Best viewed at www.iamlanders.com

As seen here.

1. Are you superstitious?
No but I do salute magpies because my nan always did.

2. Are you attending or hosting a halloween party this year?
No, I'm working and that's horror enough.

3. What's your favourite scary movie?
It's not really a scary movie but The Elephant Man frightens the bejesus out of me! I've never seen it all the way through and have had to watching it in three parts!

4. Trick or Treat?
Trick every time!

5. The best Halloween costume is...?
...made by Warner Bros costume department!

I have been watching the series Band of Brothers recently. A friend lent me the box-set after telling me how good he'd found it. I'm half way through and I'm throughly enjoying it but it's had an interesting but welcoming effect.

My grandfather was an engineer in the Royal Air Force, stationed in Burma during the second world war. My mother has all his medals and somewhere, I don't know where (yet), she has all the letters he sent his wife, my nan, during his time away. Sadly he died before I was born so I never got the chance to ask him about his war effort but I don't think I'd have got much information anyway as mom always said that he wouldn't talk about even when she asked. She's read the letters he sent home and from what she's told me Band of Brothers (although about the U.S. army and not the RAF) has it about right with regard to the friendships that grew and the hardships people went through.

Apparently in one of the letters my grandfather sent home he talks about a busy day maintaining aircraft. He recognised one of the aircraft as that flown by a pilot he'd become very friendly with. The engineers watched as the planes took off and hours later watched as they returned. Of course not all of them did, one of those was that of my grandfathers friend. In the letter he talks about how he can't afford to mourn his loss or take time to grieve as to do so would cause more problems. They prayed at a Sunday service and they remembered their lost friends but still couldn't mourn. He wasn't alone in this apparently. No one mourned for fear of breakdowns and becoming unstable and unable to carry out duties. In the letter he talked about how his squadron will mourn as a group when they return.

During the last ten months my family and I have suffered so much loss (thankfully none for at least eight/nine weeks now!) but I cannot imagine being surrounded by it on a daily basis, even more so when I can't mourn or grieve.

I once tried to join the RAF. I wanted to be a pilot. Not a fighter pilot, those kind of planes never interested me. I wanted to fly troop/tank carriers, the big buggers basically! I did an aptitude test, a medical and had an interview and at the end I got told my eyesight wasn't good enough to be a pilot but looking at my results someone had decided I was perfectly suited to be an engineer! You can imagine how excited my mother was and how disappointed I was. I didn't join up in the end, as I'm sure you've already worked out.

Having watched Band of Brothers, a series based on real events and real people (some of whom are interview at the beginning or each episode) I have a new found respect for the armed forces, then and now!

A friend I went to school with joined the Navy at sixteen and went out to the Gulf. He was on board the Ark Royal during the first Gulf War. He'll never know the respect I have for him. Mainly because we don't talk about more for reason I'm not going into but even though there is that wall between us my respect for him is higher now than it ever was.  Another friend is currently (as far as I know) in Afghanistan.  A place where 223 soldiers have died since 2001.  He's lost friends, people he cares for.   He could be next.  That thought scares me a lot!

I always buy a poppy and occasionally my nan (dad's mom not mom's mom) and I would attend the Remembrance Day service at the Garden of Remembrance where all our families ashes are scattered but I think this year, having watched Band of Brothers and talked more to my mom about my grandfather, I think it'll mean more than it has in previous years. I know that's wrong, I know I should have always had this respect and I think I have in someway, just not the right way and absolutely not enough.

These people fight for our freedom. They fight so I can enjoy my life. I may not agree with why we went to war in the Gulf, I may agree with Thatcher sinking the General Belgrano but no matter what I think these people, these members of the armed forces go into this career of their own free will. They make the choice to enlist and face the possibility of dying for their country.

To them, those from the past and those willing to serve in the future I say thank you. Thanks is all I can offer but if you're passing I'll pop the kettle on and I'm sure I could spare a biscuit or two.

And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered;
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition:
And gentlemen in England now a-bed
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon
Saint Crispin's day.

William Shakespeare's Henry V; Act IV, Scene 3

Bert and I have been getting in to Nurse Jackie recently. If you'll pardon the expression.

It's a half hour American comedy from Showcase, the same people who bought you Dexter. I'll be honest and say it's not as enjoyable as the adverts made it out as there are certain parts that are quite sad but when it's funny it's fucking hilarious!

And here for your viewing pleasure is one of the funniest scenes I've seen on TV in a long while. Even though you know what's coming it's still fucking hysterical!

Enjoy!

Reading Rampages post about being run over, other than making me worry about the little lambeen, it made me remember the times I ran over two people (separate incidents) and aimed at a third. You'd think I made a habit of it wouldn't you?! I assure you I don't!

Incident Number One
So there I am trundling along in my little 1963 Land Rover that didn't go very fast. If you got above forty the whole thing shook until it felt like your eyes were melting.

Up ahead a bus had stopped to let it's passengers off and as the road was clear I thought I'd over take. As I did a girl stepped out from the front of the bus, not looking where she was going, and I hit her. If you don't included the bruising or damage to her pride she wasn't really injured but there was a spectacular tyre mark up her tights.

She soon got up and appeared fine but the police had been called by this point so I was starting to panic. Thankfully she admitted it was all her fault and a couple of witnesses had backed me up. I was breathalysed, as per procedure, and given instructions to produce my driving license and insurance at the police station within fourteen days. The officer explained that there was nothing to worry about as she'd admitted fault and that the producer, like the breathalyser, was purely procedure.

Two days later I arrive at the police station with my documents and handed them over.

"You're in trouble!" said the desk officer laughing.
"No I'm not!" I insisted.
"Oh yes you are!" he said chuckling.
"No I'm not, she admitted it was her fault!"
"Yeah you're still in trouble."
"Why?"
"The girl you hit was the sergeants daughter!"

Trying to be all brave and righteous I muttered something about it still being her fault but inside not only was I bawling my eyes out I was also preparing to spend the rest of my life getting ass-raped daily by Slasher Joyce my cell mate!

Thankfully a few weeks later I received a letter telling me the incident had been closed.

Incident Number Two
It was 1am and I'd just finished a radio show which had gone well and was giving my guest, who was a good friend, a lift home. We headed through the one-way road system of the town and chatted generally about how the show had gone and what feedback she could expect, as she was hoping to get a slot on the station.

Without warning a man ran out from a side street on the right and I swerved to avoid him, veering (over-compensating) to the left.

We both spouted out some kind of expletive and once we'd calmed down Emma asked "are you not going to stop?"
"What for?"
"That man!" she said.
"What man?"
"The man you just ran over!"
"I missed him!"
"No you didn't! He was in the road! You went over him!"

I looked in my rear mirror and sure enough a different man was lying in the road. I think I shouted fuck or words to that effect but I couldn't actually get out the car. I was quite sure he was dead.

I rang for an ambulance and explained what I'd done and asked them to send the police as well and it was the police who turned up first. I got out the car and headed over to them but kept my gaze away from 'the body.'

"It's me, I did it!" I said with my hands up as though they were going to shoot me.
"You did what?" the female officer asked.
"I ran over him!"
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"I hit him."
"You hit him?"
"Yeah, with my car!"
"Hang on!" she said putting her hand up.

She called her partner over and explained to him what I'd said and he came over to talk to me.

"Sir, you say you hit him?" he said.
"Yes."
"Just?"
"Yes!"
"Actually you just drove over his legs," said Emma who was now out the car and at my side.
"Did I?"
"Oh yes, just his legs. He was already lying in the road!"
"And you didn't see him?" asked the officer.
"No I didn't! I'd swerved to miss a guy running out of Edington Street!"
"Right, miss," he said talking to Emma, "can you drive his car round to the station please?"
"I suppose," she said, "but I'm not too sure where it is."
"You can follow us," he turned to me, "sir can you get into this police car and go back to the station to answer some questions."

As we pulled off I saw the ambulance turn up but I still couldn't look at the body of the guy I'd just killed. At the station I was arrested and read my rights and then taken to an interview room, Emma was asked to wait in reception.

A few minutes later the female officer came in and started to ask me questions. She explained how everything was really a formality as, even though they hadn't heard much of it, they fully believed my story and Emma had already given them a quick rundown (excuse the pun!) as well.

She breathalyser me, which was clear, and then wrote my statement out. It's been too long to get anyone in trouble (because Staffordshire Police read my blog! - ha!) but she kind of lead me along, making sure there was no way I could get into trouble about it. In another room Emma was giving her statement but she didn't mention the guy coming out from the right as she hadn't seen him. This didn't seem to matter.

Everything was going well. Too well. One thing confused me!

"Excuse me," I said, "if you didn't know what I was talking about when you turned up why were you there?"
"What do you mean?" asked the officer.
"I called you. I called the police to say I'd hit the man with my car but when you turned up you knew nothing about it!"
"Oh, we'd been called in for a riot in the chip shop!"

She continued telling me how they, two other cars and a van, had turned up to sort out a big drunken fight going on in the chip shop. The guy in the road had already had the crap beaten out of him and was lying half-in half-out the road with a dislocated shoulder. I just bounced over his legs!

I was relieved he wasn't dead but now felt really guilty for breaking both his legs.

"Is he seriously hurt?" I asked.
"Who?"
"The man I hit!"
"Oh no! As soon as the ambulance turned up he got up and ran off!"

I never heard anything further from this one.

Incident Number Three
Dale, a best mate (and still so even after this!) was living with me on and off and I had to go away for the weekend.

I was in the process of sorting lots of things out and the house was a mess. It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that the only carpet visible in the dining room was a thin path from the kitchen to the lounge.

Dale was under strict instructions not to let Rachel in while I was away for the weekend. No matter what! There were two reasons behind this. One I won't be going to and the other is just that I didn't want her seeing the mess.

Back from my weekend away Dale, Rach and I were in the pub having a drink when one of them (I forget which) let it slip that Rach had been in the house that weekend as she needed to use the toilet. Rather than shout in the pub I got up, walked out and got into my car.

Dale came out and stood in front of the car, wanting to talk and explain. I was in no mood to listen so I started the engine and aimed for him.

Thankfully he moved out the way! I drove home, furious, but him and Rach followed me. While Rach sat in the car Dale and I sorted things out over a coffee on the back patio. I'm trying to make it sound posh but really it was just a little back yard. But it was nice!

I'm quite glad he jumped out the way really as he and Rach are the Heroes I talked about in Ma's post months ago as they're both paramedics, and very good ones at that!

I think he ended up with the right one!

Thanks to Malakeas for this wonderful idea.

----

My name is Rob and I will no longer tolerate online stalkers or trolls.

I will not feed their fire by responding to their comments or posts except in three ways:

1. I will choose to delete their offending comment if I can
2. I will ignore their comments/posts on another blog
3. And then, I will move on.

I will not give them blogging space or another thought for there are many other people here that deserve my energy and attention.

May this blogging community regain its blogging spirit and take back this community from stalkers and claim it as their own.

If you believe this as well, then copy and post this on your blog with your user name.

I really thought the first two would be very high!

Greed:	High
Gluttony:	High
Wrath:	Medium
Sloth:	Medium
Envy:	Medium
Lust:	Very High
Pride:	Very High

Take the Seven Deadly Sins Quiz

It's good when actors can laugh at themselves. I've been in a number amateur and professional theatre groups and I've loved every minute of it. Sadly in any amateur group there is always a couple prima donnas who think they not only deserve the leading roles but should have also have a dressing room of their own, often with a star attached. These are the ones, male and female, who get angry if someone cocks up during a rehearsal. If someone makes a mistake, forgets a line or laughs at an inopportune moment they are tutting and mumbling about who should have got the part. Of course when they forget a line or make a mistake it's the pressure of the role darling!

During a rehearsal for a performance of 'An Inspector Calls' in which I was playing Gerald Croft my on-stage fiancée, Shelia Birling, had the following line "He knows you know! And I hate to think what else he knows that we don't know he knows yet!" She found this hysterical and would begin to giggle every time she said it. Nothing could stop her! Janet, the lady playing the Birlings maid, a role she didn't want but took anyway, was furious! At one point, as the line approached, backstage we all heard her mutter in a stage whisper louder than her own stage voice "Do you think she'll fuck it up this time!" Well we never actually got to the line at that point because Ann (Mrs Bilring), Terry (Mr. Birling), Jayne (Shelia Birling), Simon (Eric Birling) and myself fell about laughing. Of course this didn't go down well so we took a break and came back to it later.

Thankfully most of the gags, gaffs, goofs and corpsing took place during rehearsals and once it was out of our system then the actual performances usually went on without a hitch. Unfortunately An Inspector Calls must have been cursed.

The set had been built to resemble a typical wealthy family dining room in 1912 and our set builders we're fantastic at designing and building sets so it look extremely realistic. Leading from backstage into the dining room were a pair of huge doors which the director had insisted were both opened when we entered the room. This was fine other than once we'd let go of the doors they slammed shut and made the whole set wobble. Mr. Director wasn't happy about this so David was ordered to find a successful way of making the doors shut quickly, without banging, without using anything that wouldn't have been available in 1912. In the end it was decided that as we stepped through the door we should turn, grab the door handles, and close the door firmly but gently.

Cue opening night. Ann, as Mrs Birling, flings open the doors and storms in to give her line. As she turns and grabs the door handles they both come off in her hand!  I'm stood getting a drink at the time (flat ginger ale as whisky)  so I turn my back to audience and try not to piss myself. Jayne pretends to wipe her mouth with a serviette. The others look around wondering what she's going to do. She calmly and strongly walks across the stages, slams the handles on the dining table and says "Arthur I'm sick of telling you to sort these bloody door handles out!" turning to me she continues, "Gerald maybe you could do it at some point as I can't trust that drunk of a son of mine!" She then gave the line she'd actually come in to for.

Only certain members of the audience actually realised what had happened and there was a small titter racing from the front to the back and that would have been the end of it. If it wasn't for Jayne! A very few short minutes later she picked up one of the door handles, thinking it was a salt shaker. Not knowing what to do she just shook it over her dinner, tutted and exclaimed it to be empty, slammed it on the table and carried on as normal.

During the interval Janet reprimanded us all for our on-stage conduct even though we all thought we'd done quite well. Ann got a round of applause and lots of "well done's" and the director appeared pleased with how things had gone so far although we could see him chomping at the bit with David on stage behind the curtain trying to reattach the door handles.

Now with theatre the sad thing is that these bloopers often don't get caught on tape. You only have the image I've created to get an idea of the mistakes made and how funny they are (well I think they are). Although you can still make your own mind up you can't see it or see how funny I think it is. You can't rewind to the funniest bits or skip the rubbish.

Thankfully, with film, you can capture those moments that make you giggle. In celebration of that (and the main reason for this post in the first place) here is something I was sent this morning that I find quite funny.

I'd just like to draw your attention to this blog: http://iandersuk.blog.co.uk/ and this user profile: http://www.blog.co.uk/user/Iandersuk/

Neither of them are me.

The L of Landers is a capital i.

This would be someone's idea of fun. I wonder who?

Anyway, the good thing is that using that header is copyright infringement given that I designed it so hopefully BCUK will furnish me with the owners details and then I can pass this on to my solicitor. And there was me wondering what I could do to get some money for a new car. Compensation would be the answer!

Of course they do say plagiarism is the highest form of compliment. Maybe I should be pleased?

It goes without saying that you should under no circumstance think this is me and ignore anything posted on it. I'm flagging it and inappropriate, I'd love you to do the same. It's infringement given that it's my header and my profile pictures.

As those of you who don't read me in an RSS feed reader can see I've changed my blog design. I've gone back to an older design I love I've just changed it around a little but changing the pictures. Two of them have come from what we did last week.

On Wednesday we we're back in Wales for the wedding of some close friends of ours. The friends are the dirty lesbians so it wasn't a proper wedding it was one of them there civil partnerships those disgusting queer people go through! Personally I don't think it should be allowed and I totally agree with what someone once said to me which was "all gays should be stuck on an island and left to bum themselves to death!" Well I'm in!

So the wedding was lovely. Both Vicky and Denise looked radiant and so happy! The registrar made the event go with ease and was very accommodating and as it was only a small family affair once the ceremony were over with we all went back to the girls to enjoy drinks and enough food to feed the five thousand.

Of course with these being our friends that breed labradors, bassets and Rottweilers then the obligatory moment with a puppy came later on in the evening.

Here's a few snapshots of the day and a puppy video to coo over.

So another one arrives...

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Author: fatprickpartridge (IP: 66.35.1.170, tor-exit-router.viol8r.org)
Email: anon@fatprickpartridge.com
Url:

Comment:
Hello fat prick partridge. do you still think i am in manchester? your not very clever are you? must be sad, being as fat as you, and being stupid to. maybe thats why you have to stay up all night on the internet. then again being as fat as you are your probably impetent, makes sense really. so that would mean it would only be a waste of time telling you to go fuck yourself, because i doubt you could, i really do.
when are you going to look at yourself and realise just what a totally dissgusting, degraded piece of shit you really are. have a nice night fat prick, maybe i'l see you around.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

They just get better! Well, the content does, the spelling and grammar doesn't but you can't ask for everything.

Well, I'll reply..

I never said you were in Manchester, I said the IP address pointed to Manchester. My IP Address points to Dublin but I'm not there jackass. No, it's not sad being fat. Haven't you heard? Fat people are jolly, it's skinny fucks that are sad. Stupid? Well that's a matter of opinion. I'm not the one sending these comments so who's the stupid one? Stay up all night on the internet? I was at work dumbshit. In my job I get to use the internet, I don't have to stack shelves or look for a barcode. It's a professional position. What were you doing? Hiding from mommy in case she saw you on the computer past your bedtime?

You know weight isn't associated with impotence don't you? It can be bought on by people who hold on to too much stress. I don't really have that problem as I don't hang on to my stress. Not even your messages stress me. You're upset about that aren't you. Never mind. When you're all grown up and not so much of a baby you'll get over it.

I don't think I'm disgusting, neither do quite a few other people. It's your opinion though, you're entitled to it. My opinion thinks that people will find you more disgusting than me.

Now, this will be the last blog entry about this situation because I'm not prepared to give it any more time. If you're her then grow up and fuck off you pathetic child. You bought this on yourself with your lies. Be a grown up and face the truth. If you're not her, and again I don't care, then be a grown up and show yourself. Roll with the big boys as you put it and stop hiding you pathetic wimp. Name calling and hiding behind an IP address? Is that all you can muster up? You fucking child. Bring it out of the playground you fuck whore! If you want to take it further you have my email address. If you want to remain the pathetic child everyone thinks you are then carry on with the unapproved comments. No one but me will see them and I don't care about them. You'll get no more attention here child. Now fuck off bitter baby.

Coming soon....

The BB emails! See how she cries over Robbie not loving her as much as she loves him! Read the things she'd do to the McFly boys! Listen as she tells you it's her last night on the earth... four years ago! And laugh as she explains its her mothers email address so to be careful how you reply! Each on in glorious detail, the to's and from's, the subject and the content! Read it all here!

Some of you will have noticed I've deleted a post.

The only reason was that I may have been mistaken about the author so to that end I've deleted it.

I'm now getting "harassed," as it were, from a blogger called Zukth-Fu.

I've flagged them as inappropriate and it's been deleted now, ether by the author or BCUK, either way is good.

The messages (unapproved blog comments) are going to continue, or so I'm told, because apparently he/she "likes pushing useless fat shits around."

If I'm reading between the lines correctly then I've already gone down in his/her/it's estimations by deleting the other post. Apparently it's back-tracking. Well not really dumbshit, it's correcting a situation. Something you and a certain skank should learn to do.

This idiot also seems to get enjoyment from calling me gay and fat.

But but but… pointing out the obvious… please don't, you might hurt me!

Christ, if you'd ever read my blog properly or even been told the correct information from the skank then you'd know things like that don't bother me.

At one point it says "thought I'd see if you could roll with the big boys" well love, the big boys usually know how to spell as they've finished school. The big boys don't hide behind a blank blog user id. The big boys usually put a face to the name. You're not a big boy. You're just a cunt.

I await the next comment, none of which will be approved.

Some background information. AlwaysHisGirl has a history of deleting her profile and setting up a new one on a whim. Previous incarnations have been BuzzzyB, Chocolate Buttons and Beautiful Mistake, as well as many others. In one of her earlier incarnations, a few years ago, we became blog friends and exchanged the odd email. I stopped replying when I got sick of seeing her profess her unending love for Robbie Williams and any/all of the McFly boys. This wasn't just a liking for them, it was full on stalker infatuation.

Eventually the emails turned into stories of self-harm and suicide. In any normal situation I'd have paid attention and maybe replied with something supportive but these were quite obviously the cold and calculated thoughts of a drama queen. I've done enough training in various aspects of of the topic to be able to tell the difference. In fact, when you know the signs it's quite easy. In the end I stopped replying at all and had most of them rerouted to my junk mail with auto-responders sent out to say it was being considered junk or just ignored. Still they came. The writing on her blog was of the same style, self harm and suicide, and again was quite obviously just someone out for as much attention as they could get. I didn't want to read the crap she was writing and didn't want anything to do with her so I bumped her from my friends list.

A little while later we had a run-in because she thought her opinion overruled mine. Take a look: it was ridiculous. She is the 'deleted user'. http://juzzzy.blog.co.uk/2009/06/25/michael-jackson-is-dead-6392147/

Last week, a 'new' blogger started commenting on my blog. From her writing style and, not surprisingly, her photograph, it was clearly her. Although challenged several times, she denied being the same person as all the other identities, but it's definitely her. Also, she has a much too intimate knowledge of Groups to be the new user she claims to be.

So. She was commenting on my blog, annoying me, and I told her where to go before deleting her comments. I thought that would be the end if it. How wrong I was!

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I dont feel very welcome here
by AlwaysHisGirl @ 08.10.2009 – 03:28:52
New private message on blog.co.uk‏
From: blog.co.uk (info@blog.co.uk)
Sent: 07 October 2009 01:31:55
To: me

Dear AlwaysHisGirl,
There is a new message waiting for you
in the Blog Messaging System.

From: LandersUK http://www.blog.co.uk/user/LandersUK

Subject: fuck off

You really are self obsessed stupid Fucking bitch! Stop creating new profiles, stop harping on about how Fucking bad life is for you, stop commenting on my blog, and my friend's blog stop being so Fucking pathetic, stop going on about self harm and suicide and stop annoying every one! Just Fuck off and kill yourself! . You are not welcome on BCUK!

so...
am I welcome here?
I am only asking because some say I am not.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

This appeared on the Ask or Answer group blog, the Stepping Stones (depression support) group blog, and apparently more than once on her own blog, as private posts.  Thankfully they have both been deleted.

A few points to bear in mind:

First and foremost, if I'd actually sent the PM AlwaysHisGirl is posting everywhere, I'd admit it. In fact, here and now, I am proud to say that yes, some of the words in that PM are mine. But, and this is a big but, I never told her she should kill herself, and I never told her she wasn't welcome on BCUK - just my blog. The capitalised Fucks? Not mine either. One capital F could be a typo, but all of them? It's a really bad cut and paste job. Look at the full stop/exclamation mark collision at the end - classic sign that a sentence has been pasted in.

I did tell her to stop creating new profiles but I actually didn't swear, at all. Strange for me I know but I thought if I sounded calmer she might take it more serious. I told her she was not welcome on my blog, not on BCUK. I wouldn't consider myself to have that right. I would also never tell anyone to kill themselves. I think the world and his mother knows that's not me.

Also, it wasn't a PM. I replied to a comment of hers on my blog, and then deleted her first comment, which got rid of everything that came after it. This means I don't have a copy of the comment I sent, unfortunately.

At the time I supposedly sent this message, I was in a bungalow halfway up a mountain in Wales with no landline, let alone an Internet connection. My iPhone was not online either, before you ask - O2 Ireland charge way too much for data roaming. The actual comment was sent and deleted on the 5th - the last time I had access to my laptop, which I left in Ireland.  

I think the most compelling evidence that AlwaysHisGirl is a total nutjob is here, though:

That is a screenshot of her profile page. If you look closely, you'll see that the link to send a PM is missing. It must be set to friends only. Now, as utterly fantastic as I am, even I can't magic myself onto someone's friend list in order to send a nastygram.

(click image for a bigger version)

The places she posted the edited comment were obviously chosen to try to heap the maximum amount of humiliation onto me. Well, AlwaysHisGirl is a nasty, vindictive, and apparently stupid individual, and I'm glad she's finally shown her true colours so publicly.

At least when I'm being a cunt, I'm honest about it.

I'm not asking anyone to take sides. I know she is on some of your friends lists but please just don't listen to everything she says and take it as gospel. Remember there are two sides to every story.

And to AlwaysHisGirl - as I know you're reading - if you want to carry this on then do so on your own blog in public entries like I am. Not on group blogs or in private. If you think you're so right then stand up for what you believe in and stop being a lying vile little tramp and hiding behind private entires. This best thing you can do now is drop it. Don't comment here, don't blog anymore about it and don't read my blog. I don't read yours as I don't like you, you don't like me so don't read mine. Even you should be able to understand that one!

This will be a quick post as I'm about to head off to the airport to head home.

There is currently a post on the Ask or Answer blog that is about me.

It displays a private message I apparently sent.

I'd like to say now, quickly, before I fly, that the private message displayed is a lie. I did not send a private message, I replied to a comment on my own blog.

Later, when I'm home, I will do a bigger entry and fill you all in on the actual story.

I'd like to say I don't care what you believe but I actually do and I'd like to think that those of you who have met me, who know me or have gotten close to me during my bloglife will be able to see the truth between the lies.

If her task was to piss me off then it worked and she can gloat in her satisfactionthat I'm angry, angry enough to go through the old emails she sent and go to the Tescos she works in and publically call her a bitch. I have five weeks before we're back in the UK so that's plenty of time Miss. Brown.

If her task was to try and make me leave blog or lose friends then I highly doubt this will happen.

I apologise if you feel you've been dragged into this.

Is up...

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I sometimes wonder if my life would be massively different if I made choices other than those I'd actually opted for. It's not that I'm unhappy with who I am now, far from it in fact, but through-out the years I've had many and various opportunities that I've turned down. I've been a part of things that I either got bored with or decided were't going very far or I've stopped being part of something because something else came up that attracted me more.

I was once part of a stand-up comedy duo. A friend and I wrote our own routines, made our own props and became our own managers. I was the stooge and she was the straight-man, well straight-woman. We had a few gigs in various comedy clubs and actually did quite well even if I do say so myself. In the end my priorities changed and we called it a day. How far would we have got if we'd stayed together? Would we be on the big comedy circuit right now? I doubt it. There are too many good comedy acts out there, as good as we may have been I don't think we'd have been one of them.

I met Jo through a radio station I used to work for. Jo used to do the mid-morning show on a Monday to Friday and I would do evenings from 8pm to 12am. Sometimes I'd engineer for Jo as she wasn't fantastic at working the desk and couldn't cue up an advert for love or money. In the end we got offered our own show on Saturday and Sunday mornings. We had a lot of fun and in part it was this that lead to our stand-up stuff but the radio station was changing and neither of us liked where it was going. Jo had her daytime show taken off her when the station was sold to one of the major media companies and her slot was given over to the new station manager. My slot was changed from 7-10pm and Jo & I lost our Sunday. Jo was the best interviewer the station had and taking her away from the mid-morning show, our 3rd most popular show, was stupid. Jo left soon after and no one could blame her. I haven't spoken to her in fourteen years. I wonder what she's up to now.

I used to play rugby for the school. If I'd have carried it on would I be some hulking great rugby player now or would I be sat next to Martin Johnson as a pundit talking about the game we'd just watched. At my mothers house, tucked away at the back of a cupboard I have a medal for playing for playing for the school. I wonder if it's worth wearing it when Brad and I get married, you know how service men wear their uniform and medals. Maybe I should turn up in rugby gear.

There are many other things I've done that I could have done differently and many other opportunities that maybe shouldn't have been ignored but I am quite happy where I am thank you. Look at what I've got! How could I not be happy?