The boys had performed outstandingly with all the written home education I had set them, and we had passed the home education assessment in December. I was annoyed with the woman who assessed us, Charlene Wright, as she had given a negative opinion in the protection conference, having never met us. She explained as she hadn't met us, she could only go on what she had read about us. Yet again, another unknown professional brought into a conference and told what to say and how to vote. I didn't like Charlene. At all. But she couldn't speak highly enough of me in her assessment. Yeah, I thought, you would have stitched me up based on bullshit.
I thought the new year 2016 was a good time to introduce some more manual/hands on lessons. I wanted to freshen up the place with a coat of paint and some fresh gloss, as I knew we'd have yet another tenancy inspection coming soon. We'd passed every inspection so far and I was keen to keep up our good reputation with the letting agent. I might need a good reference at some point.
I'd also decided we would do some cooking lessons, cleaning lessons, and some lessons on working safely with power tools. I thought the power tool lessons would make up for the cooking and cleaning!
We started painting the downstairs hallway. As me and D were stood behind the front door beginning to paint round the edges, somebody randomly shoved a note through the letterbox! Me and D looked at each other! What the actual fuck?
I grabbed the note and opened it, it was a scribbled handwritten note on a scrap of paper, from none other than social services! I pulled the door open, but nobody was there! I looked up and down the street, but there was nobody in sight. No cars, silence. I looked back at the note. It said they had tried to contact me but had no answer, and could I ring this number to arrange an appointment.
I walked to the end of my street, paintbrush still in one hand, the note in the other. Round the corner from my road, right outside number 1s front door, was parked 2 separate cars, women in the driving seat of both. I ran straight up to the first car and tried the passenger door. It was locked. The woman tried to ignore me. I pressed the note against the passenger window.
"DID YOU JUST POST THIS NOTE THROUGH MY DOOR?"
I demanded through the glass. She looked nervous. My psycho must be showing. I didn't care.
"DID YOU POST THIS NOTE. THROUGH. MY. DOOR?!"
I was starting to lose my temper. She wound down the passenger window half way. She looked so nervous for a second I felt sorry for her. Because I knew I was gonna explode.
"HOW FUCKIN DARE YOU SNEAK AROUND POSTING NOTES THROUGH MY DOOR CLAIMING YOU'VE TRIED TO CONTACT ME! I WAS STOOD BEHIND THE DOOR! YOU SNIDY FUCKIN RAT!"
She faced forward. I was spitting with rage.
"WHO THE FUCK DO YOU SNAKEY FUCKERS THINK YOU FUCKIN ARE?"
In a rage, I have what I call 'stress-tourettes', I cannot help swearing. I use the F word as a verb, adjective, noun, it becomes every 3rd word in every sentence. I'm working on that one.
"WHY DON'T YOU FUCKIN RING ME? YOU'VE GOT MY NUMBER! SO TAKE YOUR FUCKIN NOTE AND FUCK OFF BACK TO YOUR LITTLE FUCKIN RAT HOLE, FIND A PHONE, AND MAKE AN APPOINTMENT WITH ME, LIKE A NORMAL FUCKIN PERSON!"
I threw the note at her through the open passenger window, sucked my teeth and scowled at her, then turned on my heels and went back indoors.
Probably wasn't the best response, but I was sick of all this cloak-and-dagger snide behaviour. Posting notes like immature kids, and they wanted me to engage with them? Freaks. Maybe I was wrong about these Yorkshire people. Some were really weird.
Mid January we had a flutter of actual snow. I'd been posting on Facebook my confusion over who the neighbours were, I knew the names of number 1, but I couldn't find the names of number 8. Anywhere. It was weird, my suspicions of him being a paedophile and being protected just wouldn't subside. How come their names aren't on any public records?
Then out of nowhere, probably in response to my Facebook musings, I received another anonymous letter through the post. Same hand writing. The letter gave a name for the people at number 8, which turned out to be incorrect. There's something quite sinister about receiving anonymous mail, and while it spooked me, it also confirmed my Facebook was indeed being watched. But by who? And why?
Social services didn't try to ring me to make an appointment, however they did turn up again about a week later. Once again I refused to let them in.
"Can we see the boys?"
"Nope. If you've got concerns, I suggest you call the police to do a welfare check. Now get off my doorstep, and make an arranged appointment like a civilised person. If you can. You've got my number"
We carried on with what we were doing. I never got that call.
Instead, they wrote to me. Yet more 'anonymous' concerns had been raised.
My children being left alone, poor mental health, unstable chaotic home, plus the over-exaggerated snowball incident being potrayed as all my children involved in 'antisocial behaviour'. It was obvious what was happening. This was yet another set up, and it was becoming blatantly obvious.
The letter talked about 'additional concerns' and I thought, yeah whatever you're making up then. It was obvious there was going to be 'further concerns'. This was an obvious set up. Turned out, I wouldn't have long to wait...
After spending another small fortune on the car at Evans Halshaw, our National Trust membership card arrived. The weather was improving and we could start going out during the day, away from these weird spying neighbours. It still baffled me that they could get away with terrifying my youngest son with a lethal weapon, stalking me, videoing me. Yet my boy throws a few small 'snow' balls around and they felt 'alarmed and harassed'? Harassed? You, are filming us, but you think we're harassing you! I felt like I was in a parallel universe. Some mad psychosis. Is that what they were going to accuse me of? Psychosis? Was this shit really happening or is this some mad dream? I was, at this point, telling anyone and everyone what was happening to us. I needed validation I wasn't going crazy.
Then the police rang me. Could I go in for a voluntary interview. It was regarding my social media posts. An allegation of harassment had been made against me, and could I go to Withernsea police station for a chat about it.
No, I most definitely couldn't, thank you very fuckin much! Allegation of harassment! HE'S FUCKIN FILMING ME!
The officer suggested I go in to the police station, and 'give my side'.
"What for? You lot never fuckin believe me anyway! This is another set up, I'm not stupid!"
He assured me it wasn't a set up, but if I wouldn't go to the station voluntarily, he may have to arrest me.
"Are you absolutely off your fuckin nut? The guy is literally filming me across the road, and I'm being accused of harassment?"
My fury, which had very little effect on the officer, then turned to maniacal laughter.
"Are you honestly serious? Am I in some Truman Show shit? Because I've worked it out! This is another obvious set up!"
I was literally scanning the corners of the room for hidden cameras.
"It's actually not the guy with the cameras, it's another neighbour. She's alleged you've posted things about her and her husband, and I need to speak to you about this."
The only other neighbour I'd posted anything bad about, was number 1. And he said 'she'. So Jackie then. Jackie had reported me for posting about her on Facebook. Except I'd blocked her, when she sent that creepy message the summer just gone, so how was she seeing my Facebook? Unless she was stalking me. This was a deliberate set up, for certain. (Wow I sounded paranoid now).
These neighbours have got to be working with the authorities. This woman was searching my profile on Facebook, using another profile, or she was in my friends list under a cloned account, she was spying on my posts, and then claiming I was harassing her! What the fuck was going on here then?
When I refused to make an appointment to go in, the police turned up at my door. But he seemed reasonable, apparently just wanted 'my side'.
Ok, I said, I have nothing to hide and I'd like my side on record.
I agreed to go in for a voluntary interview.
But inside I was fuming. These people were really starting to piss me off now. The nosy bitch was watching my Facebook was she? I'll give her something to read.
Again, probably not my finest hour when it came to decisions, but I thought it's my Facebook, I can post whatever the fuck I want. Played straight into her hands really. But I was sick of it all now. The police were definitely going to hear my side of this story.
My son T advised caution, and berated me about my posts. I dug my heels in. Its my Facebook. The nosy bitch should just stop looking, shouldn't she?
We were barely 6 weeks into 2016, and I was being interviewed by the police. For harassing the neighbours harassing us. How did that make any sense?