Childish Put-Me-Downs...

Isn't it funny how children can put you down with one word, one sentence.  They can halt the conversation with one full swoop and I don't mean with the usual 'where do babies come from?' question.

Your favourite for dinner!!  Don't want it.
Can you tidy up please!?  Why? Who's coming?
Tadaaaa!  Wow! Mum's wearing make-up...

I love recounting tales of my childhood to my own children.  Back in the day, memories viewed through rosy coloured specs when everything was good.  We seemed to do so much more back then compared to kids nowadays, but that's a different story.  One day after much harassment for another story, I decided to tell them about the night I met a jackal...

The night was moist... the rain had stopped and there was a low rumble of thunder in the background.  I was about 15 years old, and my parents had (shock, horror) left me home alone while they did the monthly shop.  I was quite happy though - house to myself and my beloved dog to protect me.

Although the thunder made me flinch, I was happy watching tv.  The lamp cast a cosy glow over the room and the fire made everything so snug.  Lovely, and I hoped that my parents took their time!

Quite out of the blue, something caught the dog's attention.  Her ears pricked up, she sniffed the air and made a low growl as she looked towards the living room door.  I stroked her and asked what was wrong, but my touch and words were ignored as she stalked towards the door.  The lowly growl turned into panicked barks, she jumped, clawed the door and pranced around on all fours.

As this was happening, my curiosity was turning to all out fear.  The hair on my arms was standing as the cold realisation hit me that someone could be standing on the other side of the door.  And I was alone.

I paced, wringing my palms wondering what to do.  And all the while, the dog was still prancing... still barking.. still growling.  I looked longingly out of the window towards the drive, where my parents' car should have been.  The drive was empty.  The phone was in the hallway.  I knew I had to open that door.

I grabbed the dog by the collar (I was so afraid that she would be hurt if someone was there) and gingerly turned the handle on the door.  The glow from the room that was once so cosy spilled out into the long, dark hallway.

And there at my feet, right by the door stood what I can only describe as a jackal.  It stood there defiantly in the shadows, it's ears pricked up and it held my shocked stare.  I released the dog at that point and she chased the little creature along the hallway and into the kitchen.  As I followed, I saw that the back door was lying wide open to the elements.  I ran through the door and into the back garden.

The rain had stopped and left a damp blanket on everything.  The thunder rumbled in the background and my beloved dog was running around in circles, whining and yelping.  She was fine, unhurt but the jackal was nowhere to be seen.  The back garden was 'dog-proof' to prevent our dog from getting out - and any dog from getting in.  The gate was closed.  There was absolutely no way out.

I called the dog back into the house, closed all the doors, put on all the lights and pushed the sofa against the living room door.  I waited by the window for my parents to return.  I was terrified.

I can't explain how the little creature entered our house, through closed gates and closed doors or where it went afterwards.  But one thing's for sure, I'll never forget that night I came face to face with a jackal, and I'll never forget how my lovely dog protected me.

At this point I pause to tell the children that the story is finished, they are gazing at me... eyes agog and seriously spooked when No3 pipes up 'Mum, Mum tell us about the day you saw the pterodactyl....'

The Mindset of the McCanns

Kate and Gerry McCann obviously felt at ease leaving their three toddlers alone, in a dark apartment.  Night after night, while they dined and drank with their friends elsewhere in the village of Praia de Luz.  They've apparently been told by many people that 'everyone does it' and what they did 'falls within the realms of responsible parenting'.  Clarence Mitchell agrees with them, saying that it's a very 'British thing' to do.


I personally disagree with the comments Mr and Mrs McCann have made.  I have never carried out anything remotely similar, and I don't know anyone who has either.  And I don't think it's responsible.  I would also disagree with Mr Mitchell's comments about it being a British thing - it's not.


Anyway, let's give the benefit of the doubt and pretend that everyone does actually do it.  We all know the script... the layout and position of the apartment in relation to the Tapas Restaurant.  Put yourself in the shoes and minds of parents who leave three small toddlers to care for themselves.


***


It's a brisk night, darkness has already begun to descend as you check one final time that your three children are tucked up, asleep in bed.  You make your way out of the apartment, sliding the patio door behind you, leaving it ulocked and cross the balcony.


Aren't you already looking back to see if they've followed you?


You open the stairgate (which incidently is not recommended for children over 2 years as they can clamber over) and make your way down the steep, concrete steps.  It's very dark as the large hedge and plants obscure the light from entering the area.


Aren't you already thinking 'How dangerous is this? Totally unsuitable for families'...


You close the latch on the little wrought iron gate (there is no lock) and make your way down the hill towards the entrance to the Ocean Club Reception.


Aren't you aware that this is a road, with traffic and parked cars.


You enter the Ocean Club complex through two sets of double doors and make your way along the snaking path.  Past the toilet, through shrubs and bushes, past the swimming pool.


Aren't you thinking all this is between you and your children.


You arrive at the Tapas Restaurant and are shown to your table.  It's a cool night but luckily your table is undercover.  You look over to your apartment block.  Your flat is out of view, obscured by both distance and the shrubbery.  It is also dark and there's a chill in the air.


Aren't you wondering if they're still asleep, if they're still safe or calling out for you?


What is going through your mind right now, knowing that you have another thirty minutes before you need to look at those children again?  Thirty long minutes... in which a lot can happen - falls from beds, slipping on tiles, fingers jammed in doors, plugs, undersink cupboard, cutlery drawer, table corners... the list inside the apartment is endless.  As is the outside - steep stairs, cars, strangers...


Do any of these things enter your mind as you're thinking about your children being on their own?


What about the simple thought of a little boy or girl opening their eyes in the silent darkness to find that he or she is all alone.  It's one thing wakening up from a bad dream and another thing wakening up in one.


***


Many people are sceptical about the theory of 'neglect', they speculate that it never happened and is a cover for something else.  Others speculate about the children being given a little something to help them sleep.  Putting myself in this particular mindset, I begin to wonder myself.

The Curious Case of Maddie McCann

This case has intrigued me from day one.

I remember that delightful May morning - I'd got up early and opened all the windows.  The sun was streaming in as I watched Sky News inform the nation by ticker-tape that a little British girl had gone missing in Portugal.  That little girl was soon to become a household face and name.  Madeleine Beth McCann, age 3.  Her eyes would be imprinted on our souls with the 24/7 news coverage of her disappearance.

I have to say that my initial feelings of utter anguish for the little girl were soon coupled with shock that these children had been left on their own in a holiday apartment.  Quite frankly, I was gobsmacked.  Her parents had apparently left the child and her twin siblings alone, while they dined and drank some distance away from the apartment in a restaurant.  I was further shocked at seeing the situation of the restaurant in the complex, along with the fact that the childrens' bedroom was on the other side of the apartment block, out of sight.

Over three years later, little Maddie is still missing.  Those three years have included a rollercoaster of events and a bucketload of money.  Donations from the general public (rich and poor), elderly people and schoolchildren, but still no child.  

A myriad of false sightings, numerous threats of court action and a multi-million pound reward which is never, ever mentioned.  But still no child.

Maddie McCann, the child who vanished without a single trace on that cool May evening... and not a trace to be found since.  Is that even possible?  

One day I hope the truth will emerge, one day I hope.

To diet or not to diet... that is the question!

Well today I was thrown from my safe haven of cuddliness and curves into the harsh reality that most of my winter clothes aren't going to fit.


After a dull summer of getting by with the usual required amount of vests, cropped trousers, skirts, dresses and sandals I was suddenly agape at my wardrobe.


Why?  Rain. Wind.  And anything else Mother Nature chose to throw our way.


The sudden realisation that I couldn't go out in my 'baggy stuff' hit home and I grabbed my jeans, boots and cardi from the wardrobe.


All went well - button done up, zip decided to strain a little but I thought 'hey, at least I don't have to lie horizontally and use a coat hanger to cover the belly'.  Anyway, boots next.  And therein lay the problem... sitting down, ie bending.  I thought I was going to be drawn and quartered, well cut in two at least.  As I heavy breathed, I managed to get the boots on and decided it was infinitely safer to stand up straight until it was time to go out.


Luckily at that point in time, all I had to do was walk the school run and make my way home.  Which I did, until I got about 200 yards from the front door.  I felt like a lost Legionnaire stumbling across the desert who had spotted an oasis in the distance.  An oasis that was there, but so far away.  My front door was that oasis and I was panting for breath just like my imaginary Legionnaire, stumbling up the path.


Water, water.  Unzip, unzip.


My beautiful oasis provided me, not with water, but with my comfy leggings and baggy top.  Not to mention my slipper socks.


And the hardhitting thought that if I don't buy new clothes or diet I could be embarassing my kids at the school gates.  I mean no child wants to see their Mum in black socks and sandals, do they?

Music

Well, I'll attempt to post some music in this little bit... just so I've got something to listen to while I'm talking to myself...


Travis - Closer


The fab David Tennant performing to the equally fab Smiths!



Snow Patrol - Chasing Cars