The life story thus far (alternatively entitled, bad decisions and other farcical acts....)

I will gloss over my childhood, suffice to say it was not a happy one, long periods of self-harm and substance abuse in my teens, a spell in a less than welcoming semi-secure unit where I was allowed to give free-reign to my insanity (although it did have the benefit of introducing me to a lifelong friend, who is also, incidentally, still barking mad!) led to me making the unlikely choice to joining the Police at the age of 24. And what a jolly life is the life of a young single officer. Parties, money, having your time off when no one else has, yes those were happy, if slightly blurry, days. I bought a house a year after joining, I was the very image of the "together" young person! What you must realise, dear reader, is that I was in my early 20's and (hard to believe) quite fit. The job provided free gymnasiums which I frequented with alarming regularity, even managing (once, and one time only!) to run 6km after a night shift - I am not, and never was a runner! It was during one of those evening gym visits that I was rudely interrupted by a friend coming in to tell me off for having the music too loud. He was accompanied by a Royalty Protection officer who I subsequently fell hook line and sinker for. Well, a guy in a tux packing a pistol, who wouldn't? 15 years older than me, he seemed terribly sophisticated, had money and was very gentlemanly. He was separated from his "fruitcake" wife who he stated was as vicious as she was vindictive. But that was fine, separated was ok, I had also got one unsuccessful marriage behind me by this time (lasted 364 days, I was quite proud of that!) Of course he failed to mention that he had, in fact already replaced his wife with his next door neighbours wife......and so cue three and a half years of agonising toing and froing where I would dump him due to his lack of commitment, then fall for his reassurances (for reassurances read lies) all over again. Anyhoo, one lie too many and he was kicked into touch for good.

Then along came Kevin: on paper very eligible. 2 years older than me as opposed to 15, no children, no ex wife or troublesome ex partner of any description, it seemed a perfect match. More partying ensued and within 6 months I was, shockingly, expecting number 1! I say shockingly as I had been told I would need IVF to conceive, yet another reason I don't believe everything doctors say! And so the marriage was hastily arranged, walking up the same aisle I walked up for my first marriage, divorced and 6 months pregnant - ideal! And so, we married, it was a wonderful day, February arrived and along came Georgia. Well, to say I was less than prepared is an understatement. In fact I was totally prepared, I had been eating for both of us and Kevin since I learned of her existence (which was at 12 weeks - that's what having an infertility condition does for you!) and resting in front of Sky baby delivery programmes for approximately three solid months. I was the size of a house and knew exactly what my labour would entail (provisionally whale music and a birthing pool) Of course when the time came I thought I was going to die from the pain and so demanded an epidural (didn't work) and copious amounts of other drugs. And then, there she was. Battered and bruised from a traumatic assisted delivery, looking like a little squashed Winston Churchill. The midwives left me with her to have some bonding time, and I looked at this little grub. I knew all about development in the womb, I could have told you to the second what changes were taking place in my stomach, I knew every minutiae of labour......I'd just failed to do any reading about the bit after that. You know, where you get to have the baby for the rest of your life. To say it was like someone dropping a handgrenade into your life then walking off and leaving you to deal with the fall-out is putting it mildly! And so, a few weeks of pain from infections in places that were never meant to be infected, hormones came and went in tsunami proportions, sleep deprivation stuck it's kindly head into the fray, I think I was less than pleasant to be with around that time. Getting out of the house before 10 was not just impossible, it was, quite frankly, never considered! But we managed, and somehow, this little bean grew and thrived and was utterly gorgeous (and was commented on whenever I took her out too so it's not just my biased opinion!) Shortly before her 1st birthday Kevin and I decided to emigrate to Australia. £1100 secured us a flexible visa, we remortgaged to make the house presentable for letting and, armed with a career break but very little in the way of cash, a truckload of optimism and a 13 month old toddler off we went. Also, and unbeknown to our families, we also took along bump number two......
The trip around Australia is another blog altogether (and a far more amusing one at that) but suffice to say in October that year, some 6 months later, Lauren arrived into the west wing of Murwillumbah hospital in Northern New South Wales, with a view over the River Tweed and the scent of the jacarandas in full bloom. Sadly by that time Kevin and I were sick of the sight of each other, 24/7 in an old Toyota Coaster bus with a toddler and allllll those pregnancy hormones, plus almost a month in hospital due to complications and we were ready to come home! So home we came. With Georgia I had had to return to work after 4 months, this time I had the luxury of 6 months with my little buddha baby. Kevin returned immediately to his pre-baby and pre-Australian routine of spending every spare minute and some that weren't spare in the pub distributing our mortgage amongst his friends and the landlord in equal, generous rounds. The rows were getting worse, 2 children under 2 plus working 6pm til 2am every night made me even LESS of a pleasant person to be around. Somehow though, bump number three occurred and, in 2005, Harrison arrived. I'd always hoped for a boy in amongst my children, but if he'd have been my first he'd have been my last! Boys are little buggers! He was a delightful, easy baby, and then he learned to walk! And climb. And drag over a kitchen chair so he could dismantle the cooker rings and put them in the microwave! God I love having kids! And actually, I mean that, I do love having kids, in fact they are my raison d'etre without any doubt. This is what I was born to do. Sadly Kevin thought I was also born to run the house, work 32 hours a week and do all the childcare whilst he flitted from one improperly priced job to another, spending the profit in one ale house or another. In January 2009 the end came, and not before time. A friend in Weymouth had had too many moonlit visits from me as I fled with the children after late shifts from an unconscious drunk, this was no way to live. So off he went. And here's where it starts to get complicated, so get a cup of tea, make yourself comfortable and read on.

In June 2009 I had a letter from the Official Receiver telling me that my almost soon to be ex-husband had declared himself bankrupt and that, as we were still married and his name was on the house, they now owned his share of the property and would be valuing it with a view to recouping the creditors moneys. Once I'd corrected them on several errors in their first written communication (like the address of the house they were stating they now had an interest in was South Road, not Rounce Lane where he was currently renting) I entered a phase of ringing them every single month for the next 3 1/2 years. I kid you not. The Receivers office, and I only ever once spoke to the same person more than once, told me that the matter was pending, passed to another department, not at that department, waiting to be dealt with, still in the system......by this time I had already sent them £211 + £1 for costs and provided them with three valuations as required. The only thing I was constantly told was that actually, they had three years to process this claim and so I would just have to be patient.
By this time there had been all sorts of problems with our split; he kicked in our door at 2am prompting a terrified call to 999 by me and his removal by people I had the embarrassing issue of facing during my working days. I took the children camping and he broke in and helped himself to a shower and was found in a towel drinking a bottle of wine lounging on the sofa. Sadly the officers that time, called by my Dad as I was in Devon, didn't find the small baggy of cannabis he left in the dog food cupboard - I found that on my return.....which was nice. He constantly drove past the house, he actually rang the police beligerently asking what they would do if he did the door again prompting the children and I to do a bunk to Wales for a week - if he was going to do it it was best he got on with it when we weren't there. He made complaint after complaint against me and my colleagues in an effort to get me the sack and prompting a long investigation by PSD......stress, I know thy face. But gradually, and after a first course of conduct warning for harassment, and once he'd found himself another girlfriend, things began to settle. I was still battling the receivers in a bid to get them to shift their arses so I could get it dealt with - I was desperate to move my mortgage which was £1023 a month. I only bring home £1500 a month, even I with my undeserved grade C at O level maths can see that those sums are never going to work. Kevin had initially declined to pay any maintenance at all and the CSA had, helpfully, assessed him as having to pay £8 a week for all three children....slightly galling! Then he was reassessed at £31 a week which was marginally better but still borderline breadline! So anyway, Receivers; by September 2011 they finally admitted they had lost all the paperwork in relation to his file and would have to start all over again. The consequences of this soon became clear......in 2009 the house was borderline negative equity due to the state in which it had been left ie: a half finished extension and some rather dodgy wiring thus there was nothing into which the Receivers could get their claws.... Of course 2 1/2 years later the market had improved considerably, and suddenly there WAS equity and the Receivers started demanding £45,000. Now bear in mind dear reader, I have been in this house since August 1993, that's 19 years, Kevin was here for a little over 8 years during which time we remortgaged 3 times, once for Australia, once to build the extension and once.....well sadly I know not what for, it would appear subsequently it was probably to bail out his business looking at the bankruptcy amount....but anyway, surprisingly I was a little displeased about this and commented in such a manner to the Receiver. Having stamped my feet and thrown numerous hissy fits, and having written to Michael Gove MP (yes, chinless wonder, yes bane of educators everywhere, but sadly my local MP and, for once, surprisingly useful!) they finally admitted that actually, they hadn't handled things quite as well as they should have. Particularly losing the £211 cheque TWICE then demanding it a third time when they'd already cashed it the month before - am I inspiring confidence in government departments dear reader? I thought not.
Eventually, and I shall spare you the details of a further 5 months of phone calls and letter writing, it was agreed that the amount they Receivers would claim would be £13,500, that that amount would be placed as a restriction against the house so that I only had to come up with it if I sold the property and that the amount would carry no interest, the amount was set and would not increase. Bingo! Job done! I could live with that although it still grated that they had never once, not ever ever ever approached my ex husband and asked him to cover his debts (all personal, none secured against the house and none in my name I hasten to add). Then in October this year I received notification from the Land Registry of the restriction against the house. £13,500 set in stone? No. £27,500 being charged at 8% interest per year. I have absolutely NO IDEA where they got this figure from, it certainly was never discussed....This amount having been dealt with at court in August.....not quite sure where the two months went of them hanging on to the paperwork but still! Funnily enough I was a trifle displeased with this also, especially as I had it in writing from them that the amount would be £13,500. And that is where we are today. I have lodged objections with the Land Registry, rung the Receivers and written to the Official Adjudicators who are the body that deals with complaints or mismanagement issues with the Official Receivers. BUT, one thing is certain, as it stands, every day I am here I am accruing more and more of my ex husbands debt. Those of you on Facebook may recall me asking for some ridiculous percentages sums to be done a while back - it transpires that in 6 1/2 years I will owe more than my ex husbands original debt. I have 2 1/2 years to get out before I go into negative equity what with solicitors fees, estate agents etc etc.....and so, for my piss poor judgement of character, what I have to show for nearly 20 years of mortgage paying is, approximately, and as far as can be estimated, give or take, fuck all.

And talking of piss poor judgement, lets get back to men....not content with marrying an alcoholic bankrupt I decided to go against every rule I had ever made, namely: never go backwards, only go forwards. And so, re-enter, stage left, Mr Tux wearing pistol packer. Why I sent that e mail I will never know, there's only so many times you can slap yourself round the head.... Anyway, it was lovely to hear from him, the woman he had been living with in 1995 was now gone, they were in touch occcasionally but that was all, he was, in fact, living alone in the east of the country, by the coast. The picture of respectability, he was retired from the job on a pre-Winsor report 30 year pension (very nice thank you!) he had his own business in financial investigation, he was a co-director of a car dealership, a local Conservative party councillor (should have sounded the warning bells then!) was very involved in the upkeep and maintenance of a local theatre group and hall, drove the bus on a Friday afternoon for the local Blind Society and cared for his very elderly parents who were in varying stages of age-related maladies. He coached and was in charge of vetting for the under 9s rugby club on a Sunday, in fact I think he only had Saturdays in which to polish his halo.....and apparently, after all these years, he had never forgotten me and, subsequently discovered that he still loved me. (I will take a short break here reader to continue beating myself about the head a little longer) So this was in late 2009: he visited, he took me out, he took the kids out, he helped with their homework, he was, too all intents and purposes a part time father figure, and bearing in mind their original example, he was not a bad one either. And, sadly as it turns out, they grew to like him, then to be quite fond of him, and finally to act up and misbehave in front of him which is always a sign of acceptance!
And the months rolled on, and, once again, I became suspicious of his lack of availability for phone calls, "always text first, I might be in a meeting" his absence of invitations to visit (because we do love the sea side!) and so I chucked him. Again. Then I took him back. Again. (Are you seeing a pattern here? The universe loves a pattern...) And now we reach the weekend just gone, the weekend of the 17th and 18th of November. He arrived Saturday night, he took us all out to lunch on the Sunday, we visited his childhood haunts in Hampshire, had walks in the countryside, a leaf fight by the side of the river Test, it only needed a labrador and we could have been an advert :) (And Delilah the dog was not with us as she didn't fit in the car he had lent me, mine being repaired in his garage at his expense, how kind) He returned again on Tuesday evening, driving the 2 hours up the motorway to return the lovebus, all fixed, and to give Lauren an old pre-upgrade Nokia "looks like a blackberry" mobile phone. Now then (and you're going to love this bit) Wednesday evening, as I lay, prostrate and suffering on the sofa from some hideous childhood bug, Lauren was unable to make the phone send texts and so she handed me the phone (god knows why, I know less than my cat about mobile phones!) Scrolling through the text menus, I chanced upon "folders". Well, and wasn't there a lot of texts from me? And from someone called Denise. And Kareen, Charlotte. Olwen and Teri.All dated 2011, and all at pretty much the same time! Then I went to "sent items" and blow me down, there were more of the same! After a small amount of mathematical calculation, consulatation with a calendar, holding up both hands and finger-counting.....can you see where this is going....? Well, never being accused of being a shrinking violet I copied down all the phone numbers, including that of the woman he lives with, and sent them all the following message.....I shall quote it to you now my dear reader so you can experience in full, the majesty of his discomfort.: Dear N (that's him) G (that's who he lives with), Kareen, Denise, Charlotte and F (his sister) Forgive this unexpected intrusion, my name is Rebecca and I have, it seems, been seeing N at the same time as at least three of you. Kareen and Charlotte, you seem to have overlapped with each other and me! There are undoubtedly others, maybe you know some? G, if you're wondering where N was this weekend just gone and last night, he was here with me. N, thank you for fixing my car and promising to rescue me, apparently, reading the texts on the phone you gave to my middle daughter in the folders and sent texts section, this is a recurring theme with you. F, I am not "his crazy mistress" I am ONE of his crazy mistresses. And why am I not going quietly? Because he told my children that he loved me and that he loved them, and that, ladies, is unforgiveable. Three children let down by a philandering serial liar....anyway, please excuse me, e mails to send, tea to cook for loving children who deserve better...... 
Well. What do you think of that? Turns out G had never been away, so that's 20 odd years of adultery she has tolerated (she must have had some idea, in fact I know she did because she blocked me on Facebook at one stage and he deleted all his "likes" of my posts - how very grown up we all are!) It transpires that Charlotte is rather angry, having been in his web for over two years, Denise, and for this you must be sitting down, was with him for 18 years and he told her that G was his sister!!!! Kareen denies it, but I've seen the texts, there are three other names but there is nothing really conclusive, and all this is an 8 month period last year.......I would so love to have access to this years phone and computer?! Callous towards G? The woman with whom he has shared his life? Maybe, but I, in her shoes, (flat ugly sensible ones probably but that's just me being bitter - most unbecoming!) would want to know, although I quite obviously don't expect any thanks, au contraire, I expect to be vilified and despised. That's fine, I have broad shoulders - I think this blog has shown that at the very least! Anyway, N's reply to this disclosure? "Why would you want to hurt me? What a thing to do. The only person of any consequence on that list is G....." so 18 years, 2 years, any other persons years are of no consequence? I count myself as one of those "inconsequential" women despite his declarations of undying love and promises of matrimony. And I did think of trying to explain why I felt the need to be a tiny bit mean to him, but then I thought, psychopathic philanderers capable of that level of deceit are incapable of any empathy, they must be in order to continue the lifestyle to which they are committed. His parents must be so proud.  He did initially try to deny it, but of course he can't. Charlotte is plotting revenge although I have counselled her that none is required and not to waste a single other moment on him. Don't think she's convinced - I'd be worried if I was him! But sadly, this was all last years texts, there WILL be others, if G has kicked him out he will merely move to the next one and tell them that he could no longer live without her.....I expect she is even now full of love with her heart swelling in unbridled joy......my lovely, it will not last. And to think,. this man could have been the new PCC for Sussex......sorry, did I just partly identify him? I never would.... ;)
And there we are, that has brought you up to date, apart from the argument with my mother where she has practically told me she can no longer do childcare (although I think I will be able to convince her to carry on for a short while) but that is why I must leave. Not only can I not afford the house as things stand, I am now finding it increasingly difficult to get my sorry arse to work. Which is a shame as, having changed my role, I am now back in the job I loved. However the town in which I live is, I believe, toxic, being tainted by my ex husband and all his acquaintances. My house has no good karma about it, it never has had. It is also falling down around my ears, the upstairs bathroom needs ripping out as a row of tiles has fallen off the wall and the plaster is wet through back to the bricks, it also leaks through to the dining room table every time someone has a shower. The ceiling above the table is, therefore, a rather precarious bulge of mouldy hardboard which threatens every meal with an unexpected extra helping of fungi. The "new" kitchen has running damp, possibly from a burst pipe - which was conveniently set in a concrete floor, but that ensures a nightly influx of green slugs (don't walk barefoot in the kitchen at night dear potential visitor, for fear your feet should squelch!) The "wet room" downstairs is the junk room although the plumbing IS there somewhere but it is not tiled and has no floor, neither does the utility room. The wiring in the kitchen is VERY dodgy, although the live wires that were left hanging from holes in the ceiling by my illustrious choice of husband have now been made safe at a cost of £500 (thank you Daddy) The lights in the front room don't work at all, no one knows why, just one of those little quirky things. And so, the house must go. Someone is going to get themselves a lovely little project as this house has good potential, that said I bought it for the garden which looks out over three rows of fields inhabited, in less inclement weather, by doe-eyed cumbersome cows during the day and owls and deer at nightfall. I shall miss the garden even though Elvis, my Indian Runner duck and his harem of 5 puddle ducks have turned it mostly to mud. Again. 13 chickens haven't helped too much either!

Far too much information really, but I feel a shedding of loads approaching. Stress will, no doubt, accompany it, it will all go horribly wrong at various stages. I expect to come out of it with nothing financially, the goal is only to come out without debt. I couldn't bring myself to tell my Dad when he came down with Lemsip earlier, although I was keen to disillusion him about N - he couldn't quite believe it either! So, new start, no more men for me, I think I have categorically proved that I am NO GOOD at choosing partners.....perhaps I should turn lesbian......actually, no, scrap that! :)
Thank you for reading ,if indeed you got this far. I have taken two cups of tea to complete this, plus some "head beating" time and now it is time to collect my little darlings from school. Because as long as I have them, as long as they have me, as long as we have each other, one way or another, we will be alright....