my gay mate Will.  Even after our wedding, Paddy & Will were still not sure.  Feck.  It turns out they weren't the only ones.  Holy Jesus!  Perhaps I'll never know for sure.  What I do know is, he used to laugh with his mum on the phone at my shit interior design skills.  Apparently, having things placed symmetrically on the windowsill is SO not the done thing and neither is wearing spots and stripes.  Erm, fuck off, you're not Colin OR Justin OR Gok Wan.

The interesting thing about my time as a married woman is that I learned how to make soup from scratch.  I learned to bake cakes.  I wore a pinny and tied my hair back when cooking.  I was nice to children to try and prove I'd be a good mum. I never drank on a school night.  I went to church more regularly than when I was 15 and in the Girl Guides and was forced to go every month cos of 'church parade'. ** 

I am now back to being normal ME.  

I buy my soup from Lidl. I NEVER wear my hair back (mainly cos it shows the roots).  I am not nice to (shitty) children.  I make it a point to always have an excuse to drink on a school night.  I have never set foot in a church since our last outing as a married couple (which I think I touched on in an earlier blog)! It still gives me nightmares!

I am back to putting my name in everything (like when you are 5 and your mum has to sew your name on stuff).  I want to know I'll get all my books back if it goes to pot - "I belong to Helen Raw, aged 36" has been written in PERMANENT marker on all my CD's, DVD'S and inside ALL my books and annuals. 

I am not saying I will never get married again.  I am not saying I will be single forever.  However, finding someone who is as much fun as me is going to be hard.  I love hanging out with myself.  I have an account with Ann Summers (sorry mum) and I have AMAZING friends.  Nothing is missing.  If someone wants to come along and ADD to what I have, then fab. If not, ach well, cheerio!

The moral of this blog:  next time I see Barbra Streisand in concert, I'm going by myself.

* The cheap seats were £150 a head!

** Church parade was basically normal church but we walked down the middle of the audience, in full regalia with flags, before the man in the dress started talking!  I still don't get it!

Further Reading:

A Subdural Hematoma is a collection of blood on the surface of the brain. 

Symptoms

• Confused speech
• Difficulty with balance or walking
• Headache
• Lethargy or confusion
• Loss of consciousness
• Nausea and vomiting
• Numbness
• Seizures
• Slurred speech
• Visual disturbances

Incontinence Pants, Funeral Homes and Faberge Eggs

I really need to set up a magazine subscription so I have something to look forward to and open that isn't a bill, council tax demand or sales enquiry for mucus plugs.

I used to get excited every week when the new Beano, Dandy, Jackie or Serial Killer Magazine/Comic dropped on the door mat with it's freebie packet of 'Exploding Candy' or 'Crime Scene Gloves' attached...not anymore. 

Apparently, based on the mail I have started receiving, Faberge Eggs and funeral plans are what I should be thinking about now. 

Not sure how I feel about that cos 

a) I hate Faberge Eggs and only know what they are cos of the film 'Serial Mom' 
b) I am only a 36 year old (albeit divorced) woman 

c) I couldn't give a fishes tit what happens at my funeral - as long as I'm ACTUALLY dead when I go into the ground or fires of hell, I don't really care what hymns are sung or what colour my poxy flowers are - COS I'M DEAD!! 

On the funeral subject, since you brought it up, the only thing for sure that I would like are bells on my coffin, attached by unsnappable twine, to my mouth, each foot, each hand and both my bum cheeks so I can twitch or clench one or all of them to set the bells off should it turn out I've been buried alive without my consent.  If bells are not available, then BGT* type buzzers will be acceptable - and probably funnier!  

Obviously, if I've been buried alive in a coffin at the funeral home having been placed on top of a random dead body, bound and gagged, all without my consent, the bells ain't gonna happen.  In fact, people might not have even twigged I'm even missing yet.... Shit!

Okay, what I am suggesting now may cause alarm and a sharp intake of breath, however, think of the number of lives that could be saved.

I am requesting that seconds before a coffin goes into the ground/fire, someone has a quick keek to make sure

i) there is only 1 body inside

ii) the body inside isn't still alive.

You can never be too careful with these mental serial killer types and I hope my proposed changes  (point i and ii above) to the current rules take effect immediately so that I am never in the situation of being buried alive, on top of another body, about to be buried or cremated, without my consent.  The present situation is that funeral homes assume that everyone is dead, a very dangerous assumption in my view.

An easy way to bring about this change would be to either 

a) make it mandatory for all coffins have see-through lids

b) make it mandatory for all coffins to have, at least, a 'larger than A4' sized glass window on the lid. 

Once it is absolutely sure that I am, in fact, dead, you can stick me where you like.  I'll already be off haunting folks and poltergeisting the shit out of people I've never liked, so don't think it really matters.

This sort of went off on a tanget, all because at 36, I got a leaflet about funeral expenses.  The good thing about that is, this blog has possibly brought about a change in funeral home law and saved the lives of many 'buried alive without their consent' victims.

For the record, I will not be buying a self coiling hose, a shower seat or a twatting Faberge Egg!

However, I am slightly interested in the reusable incontinence pants, only because, even though I've never had a child or any other reason for 'slackage' to occur, I sometimes find myself having a little bit of wee when I laugh, sneeze, stand up, talk, breathe or run for a bus.  I am not saying I will be wearing a pair the next time you meet me but I am not saying that I will not be wearing a pair the next time you meet me.  Ask if you dare!

* BGT - Britain's Got Talent

Proof of all the shite I received this week:

Betting Slips, Squatters and That Fluffy Thing From The Neverending Story

Dreams are the touchstones of our character - Henry David Thoreau 

Oh bollocks!  Not sure what last nights dream says about my character or mental stability...

Here goes.

I got home late from a meeting to find my iPod playing AHA (nothing unusual really as my iPod and radio tend to switch themselves on quite regularly.  I also often leave Magic FM playing to put off burglars)...

...anyway, I got home and I didn't have a bath as normal because the bathroom was out of action because an ill black horse was standing in the bath with the shower curtain pulled around it so you could only see its bum.  There were some fairy lights around the top of the shower curtain but other than that the room was dark.  

The horse had been in my bathroom for about the last 6 months and although alive, just stood perfectly still, not eating, drinking or pooing.  It was being hidden in my flat because it was storing winning betting slips in its mouth and stomach and we weren't to let the 'mob' find out.

I kept asking people about the well-being of the horse but had been assured that it was drugged and sedated and was perfectly happy.

I checked the horse was breathing by listening at the door and went to bed.

I woke up a few minutes later to see 2 blokes in my kitchen walking around with coffee cups.  I thought it was weird but assumed they were workmen who had just let themselves in and I went back to sleep.

I woke up properly (properly in my dream!) 10 minutes later and went into the living room to find the place trashed, all the windows open and 4 goth squatters camping out.  They were all smoking which made me go off on one.  I asked them what the hell they were doing in my flat and they said "it's your turn to have us for the night".  This was a perfectly logical answer.  I told them that they should just help themselves to drinks and snacks but under no circumstances were they to touch or speak to the horse in the bathroom.  

As the goths were leaving, I noticed that they had trashed the spare room so I made them tidy it before they left and put the mattresses back on the correct beds.  I also made them spray febreeze cos of the fags they'd been smoking.

As they were leaving, I peeked into the bathroom and saw that they had actually been in there, despite all my warnings.  There was toothpaste and wet towels everywhere.  I was raging but they were all running down the stairs laughing.

I went into the bathroom to clean up for the horse and I poked it in by the tail to see if it was actually alive.  The poke made it do that Black Beauty thing and go up on its back legs and make horsey noises.  It jumped out of the bath and then proceeded to vomit up the winning betting slips in my hall.

The paper vomit amounted to around £44million of uncashed slips, lottery tickets and bonds (I don't even know what a bond is).  I was quite excited, but was more concerned that the horse was talking to me and telling my how ill hanging onto the slips had made him.  He was covered in slime and then turned into the fluffy white dragon/camel/horse thing from The Neverending Story (theme song by Limahl) and proceeded to crash out in the hall.

I sat in the hall cuddling the horse thing for ages, then it went off out for a run to get used to not being a horse anymore.  I started cleaning up the flat after the squatting goths.

The horse thing came back and became my new pet.  I told my mum about the winning slips and she said I was to leave them for her to sort out because she knew a woman who worked in Woolworths who would be able to cash them for me.

Dear god, what does it all mean?

Birthday Party

I spent the afternoon in hospital at a birthday party. 

 

A young lad who attended one of the film making workshops I run for outreach groups turned 25 today.

 

He is a proud father, he is a son, he is a brother, he is an uncle.  He is hilarious, he is full of life and has a very definite twinkle in his eye, especially when you mention boobs.  

 

In May this year, he was jumped by a couple of lads.  The reason?  He was on the wrong side of town and didn't have the £1 they demanded.

 

The beat him so badly he lost consciousness.  When he was down and incapacitated, they jumped up and down repeatedly on his head.  His girlfriend managed to get away and call for help.

 

He was in a coma for almost 4 months.  He woke up a changed man.   

 

He is now confined to a wheelchair, gets fed through a tube in his stomach, is fitted with a permanent catheter, gets daily botox injections to allow his arm to move and he cannot speak properly or swallow at all.  He cannot move his legs and the entire right hand side of his body is almost totally paralysed.  He can understand what you say but can only communicate back at the most basic level.  

 

He is likely to need 24/7 residential care for the rest of his life.

 

He dreams of the day he can take his first mouthful of solid food (which, 2 weeks ago was to be a massive pepperoni pizza that he "will NOT share", but today he was swithering and thinks it might be mince instead!).

 

He dreams of the day he can have a kick around in the garden with his footie mad uncle and rib him about being a Rangers fan when "Celtic are clearly the best"!

 

He dreams of the day when he can walk down the street.

 

He dreams of the day when he can brush his own teeth.

 

He dreams of the day when he can go to the toilet by himself. 

 

It's all okay though cos the guys who jumped repeatedly on his head and caused him to be like this are 'out on bail', hanging around the local primary school.  

 

Did I mention that one hour after they'd finished stamping on his head, they went to another part of Edinburgh and stabbed another young lad?  Presumably, they still needed a £1.

 

They are both out walking the streets until their court appearance in November.  Why?  Because they are 15.  They are up for attempted murder and are outside making the most of what time they have in case they are sent to 'bad boy' school for a year or so.

 

WHY? WHY? WHY? WHY? WHY? WHY? WHY? WHY? WHY? WHY? WHY? WHY?

 

If only he had had that £1 to hand over to them. 

• A bag of Farmfoods frozen mince = £1.00

• Saved from a life in a wheelchair, being fed through a tube = £1.00

What a bargain. But would it have made a difference?

 

*** 

The little fuckers better hope they don't cross my path in court in November.

 

Assuming no learning or developmental issues, after the age of 7 you understand the difference between right and wrong - John Venables, Robert Thompson, Mary Bell - all under 15, all committed horrible acts of fatal cruelty against other children and are now living free as birds with brand new identities.

 

My lad doesn't want a brand new identity, he just wants his old one back.  

 

I guess he is supposed to be thankful that they hadn't quite practiced their beatings or stabbings enough so didn't manage to actually kill him or the other lad.

Just give them time...

 

Justice?  What a fucking mockery.  

 

25 Random Things

This was a Facebook note I wrote ages ago.  

The title says it all, you had to write 25 random things you didn't think people knew about you.

Think it kind of works as a blog post...

1. When I ran Act One, a children's theatre company (when I was 17), we organised a fundraising stall at the Dalgety Bay Gala. Glen Michael was the guest of honour for the day and he visited our stall. He cheated at 'Splat the Rat' so I gave him a mouthful. The Cartoon Cavalcade was never the same again.

2. I lost out to Steven Rodgers in Primary school for a chance to appear on Jim'll Fix It. I'm not bitter about it. But honestly, he got on the show with Musical Youth and I wanted to be April in the A-Team - you tell me, which would have made the better show....honestly? (Read 'Jim'll Fix it! Oh No He Fecking Won't' for more information!)

3. I put ketchup on nearly everything and have a real fondness for gravy. 

4. My claim to fame is that I gave Morag from 'Take The High Road' a lift home after we'd finished filming. 

5. My other claim to fame is that when I worked on cruise ships, I did karaoke with Patrick Swayze and Shaft (the original and best). Love the Swayze. Didn't like Shaft's cigars but I did fix him up with the Polish cellist!

6. I love anything and everything 80's and owned several ‘reversible’ jumpers. 

7. I love movies and all things musical theatre (except The Sound of Music, Fiddler on the Roof and The King & I - yes I've been in them all and they are all pants!!) 

8. I have a reduced lung capacity due to my asthma - my breath doesn't go all the way down apparently! Although, bespectacled chaps and dwarves on an evening jaunt with my friends have often lamented that I have a fair set of lungs, so not sure where the doctors are coming from… 

9. I met Princess Anne at Navy Days and spoke to her for 10 minutes about being in the Girl Guides - I now understand her confusion; I looked like a boy who had stolen his mums batwing jumper to wear for the day! 

Shaky!

10. My first ‘proper’ stage gig was as a washer-woman dancing with a broom to Shakin’ Stevens’ ‘This Ole House’ when I was about 8. 

11. I love horror films and have a big doll of Michael Myers (Halloween) – when you press the button on his back, Jamie Lee Curtis screams for her life – Christmas present from my mental sis…class! 






12. I'm a bit of a geek - I can tell you anything about time of death and insect infestation, but I can tell you bugger all about the latest fashion - are ra ra skirts back yet? 

13. I have no peripheral vision – only found out when I was wearing a panda suit and drinking Stella at a pub family day – could only see out of one panda eye! Had major surgery where they popped my eyeballs out but I lived to tell the tale, although I can’t see you creeping up on me anymore…*sigh*. 

14. I love fancy dress parties and go all out to win the best costume prize - my costumes have included: Heinz ketchup bottle, pantomime cow, bumble bee and mini-me. 

15. I secretly want to be Wonder-Woman but I know I'm too clumsy and nowhere near sexy enough - I'd have to be the gobby, slightly sarcastic older sister in an all-in-one cossie, instead. 

16. I can recite the opening credits to the A-Team and do so every time I've had beer - it impresses boys. I can also recite the theme tune to 'Supergran', this is not so impressive to boys but makes me giggle!

17. I’ve been chatted up by a dwarf (a proper one, not just a small man). 

18. Mick Hucknall tried to pull my friend and I gave him a talking to for being unpleasant – he’s not a nice ginger and he has gold bits in his teeth.  

19. New York and Disneyworld are two of my favourite places in the world. 

20. I’ve joined a search party with Claire and Faith to look for a dead body and been questioned by the Minnesota Police. I also have my own file with FBI as I keep pestering them for work experience in the Behavioural Science Dept at Quantico. 

21. I’ve made a man-eating plant out of chicken wire and crepe paper. 

22. My best friends today are people I’ve known for over 20 years and I have to be nice to them in case I ever get famous – their stories would bring me down to Chinatown

23. I’ve had my heart and spirit broken during my short life but I’m still here, because I’m like a Weeble: ‘always wobble but never fall down'

24. I try to find the humour in every situation, no matter how inappropriate… 

25. I’ve watched Friday the 13th in a cabin, in the middle of the woods, whilst working at a summer camp…(with the man whose body was mentioned in point 20, long story!)

26. I want to put the buzz back into the performance world in Scotland and will do everything I can to make that happen – Actors Centre, Scotland; here we come…oh yes and one day I’d like to win an Oscar. 

27. I hardly ever follow the rules – hence I have 27 random things in a project clearly titled ‘25 random things’!

I had this as a transfer ironed on to a jumper when I was wee!

 

Marriage Failure...

I have just remembered.  This could explain everything.  

***

The night before my wedding:

We were having dinner with a bunch of friends and family who had travelled from Darlington, Manchester, Blackburn, Dublin and Hell to be with us.

We were all having a laugh and throwing chips at each other...sorry, me and Steve (who I went to playgroup with and fought over the cheap and nasty kettle in the wendyhouse with) were throwing chips at each other.  

We were generally setting a good example to Lili, my gorgeous goddaughter (who came from Steve's loins - which still amazes me, thank god mum Michelle is 'slightly' normal!).  Lili was supposed to walk down the aisle with me, chucking rose petals in my wake, but had a diva episode and didn't bother chucking anything other than a strop!

Anyway, I got all excited when my ex 'boyfriend', Paddy (not a joke) from Dublin (honest, not a joke), turned up with his beautiful, lovely lady Siobhan (who is now his wife and mother to his child who's name I still can't spell cos it's Irish).  

I hadn't seen Paddy since the night he stayed at mine and almost died of fright!  I got bored in the middle of the night and got dressed up as that mentalist killer from 'Scream' complete with 'blood pishing down the face' mask and black hooded shroud, holding a plastic cleaver (incidentally, the same plastic cleaver that I cut my divorce cake with...).  I heavy breathed over him, whilst he slept, for 15 minutes until he woke up.  

I've never seen a grown, hairy arsed man move so fast.  He jumped around my flat shouting 'bejeezuz, holy feck, fuck ya fucking fucker, jeezuz fuck' all whilst trying to, unsuccessfully, get out of the flat.  Not once did he stop and ask or wonder where I was!  I could have been dead in the airing cupboard for all he cared!  He was just focussed on getting away from the mental man in the shroud with the cleaver!

He managed to lock himself in the bathroom and screamed even more when he came face to face with my shower curtain.  The silhouette of the 'old woman' from the Psycho shower scene!

It made me laugh out loud that he was screaming like a girl.  Happy days.  Don't think he has forgiven me yet.

Anyway, I digress.

The night before my wedding, my mum had to remove the glass of red from my hand and remind me that the point of the weekend was not to have a reunion with all the cool friends and family I hadn't seen in ages, but to change the rest of my life and commit myself to a lovely young man (mentalist) and that I should not be a minging hungover bint (I think those were her words but I might have made that up to make this a bit funnier) on the morning of my nuptials.

Me and my mum headed upstairs (my hubby-to-be had gone ages ago...) and we headed into the suite next door to H-2-B and his best man.

My hubby-to-be and his best man read poetry and bible snippets to each other all evening.

Me and my mum swapped presents and the watched Wolf Creek, giggling.

Think that says it all really.

(Wolf Creek + Tipsy Giggling) + (Sober Poetry + Jesus) = AMHO (Absolute Mismatch of the Highest Order).  

Ach well, you live and learn!

All my mates that were at the 'night before the wedding' and 'the wedding' are all still my mates so I can't really grumble!

Chicken Breasts, Rock Fish and A Blood Clot - Forensic Course Update 1

Week 2 of my forensic course and tonight saw me crowned teachers pet. 

The pathologist lecturer was brilliant.  He told us a story about a call-out he had one night saying a heart had been found and the police needed him to take it away to ascertain the ID of the person it had come from.  He showed us a picture slide.  He kept referring to the 'heart' but something just seemed odd to me.  I remembered the words of our first lecturer last week:

"question everything and if something does not seem right, don't assume the person at the front of the class a) knows everything b) isn't testing you to see how much you are actually taking in."

With these words ringing in my head I slowly, gingerly put my hand in the air.  The pathologist stopped talking and pointed to me and our conversation went as follows:

P: Yes?
H: I'm sorry, did you say that was a heart?
P: Yes.
H: It's just it really looks like a chicken breast to me and I see no ventricles to indicate it is a heart.  Have they been cut away or are you tricking us?
P: How dare you suggest that I don't know the difference between a heart and a chicken breast.
H: I'm not suggesting that at all, I'm just saying that the picture you are showing us is definitely a chicken breast, albeit a bit of a veiny one so it was probably bought in Lidl

The rest of class (who are police officers and procurator fiscals) were gasping at this point.  I was getting decidely red as I didn't intend to offend him...

P: so, are you saying that I have put a picture of a chicken breast on the screen just to see if anyone would question me?
H: Yes.
P: well, you are correct, it is a chicken breast.  Now, who else in the class thought it was a chicken breast but didn't have the balls to question it?

A couple of hands went up.  Phew, thank god it wasn't just me but apparently I was the only one brave enough to speak up.

I didn't see it as being brave, I just didn't believe it was a heart.  I'm not paying all this money to sit quietly and assume that everything they are telling me is true...I am there to question and learn properly for myself.

We were asked to identify the next slide.  I put my hand up triumphantly and said "it's an eel".

Nope, it was a blood clot.  But it looked exactly like an eel.  You can't win em all, not everything is a trick!

However, later in the class, he passed round an 'organ in a jar' and asked us to identify it.  I wanted to keep quiet but it's just not in my nature and I don't care if what I say sounds totally tittish!  I asked him if it was definitely an organ and he said "yes, why", "well, it looks awfully like a rock fish and I can't think of anything in my body that has a bit that looks like a tail".  Some of the class sniggered at me.  The jar kept being passed round.

Ha, it WAS a rock fish!  How did I know?  Cos they have one in Deep Sea World and I recognised it a mile away!

The lecturer was excellent and although the autopsy photos were horrendous to look at and the chat about dead babies, shaken baby syndrome and abuse in babies was severely grim, I have learned more tonight than I ever have reading a Tess Gerritsen book (although I still think she's fab and can't wait for her new one!).

Suffice to say,  I am loving the course but I can see from tonight that it is going to get more minging as we go!

I've also asked if I can sit in on an autopsy and have been told that I need to write a letter outlining my reasons why, what my background is and a business case for being involved.  Not sure if "I'm an actor and singer and I did a speech on Jack The Ripper in first year and have read everything James Patterson, Tess Gerittsen and Kathy Reichs have ever written and I want to write a script about a SOCO and a criminal profiler that is accurate to Scotland" will be enough to swing it but I'm gonna bloody well try!

Roll on 'Blood Spatter' week :-)

Sleeping Rough - A Blow By Blow Account

Wednesday October 6th

It was midnight.  I was checking out the charity website as my pal was going to be sleeping rough for charity on Friday 8th October.  I had sponsored him already.  I wanted to know if they would be doing a similar event in Scotland that I could do later in the year/next year.  It turned out that they were doing Edinburgh on the same night!  

I was due to be meeting my mate Mark for dinner and a catch up on the Friday night.  I decided that maybe raising some money for kids with no house would be a more effective use of my Friday night.  I texted Mark to try and rearrange our night but instead, I ended up talking him into doing it with me!

I registered on the charity website at 0100 that morning, knowing that I had to raise a minimum of £500 before the event (no pressure then)! 

Thursday October 7th

I set up my fundraising page at 0700 (the virgin site was down overnight) and by 0900 I had my first donation.

I bugged people on Facebook, I sent emails and texts.  Money started coming in.  I bugged people on Facebook some more. 

Friday October 8th (up to 2300)

By 1530 (yes, not even 33 hours later) I had hit my target of £500.  Wow!

I arrived at the hotel for registration at 1930 and met Mark who I had not seen in the flesh since our days in Carnegie Youth Theatre.  Neither of us had changed at all really.  We had a good old catch up and a free drink (always a bonus) then we were herded into the main room.  The hotel had laid on some food so we had a wee portion of lasagne and another wine (not free this time, boo).  Des Clarke, very funny man, hosted the start of the night and introduced the main people at the charity 'Action for Children' and then we were introduced to Rachel.

Rachel, first got involved with Action for Children when she was just 15.  She felt she had no other option but to make herself homeless because her home life was so full of neglect due to her drug addicted parents. She feared she would end up as bad as them or dead and she desperately wanted to break the cycle she found herself in.  Listening to her was an incredibly humbling experience.

Rachel is now at college, has a job and her own bedsit. She's an inspiration and really put it all in perspective.  I struggled to hold back the tears and decided that after tonight, I would definitely get more involved in the charity.

After our heart strings had been pulled, we then had a raffle (we all put a tenner into envelopes with our names on) and I won dinner for 2 at a posh castle in Fort William - I've donated this to my mum and Bob who pumped £100 into my fundraising page, it was the only right thing to do - plus, being a divorced woman I'd have to go by myself and as fun as that would be, it seemed an awful waste of a second dinner!

We had a quiz and realised they were just filling in time until 2300 when we would start heading to the field!  The reason for their timings was simple.  Real homeless people cannot 'settle down' for the night until around 2300/0000 because they are always moved on before then.  Real homeless people have to be up and off again at 0600 otherwise they are moved on and face a drama with the police and/or shop owners...

Friday October 8th - THE NIGHT

2315: We arrive at the field (Holyrood Park) in the pitch black

2316: I try to get my Argos sleeping bag out of my car without dropping all my crap everywhere

2330: We walk and stumble across the field and find a spot (after doing the 'dog shit check') to 'pitch' for the night

2335: It was blowing a gale as we tried to pin down our groundsheets.  We have no camping equipment cos it wasn't allowed so we had to use our brollies as pitching stick things

2345:  It starts to drizzle with rain, but our brollies are otherwise engaged.

2347: I put my big fluffy hat on

Saturday 9th October

0000: I wander over to the toilet block to make sure they had bog roll, bought a £1.99 pizza for a tenner on my way back and sat down with my news pals on our wet groundsheet

0020: Holy shit, the night is going slowly

0030: Get the box of wine out and have a laugh with my new pal  (mark has already decided to get tucked up and try to sleep)

0050: We decide to have a sack race in our survival sacks (massive thick bin bags!)

0055: I win the first race and my pal decided it wasn't fair because she is disabled and has a club foot and couldn't walk properly in her socks - we had a rematch after she put her shoes on

0100: I won second time and was called a cheat because I didn't have a club foot(?!)

0115: We drank a bit more red wine and failed miserably to light our scented candle (it was blowing a gale to be fair)

0300: Some fit boys came over to our groundsheet cos we were the only others still awake.  They were drinking Buckfast and we were now on water!

0310: We decided to have more sack races but this time, you could trip other people up and generally cheat like a fecker!

0325: Got up off the wet muddy floor after being battered round the napper with a glow stick and came 3rd in our 10th race!

0430: we all decided we should try and get some sleep...

0530: still wide awake cos it's freezing, blowing a gale and there's a really wet har (fog for the non Scots!)  all round the field

0600: the charity women 'wake' us up and told us coffee was now in the tent

0600:30: I've got my lips round my first cup of the day, freezing like it's the arctic and wishing I could magic myself home

0700: I drop Marky Mark off at the station and head to Tesco to pick up some milk - in my muddy minging clothes, wearing a fluffy Russian hat, with breath like dead maggots and looking like I'd been held captive somewhere for months

0730: I got home and just dumped all my crap in the spare room and shut the door.  If you can't see it, you don't need to tidy it!

0800: I got in the bath and have never felt so happy and warm

0810: I started crying because I realised that real homeless people never have a bath and warmth to look forward to.  I realised that there are some people in this world who have nothing to look forward to.  I realised that there are people in this world who live the most awful life.  I realised that more must be done.

Saturday 9th October (continued...)

I spent the day trying to sleep but to no avail. Think it was my brains way of making me suffer as much as possible!

I chatted to some mates on the phone and SKYPE I watched a couple of films, I practically memorised the Action for Children website.

I finally went to bed at about 2100 and continued farting about with work stuff.  I was still awake at 0200!  Any need?!

Sunday 10th October
I must have finally got some sleep as I woke up at 1030.  I tried to get out of bed and realised I couldn't actually move.  My bones were stiff as boards and my legs were like jelly.  The aching started at my head and finished at my feet.  I walked to the kettle looking and feeling like a 98 year old.  Holy crap.  If that's how my body reacts after sleeping rough for ONE night.  How the hell do all those people who do it EVERY night cope?  

Cope?  Is that even the right choice of word?  Should they even HAVE to cope with it?

In this day and age, in a supposedly developed country, why are there so many children and young people forced to live outside like feral animals.  They don't WANT to live like that.  Many CHOOSE to live like that because it's better than their alternative - FUCK SAKE!  Imagine how bad their lives must be if sleeping on the streets is BETTER.

Folks, next time you see a homeless person on the street, instead of walking past, feeling all self righteous and indignant.  Ask yourself WHY they are there in the first place.  I tell you, in many cases the answer is not because they really WANT to be but because it's BETTER than what they had.  In other cases it's because they lost everything they had overnight...

...many people are only a paycheck away from finding themselves homeless.  Remember that next time you stick your nose in the air as you walk past someone sleeping in a doorway.