By summer 2016 I just couldn't live at home anymore. It seemed quite clear to me that I was the target of ongoing harassment, illegal surveillance, and now manufactured criminal charges. Nobody in authority was interested in my side of the story, and I was getting scared. I'm being fitted up.
It seemed both obvious and unbelievable. Flashbacks from the Nottingham set up haunted me. It seemed this time they'd pulled a blinder. Goaded and tortured me into crying out for help on social media, knowing how isolated I was, then claimed I'm the one causing alarm and distress! It sounded so far-fetched even I wouldn't have believed it. Except it was happening to me, and just like Nottingham, I couldn't get anyone to believe me.
I did everything I could to stay away from home.
Once again I was tracking down cheap Travelodge hotels in London, and visiting Peckham. And again nobody down south could understand what was happening to me.
Travelling around all the time was getting unaffordable, but I had no choice. At home I was a sitting target for false allegations, and I was under constant illegal surveillance. I was terrified of Humberside police and being fitted up on serious false charges.
A trip to Peckham wasn't the easiest option. Parking as a none resident is chargeable, and finding a parking space is sometimes impossible, being forced to drive around the area looking for a space anywhere, then walking however many streets to get to my best mates, with the kids and carrying all our stuff.
This time, not finding a space anywhere in the vicinity, my mate suggested I park in one particular spot, you'll be alright she said, no wardens coming round here.
She was wrong however, but not being a driver herself she probably wouldn't notice wardens. So I got fined, for having 1" of my tyre overhanging the pavement. One inch.
I drove back to the Travelodge in Penge, wondering how I was going to sustain this life. I couldn't afford hotels and rent. And the boys were getting sick of travelling, they wanted to be at home, with their big brother and their friends. R was missing us too.
I tried to continue home schooling but we'd got no routine anymore, and it was hard to engage the boys. I felt desperately guilty but we were at risk when at home. As soon as we got back, I was looking for somewhere to go again.
But it wasn't fun anymore. We ached for home life. We wanted our routine back. But as soon as we were back at home, something else would happen.
Maybe my friends were right, maybe this was all smoke and mirrors, bullying. I had been told verbally that I would be receiving court summons for section 5 and harassment, but nothing had materialised. Just another social services letter. So how did she get the police to threaten me then?
I couldn't relax at home, and found a cheap break at a pontins in Essex. Pontins are notorious for grotty conditions, and the price I paid reflected this reputation, but I was desperate. And skint.
I got a room in a Travelodge on the M25 for an extra night, and quickly washed, dried and packed our stuff once again. The boys were sick of travelling, but I couldn't take any chances. It wasn't safe at home. If we wasn't at home, she couldn't make malicious reports of neglect, or poor mental health. She couldn't back up her bullshit if I wasn't around for her to spy on.
We arrived at the M25 Travelodge. The view from our room window was amazing but the boys didn't care. My attempts at keeping things like an adventure, weren't cutting it anymore. They knew I was scared of being at home, and like me they wanted the stability and normality of home life again.
R rang me when we got to the hotel. The police were at the neighbours. Fuck sake, I'd literally only been home for a few days! I didn't want to go home anymore. I couldn't take this. It was breaking me.
As I predicted, the pontins was an absolute shit hole. Broken furniture, filth, the whole apartment was grubby and dilapidated. I tried to make the best of things, we went and bought cleaning supplies and I sent the boys to explore the park while I sanitised the apartment.
We went to the beach and I made a sandcastle city.
Photos of me at this time show how underweight I'd become. The shorts in the pictures are a uk size 6, I was skin and bone.
This wasn't like an adventure anymore, it wasn't a holiday, it was exile. We had a 4 bedroom mansion by the sea, and here we were in a grotty, dingy, tiny hovel.
I dreaded going home again, and I was right to dread it.
Waiting for me at home this time, was a court summons...
