1999 Diary entry 3

Remember back before we all had mobile phones and email and whatsapp?  When I was fifteen, we didn’t have cool gadgets like iPhones, so we used to communicate by writing notes to each other in school.  I had a purple sparkly gel pen I would use to write notes with. I carried it around in my blazer pocket.  Once it burst but it was okay, because it didn’t ruin by mobile phone because I didn’t get one of those for another year.  BT cellnet, in case you are wondering.

Anyway, here is another diary entry from way back when.  It’s very boring and self centred, but that’s teenagers for ya!

 

23/2/99

I mentioned a lad called Chris Two at the start of this diary.  I said he wouldn’t leave me alone with all the notes he wrote me and he flirted all the time with me.  I also said that I was attracted to him.  Well.  Today has been weird. 

In history class he wrote me another of his notes, only this time instead of writing “Dear Tonner” which he always does, he wrote “Dear Bitch!”  I wrote PISS OFF at the bottom of the note and threw it back at him.  Then he wrote back, “Dear Tonner, Sorry I do stuff like that when I don’t mean it.  I was looking for your reaction.”  I wrote back saying “join the club, I’m slightly weird too.” Then he wrote back, “Dear Sarah, (!!! he called me Sarah!! He’s never ever called me Sarah, ever!)  He wrote all this deep stuff.  It can only be described as deep.  Or maybe it can be described as mature.  I find that hard to believe as it is very rare that I come across a mature 15 year old.  But we wrote notes to each other all through the double history period, only the history teacher was away, so we were supposed to be doing homework silently, so that is probably why we wrote each other notes, cos we couldn’t talk. 

Then at hometime Chris comes up to me and says, “write me a note tonight and give it to me first thing tomorrow.”  So it is tonight now and I panicked.  What if this was some insane spontaenous bout of temporary maturity adn tomorrow he is going to be back to his same immature self?  Do I carry on our convo in the note?  Or do I be mature in it?  And why did he choose to open up to me?  He knows I fancy him and he supposedly fancies me. Is he stupid then?  Does he not want us to go out?  If we became good friends then we can’t really go out.  Or maybe he just thins he can trust me.  Chris, Andrew and Jonny trust me, so does martin and James.  Some lads do trust girls more than other lads.  Maybe I’m reading too much into this.  So I wrote a mature note anyway.  

Another weird thing about today.  Philip.  I fancied him, well, I fancy him and so does another girl.  When she found out, I was warned to stay away from him.  It annoyed me cos he was the one to make the first attempt to talk to me.  He asked people to find out my name!  Anyway, for not speaking to him for 2 months, I sat beside him at dinner cos some of our mutual friends were there.  Including Ann (THAT girl). so he spoke to me a couple of times and I gave him short one word answers looking at Ann the whole time.  She didn’t seem bothered, so we started to conversate and Ann started at me the whole time.  So I got Rachel to ask Ann if she still fancies him, and she said no. Cool. So if the Chris thing doesn’t work out, I’ll get to know Philip.  But it is weird.  

I’ll go now and listen to relaxing music,  like Offspring or Nirvana.  it may not be relaxing to some people, but I’m weird, so I’m an exception.  Then I will wake up early and pluck my eyebrows.  I made a special effort with my biology homework as my biology teacher gave me grief today for doing crap in tests.  She made me stay behind for that.  ”Oh Sarah, you know you can do better!” I was like “Can I?” and she said something about it being a waste of brightness.  Does she not mean energy?! I don’t like her.  Bye. 

 

1999 Diary entry 3

This was back when not every house had internet and even before mobile phones were ubiquitous in teen lives.

21/2/99

I went to Mary’s to use her internet tonight and I talked to a guy from Sweden called Mattius and a guy from Florida called Aaron and a guy from Veronica called Mat.  He called me Saz and he was cool cos he liked the Offspring and Korn but Aaron was an aggressive rollerblader so we talked for AGES!  And I realised that I am a real flirt! Linda and Zara said I was a flirt before, but I didn’t agree with them but now I realise they may be right.  This can be a good thing but it can also be a bad thing.  I have to go now the phone is ringing. Bye. 

Dear Diary (circa 1999) take 2

This is probably the start of my food/dieting issues…

20th Feb 1999

It’s not even 2pm yet and already I have drank a litre and a half of water.  I’m doing well.  I am really going to lose weight, even if I have to live on celery and water for the rest of my life.  And I also need to get fitter, especially if I want to take acting seriously.  My agent, Shane, told me if I was an actor I’d have to work out 3 times a week and drink a litre and a half of water a day,  I’ll go down to Mary’s and use her cross trainer today maybe too.   It tells you how many calories you burn! I am 8 and a  half stone and I want to get down to 7 and a half stone in the next two months.  I pray to God that I’ll reach this weight.  Maybe I’ll phone a doctor or something and ask him what’s the quickest way of losing weight.  Well, a stone in 2 months.  I don’t want to starve myself like!  But I’ll do anything it takes.  Maybe.  Depending on mum etc, I might try to get down to 7 stone.  I say depending on mum because she will bug me if she notices I’ve lost too much weight.  But she shouldn’t cause Amy-Lee is really skinny.  Well, not REALLY but she is very slim and it’s not fair.  But I want this more than anything.  Every time I see a single star or anything you can wish on, I’ll wish to be 7 stone, but if I get to 7 and a half stone I will be happy.  The only thing is, my clothes will be too big, but who cares?!  I’ll be thin.  It looks cool when your clothes are too big cos you’re thin anyway.  

Flip sake! It sounds like I’ll give myself an eating disorder, but I won’t! I won’t let myself go as skinny as Linda. She looks like she is 6 stone but she is just over 7 stone.  But she is taller than me so there.  Bye. 

Dear Diary (circa 1999)

I have just come across an old diary I kept when I was 15 years old. My goodness, what a twat I was back then.  It made for some very embarrassing reading – but it also made me laugh, so I thought I’d share with you.  Maybe I’ll share a couple of entries…

The first page and a quarter of this entry was written in code.  When I say code, I mean I swapped the vowels for mathematical symbols, like a fucking nerd.  I’ll just write it in plain English for you.

18th Feb 1999

What is it with me and boys called Christopher?  Take Chris One. I was hooked on him for totally ages, like nearly a year!  I can honestly say that I’m over him now though, I swear. 

Then there is Chris Two.  He knows that I fancy him and he flirts all the time with me, even to the point where he pissed me off with all the sexy type notes that he writes me – it’s too obvious, you know?  So I asked him did he fancy me and he said no, and now he’s worse than ever with the notes. I think it’s an ego thing. 

And then there is Chris Three.  Something tells me I should stay away from him, I don’t know why.  He’s the quiet type although he doesn’t want people to know that so he tries to put on a front.  But I can see through that.  He hasn’t had many girlfriends, although I know that if I did go out with him he would be totally sweet.  I really like him.  Although if we went out and broke up then he would be the type of person to not talk to me again.  And I HATE it when fellas do that.  So far, two of the people I’ve went out with have done that.  Chris One for a while and Timmy.  He still really isn’t talking to me.   I don’t really get this dating thing.  If you are good friends with the boy and then you go out with him, you both act different and it’s weird.  So you break up.  But if the only reason you spoke to the boy is because you wanted to go out with him, and you do go out with him, then break up – it’s weird too. Cos all of a sudden it is like you are both strangers and you wouldn’t think that it was the same lad you were holding hands with the day before.  I don’t know which is worse – going out with a good friend, breaking up and nothing is the same again; or going out with someone who isn’t so close then you never talk again cause then the only thing you have in common is the fact that you are each others’ exes.  It wouldnt be nearly as bad if you never saw him again, but Chris Three goes to my school and he is in my french class.  So we would see each other a lot.  But I really would like to go out with him.  How come, you always want to go out with a boy you know it would be a bad idea to go out with but you still go out with him anyway.  And do you ever fancy a lad but then you go out with him and the moment you realise that he is yours, you totally go off him and don’t fancy him anymore? Why is that? 

Bye,

Sarah x

The most exciting thing that’s happened to Ashton, ever.

On Sunday morning I got a phone call from Ashton, who had been staying with his dad for the weekend.

“Mummy guess what?  It’s amazing news.  I have a wobbly tooth!  It’s really wobbly, it really is!”

All his other school friends started losing their teeth a couple of years ago, and I was beginning to think Ashton never would.  I did the obligatory ooohing and ahhing over the phone with him about the wondrous miracle that is his wobbly tooth, we speculated when it might fall out, how much the tooth fairy might leave him, all that stuff.  Then when I got off the phone, I smoothed down the tiny hairs that had risen on the back of my neck, and gave myself a shake.

Wobbly teeth to me is like nails on a blackboard.  Even cartoons of people with wobbly teeth make me want to throw up.  I know that I’m a massive fucking wuss – I can’t help it.  I’d been slightly dreading this day ever since Ashton was born.

When he came home later that day, he showed me that his tooth was indeed, very wobbly.  ”Look mummy!” and he twisted it and turned it in the space in his gum where the tiny white nub was anchored by just one corner.  I shut my eyes and pretended to look and acted suitably amazed by the spectacle.

The next morning, I didn’t even remind him to brush his teeth because I didn’t want to deal with it falling out down the plug hole.  I’m nothing if not a conscientious mother!  He wobbled it constantly on the way to school, and later, he wobbled it constantly on the way home.  And then he wobbled it some more.  Lovely.

He wobbled it and wobbled it and then, big surprise, it fell out into his hand!  He came running down the stairs absolutely full to his eyeballs with excitement and adrenaline.  I cringed and shut my eyes and held out my hand for his tooth.  It was so tiny, and a bit bloody.  How the hell does he chew a pizza with those tiny little things?!

He couldn’t stop smiling, partly because this was the most amazing thing that had ever happened according to him, and also because he wanted to show his brand new gap toothed smile off.  Then we talked about the tooth fairy, and we agreed he’d write a letter to her to ask if he could keep his tooth as it’s the first one he’d ever lost.  We went to the local gift shop and bought a tiny little trinket box, all blue glitter and sparkly gemstones, for his tooth.

He wrote the letter and put it under his pillow that night, along with the glittery box containing his tooth.  He couldn’t get me out of his room quick enough.  He wanted to go to sleep so the tooth fairy could come!

Before I went to bed, I sneaked in and put a £2 coin into his tooth box under his pillow, and I wrote a note back to him, from the tooth fairy.  In the note she congratulated him and allowed him to keep his tooth this time, as long as he kept his teeth white and shiny.

Ashton came into my room the next morning an hour earlier than usual.  He waved the tooth fairy letter in my face and showed me his £2 and honestly, I’ve never seen as much enthusiasm even at Christmas.  He even brought the letter into school to show his friends, and memorized it word for word.  AND he’s never been so eager to brush his teeth.

And guess what?  He discovered ANOTHER wobbly tooth this morning!

The tooth that fell out was also the first tooth that came through when he was a baby.  It was also the first tooth that I lost when I was six – the same age Ashton is now.  I vividly remember losing my first tooth.  My dad took me to buy sweets with my tooth fairy money, and I can remember what sweets I bought and even the conversation we had as we were buying them.  It must have been just as big a deal for me.

Taken just after the tooth fell out

My summer holiday in Skegness

I know that title makes you go “Fuck me!  This blog post is OBVIOUSLY going to be full of amazing accounts of new experiences and insights and all that crap!” but calm yourself.  It’s not as interesting as you might think.  *cough*

Paul, Ashton and myself went to Skegness.  Skeggy.  Skegvegas.  Why, you might ask.  Was it the mobility scooter hire shop on every corner which would allow us to grow fatter and fatter and not even be arsed walking from chip shop to pub to chip shop again?  No, surprisingly.  Even though about 60 percent of the population in Skegness prefers obese-mobiles to using their legs.  Was it the donut vans, 5 for a quid, every 3 steps along the sea front?  No.  (Although now I’m wondering if the donut vans and mobility scooter hire shops colluded together when drawing up their business plans.)  Was it the promise of 3 weeks of actual summery weather?  Don’t make me laugh.  It was Paul’s mum actually.  She lives there.  Fuck knows why; it’s the hardest place to get to in the UK, apart from some of those remote Scottish islands no one except rugged types who shop for clothes in wool shops go to.

Because we decided to go there rather last minute, we had to get the ferry, and a bunch of trains instead of flying.  So getting there took about sixteen fucking hours.  Ashton was ratty, Paul and I split up twice and threatened to kill each other a lot more than that, and our finger nails were filthy in that way they always are after being on trains for a full day.

On our first day there after a long lie in, we blew up a paddling pool, filled it with water and sat with our feet in it, beers in hand, for the rest of the day.  Despite obsessively putting sun cream all over me every two minutes, I got terribly sunburned.  I also got terribly drunk so I didn’t give a shit that it hurt.  Not until the next day anyway (and for about 3 days after that).  Paul’s mum put Ashton to bed and I fell asleep in front of a boxing match on the telly.

The rest of the time was a blur really.  Not because I was drunk all the time, but because I have a shit memory.  I only got drunk twice in 3 weeks.  Which isn’t too bad for a holiday, is it?  I know we walked a lot, and we went to the beach a few times with Ashton.  He hated it though.  The sand was too sandy and the water was too wet.  He was a miserable and precious little sod.  We could see other children on the beach running around with gleeful abandon, but Ashton was not too unlike Bishop Brennan from Father Ted.  He turned his nose up at everything, he shouted grumpily when we tried to be nice to him or play with him, and in the end we gave up and brought him back to Paul’s mum’s.  Then Paul and I returned to the beach and went swimming while fully dressed.  We gathered an audience of old people who probably thought we were on drugs, but I didn’t care.  Paul tried not to care, but I could tell he did a bit.

One other day we met up with Miles (@mr_7 on twitter) and had a couple of drinks and shot the shit in the pub.  It was nice.  When we had to go I felt rather pissed off that we live so far away from friends we’ve met through twitter.  The beauty of finding people you have so much in common with online is marred by the shitty reality that in order to spend any real time with them you need to logistically plan stuff.  No “popping round” for a coffee.

I also went to London, without Paul or Ashton to see Louise (@Orbette) and *breathe* WE WENT TO WEMBLY TO SEE TAKE THAT AND THE PETSHOP BOYS BUT TAKE THAT!  TAKE FUCKING THAT!  AND ROBBIE!  TAKE THAT AND ROBBIE AND ME AND ORBETTE WERE ALL IN THE SAME ROOM (STADIUM) AT THE SAME TIME AND THEY WERE SO CLOSE I COULD HAVE TOUCHED THEM, if my arms were half a mile long.  But it was amazing.  Honestly, fucking amazing.  The Pet Shop boys were cool, Take That were awesome – seriously.  How gorgeous is Barlow?!  But Robbie.  Well.  He was something else.  Electric.  ABSOLUTELY FUCKING BRILLIANT.  I sang (screamed) along to every song and went stupid with excitement.

Louise I love you for inviting me.  Thanks so much!!  Seriously.  Then we ate the  nicest pizza that no man will never know, cos we ate it all and I slept on an airbed more comfortable than my own bed.  Before I went back to Skeggy the next day, Louise and I visited a possible wedding venue that we loved so much we booked it there and then and the manager gave us free cocktails.  (For my wedding with Paul, not Louise.  Though don’t mention it to her.  She’s still sore that I agreed to marry Paul and not her.)

Other stuff we did in Skeggy… Lets see.  Oh!  I went to a swimming pool for the first time in 9 years.  It was a rather big deal because even when I was a skinny size 4 or 6 I still thought I was too fat to be seen in public in a swimming costume.  I’m a size 16 now, but I thought, fuck it.  I bought a swimming costume what sucks in your stomach and makes you look slimmer and took the plunge.  Geddit?  Har har.  Anyway.  All the other swimming pool users pulled through the ordeal of me in a cossie and Paul still wanted to have sex with me afterwards, so it wasn’t as traumatic as it could have been.  I think the fact that my boobs looked awesome helped offset how awful the rest of me looked.

We also took a visit to Corby for a weekend.  Corby is Paul’s home town, so we visited his family and had a night out with his brother and some of his mates.  From what I remember it was a good night out.  I had a 2 day hangover and memory black out so I assume I enjoyed myself.  However, the 2 hour car journey back to Skeggy in suffocating heat with the mother of all hangovers was hell.  I contemplated opening the passenger door and throwing myself under a lorry in the oncoming lane a number of times.  Grim.  Ashton announced that I wasn’t allowed to drink any more, and I told him I wouldn’t, and meant it.  That night we went to see Al Murray perform and as usual, Al had us in fits laughing.  We forgot our hangovers for at least an hour and a half anyway, and for that, I was truly grateful.

Three weeks went quite quickly.  Ashton behaved himself for at least fifty percent of the time and  I enjoyed myself and even wondered if I could live in England.  I think I probably could, but it would have to be somewhere with a better local accent than Skegness.  (sorry if I offend you Skeggnessians!)

The Wirral is lovely though – I could see myself living there.  I know it is the opposite end of the country, but we had to drive there to drop Ashton off with his dad so he could take him to Devon for a week.  We stopped by to see Jenny (@jehefinner) and her gorgeous two girls and Paul and I instantly fell in love with the area she lives in.  Ashton acted like a spoiled little shit all day, but in all fairness, he had been sick and was impatient to see his dad so I’ll forgive him.

I enjoyed myself, but was oh so damn glad to get home.  Except for the first night after waking up in my own bed when I discovered the house was INFESTED with fleas.  I mean, for FUCK SAKE!  We had to spend the day driving round looking for something to kill them with and then we had to spend the evening hoovering up the now killed fleas and the smelly flea killing powder!  Ugh.  I knew we couldn’t leave the house alone for 3 weeks without something going tits up in it.

So that’s my holiday story.

A few things and stuff

It’s been a while since I’ve done a blog purely just to
explain what I’ve been getting up to and all that jazz. So
here’s one for your reading pleasure! I’m currently sat on my sofa
and I’ve just had a look online for jobs, and there’s not
much about. The majority of job applications I submit don’t
even get an acknowledgement, never mind an interview! It’s a
rather frustrating situation. Actually, that’s an
understatement. Paul lost two jobs due to the whole
twitterjoketrial thing, and no employer would touch him with yours
due to his unspent conviction. I tried to increase my hours
and/or pay in my job, and was told no, actually, they needed to cut
back and wanted to reduce my hours! I was already £20 a week
WORSE off by working! What a pain, eh? Everyone is
getting a hug for Christmas from us this year. That’s the main
issue with Paul’s conviction. It’s bloody awful to fight, but
he must; the unemployment situation we’re in WILL destroy our
souls. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. Except maybe the
other, more successful candidates for the jobs I apply for.
Lucky gits. I thought that not working would give me a
chance to participate in NaNoWriMo this year. I had my novel
planned, wrote a couple of thousand words, and became stuck.
I realised that I’m not a story teller. I lack the
imagination to create all that’s needed for a fictional novel.
I’m all right when it comes to recounting things that have
actually happened, but crap at making stuff up. Pain in the
arse really, since I have always thought that being a novelist
would be the absolute best thing ever. Damn. Anyway,
we’ve had rather a lot on our plates lately, what with the trial
and everything, so NaNoWriMo has been abandoned. I had a bit of a
wobble on Monday night over the whole trial thing. Paul told
me the next day that he thought I might actually leave him to get
shot of it all! It never even crossed my mind, bless him.
I was considering deleting my twitter account and just
withdrawing myself completely from everything to do with it.
We’d just got back from England that day, we’d lived and
breathed the twitterjoketrial for the past two weeks, and I was
just exhausted. My head was doing that thing that it does
sometimes when my thoughts race at frightening speeds, too fast to
articulate or to single an individual thought/idea/memory out.
We knew the Daily Mail were going to run a story on the trial
the next day, and I was incredibly anxious about it, worried that
they would paint a horrid picture about Paul or myself or print
something damaging. The attention and everyone judging and
having an opinion on Paul or myself just got overwhelming. I
still wasn’t very good at thinking before I tweet. I was very
stressed. I had a cry, fell asleep, and felt a lot better the
next morning after I told myself to man-up for god’s sake! I
felt like I’d acted like a child who might whinge, “But it’s not
faaaaaair!” There’s no room for that. We both need to
just suck it up, and keep truckin. It’s unfortunate that this
fight has landed on Paul’s shoulders, but if it wasn’t him, it
would be me. Or you. Or anyone! Giving up would
do no good to anyone. So we lose a wee bit of sanity along
the way? How much did we really have to begin with? I
should say though, that if it wasn’t for the amazing support we’ve
received, it would be impossible to fight the conviction, and we
wouldn’t want to either. And our awful government has made it
impossible for me to say we’re all in this together, too, without
it sounding completely wanky. But hopefully you get what I’m
trying to say. I’m going to quit wittering on now. There’s a
freshly baked soda bread in my kitchen just begging to be toasted
and eaten. Thanks for reading!

I am Spartacus!

The following was tweeted and blogged by @gaijinsan21. You can find the original here: http://tinyurl.com/34ocy7q

I have only amended it to add my own name:

***

This first appeared as a series of messages on Twitter, and that’s probably where it is best seen. But for those who asked (thank you!) here are my thoughts on Article 10:

A lot of what is going on this week, Aung San Suu Kyi, #twitterjoketrial, @baskers, all comes down to one thing. Freedom of speech.

Now we have members of the London Assembly saying they will suspend the right to protest because they can’t afford to police it.

So I just wanted to say this. My name is Sarah. That doesn’t mean a thing to any one of you.

My name is CrazyColours. I have a right to freedom of speech. It is not a gift you may revoke if you find it inconvenient or costly.

It is my right and it is guaranteed to me by Article 10 of the European Convention on Human Rights. It therefore supersedes your authority.

I will not use disclaimers. Article 10 does not require that I use disclaimers.

I will not tell you when I am making a joke. Article 10 does not require that I tell you when I am making a joke.

I will not moderate my language. FUCK THAT SHIT. Article 10 does not require that I moderate my language.

I will not be intimidated out of my rights by poor application of the law. Article 10 protects me from poor application of the law.

I will not allow you to propagate bullshit about terrorism to keep me scared. I will use my Article 10 rights to inform myself and others.

Freedom of expression is my right, guaranteed to me by Article 10. If you want it you can take it from my cold dead hands.

But if you try, remember #IAmSpartacus. Because my name is Legion, and I am many.

NaNoWriCrap!

Tomorrow is day one of NaNoWriMo – or National Novel Writing Month.  Basically the point of nanowrimo (I can’t be arsed upper casing it anymore) is to write a 50,000 word novel in 30 days, starting on 1st November.  I signed up to do it, and I’ve told everyone I’m doing it, and now I don’t want to bloody do it.

I can’t think of a plot!  I’ve had a few ideas, and I’ve even outlined a few plots, but I don’t like them.  I thought coming up with characters was easier, so I did that.  I invented 6 awesome and complicated characters but struggled to get a viable story to tie them all together.  That’s probably a good thing as most of the characters were based on people I know in real life and think of as assholes – they’d probably recognise themselves.

Not that they’d get the chance to because I could NEVER let anyone read any fiction that I write.  I’d rather write about real life stuff.  I’ve shared things on this here blog that has led to people saying things like, “Wow that was really honest!  You’re so brave to post it.”  And for some reason, sharing real life stuff doesn’t phase me anything like sharing stuff I make up does.

Sometimes I read a psychological thriller and think, “The person who wrote this is fucked up in the head!”.  Or I’ll read a chic-lit novel and hate the author for setting equality of the sexes back 50 years.  (I still don’t care though, I LOVE well written chic-lit.)

Writing to give someone an insight into your life is one thing.  Writing to give someone an insight into your imagination is quite another.  Maybe I’m the only person who thinks this way.  Paul thinks I should stop being so bloody self conscious and just WRITE!

Which is the point of nanowrimo.  It’s about quantity, not quality.  I’ve got the rest of the day to think up a plot, characters and decide what kind of novel I want to write.  All my novel writing attempts this far have been thwarted by perfectionism.  I have to allow myself to write crap.  This time last year I climbed Ben Nevis.  I didn’t enjoy it, I complained, moaned and bitched the whole way up and injured myself and cried on the way down.  It was not pretty and I wasn’t a model mountain climber, but I still did it.  Fifty thousand words of crap is better than zero words of nothing, I guess.  It’s all I can aim for!

Wish me luck!

TwitterJokeTrial and a thank you

This is a quick post because I have packing to do.  Tonight we’re flying to England for the Twitter Joke Trial in Doncaster Crown Court tomorrow morning.

I wanted to say thank you to everyone who has given support to Paul and I, everyone who has expressed outrage at the trampling on of his civil liberties and the devastating injustice he’s experiencing, and everyone who’s donated to the fund.

The positive tweets, retweets, blogs, news stories, phone calls, texts, emails, etc has been an absolute life saver.  Morale is low enough here in the @pauljchambers and @crazycolours camp, and if it were not for the overwhelming support, we’d find things a hundred times harder.

I have 100% confidence in David Allen Green and the rest of the team who will be there in court tomorrow.  If it weren’t for David, aka, Jack of Kent, Paul would have submitted a guilty plea and stuck with it – believing that to be the only option.  But thanks to David, he knows he doesn’t have to.  He’s got a chance to fight his conviction and remove the criminal record he’s acquired for his tweet back in January.  He never meant to threaten, menace or offend anyone.

I sincerely hope that the Judge tomorrow will see sense, and realise that a person should not have a criminal record for a hyperbolic, humourous tweet.  It would be absolutely amazing to get his conviction overturned so we could begin to put this horrible mess behind us.

But we can only begin to.  A positive outcome at the trial will be a step forward for civil liberties, common sense and freedom of speech.  Well, it will at least mean that our society isn’t taking a step back in these things at any rate.  But at a human level, things won’t magically get better.  Paul has lost two jobs in a year because of this conviction.  Financially, we’re totally buggered.  Last night I googled “bankruptcy,” as it’s highly possible that this is the next hurdle to face after the trial.  Also, we’re reaching the point of exhaustion.  This whole thing has totally worn me down and I’m on the verge of tears constantly – and Paul is the same.  He’s normally so cheerful and good humoured, but not so much any more.  Everyone is worried about him.  I think he’s worried about himself!

I’ve already said it, but I’ll say it again.  Without the support received, things would be unbearable.  You’ll never know how much it’s appreciated, I’m choked up just thinking about it.  You’re all awesome, you’ve honestly made a huge difference, and if I could thank you all in person, I would.

CrazyColours xxx