Archive for the France Category

Health Warning- Normality Strikes…..

Posted in blogging, books, creative / writing, Divorce, France, glasgow, hen night, international family law, me and my world, morecambe, wedding on July 23, 2007 by Khlari

me-wedding-andrea.jpg

Shade your eyes, it’s shocking.

It was THE wedding this weekend, and as usual it was mayhem in our house. We had 12 people in the house most of the weekend, as even Berni stayed the night befor the wedding……Friday was a headless chicken day where I seemed to get nothing done at all, there were endless catastrophes, things not arriving, getting lost, I mislaid the false nails I had carefully purchased (as I alone of all the women couldn’t afford to do the beauty parlour/hairdresser thing on the morning of the wedding, I had to make do with doing my own hair (complex), make-up (scary, but fortunately not tangerine-coloured), and resort to stick-on nails from Claire’s Accesssories which I was left with 5 minutes to put on…….) It was a mad weekend (and for some reason this is only letting me post one photo at a time……

 

 

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Today I won’t blow your socks off- honest (but it’s not going to be about fluffy kittens either…)

Posted in 40th birthday, alcohol abuse, alcoholism, birthday, blogging, child kidnapping, Child Protection, creative / writing, Divorce, domestic violence, european union, family law, France, hague convention, Human Rights, international divorce, international family law, legal aid, london, me and my world, Misbah Rana, Mizbah Rana, Molly Campbell, morecambe, pagan, work/life balance on July 10, 2007 by Khlari

OK…thanks everyone for the comments on my last post, which was a tad on the serious side, I know. That might be because I’ve been bottling it up through a mixture of shame, embarrassment, worry about what anyone will think, panic re the legal case…..and many other reasons.

(This is as near to cute fluffy kittens as you’re getting….)

Yep, it was a bolt from the blue very meaningful post, which you don’t often find on here I know, with this blog’s mindblowing overall impression of a mad old goth-mummy waffling on about stuff she just happens to like, things she might have done, and stuff that happens to her in no particular order and with no rhyme or reason whatsoever.

The only way I can really write about that kind of thing is in a very sparse and factual way, otherwise I’d just go even more mad whilst writing about it and thinking about it.

That said, it is undeniably part of me. I can’t just put it in a box and sing la la la and make it all go away to avoid any possible trauma to self and others caught in the crossfire. It happened. It’s not a period of my life I am particularly proud of (mainly because I cannot believe my own naivete and idiocy in hindsight).

It does make me the person I am today- I was very different before life decided to heap all of that upon me. There are sequels of cource- I am now less trusting than I was-now that’s a surprise. I am also more scared of things than I was, and have irrational fears of quite a few things, which are really difficult to explain to anyone who doesn’t know the full story. Not many people until now did know the full story, I just had to be ready to tell it in my own time.

I do this analysing thing, where I sit in a corner for a few years trying to make sense in my addled brain of whatever appalling shit life decided to throw at me this time. Then and only then am I ready to talk about it. There are still people who I may never tell the whole truth to. My parents for instance. That’s for their own protection and not mine, I wouldn’t want my father to spend the rest of his days languishing in a French jail, which is where he would be f he did what he would do if I told him, if you get my drift.

But this blog is largely about warts and all honesty, so that’s what you got- I hope I didn’t upset anyone. Just had to say it, that’s all. That’s just the way I am at the moment….Maybe it’s because I’ve started to go to counselling, that I am beginning to share with you, darlings! (Don’t worry- I’m not about to start dressing in pastels and hugging things/trees just yet though…)

Oh um…something really important I just completely forgot to mention…..!

Posted in 40th birthday, alcohol abuse, alcoholism, birthday, blogging, child kidnapping, Child Protection, creative / writing, Divorce, domestic violence, european union, family law, France, hague convention, Human Rights, international divorce, international family law, legal aid, london, me and my world, migraines, Misbah Rana, Mizbah Rana, Molly Campbell, morecambe, pagan on July 6, 2007 by Khlari

The death of my brain, and the death of my marriage (though it had been a zombie for some time).

This is documentary proof of what a ditz I am. You remember I had a migraine that lasted for eleven days…well, this is proof of the brainache it caused. I completely and utterly forgot to mention to you, dear mad readers, that at last, after many ( well, 4 1/2) years of teeth gnashing, custody cases across Europe, subpoenas being served lengthily through French and English courts and still not working, abusive phone calls from my ex, eventually having to take out a £5000 loan for legal fees in France (MEP got back to me only after the case with details of legal help…) which will take me five years to pay back…

I HAVE A DIVORCE!!!!!!!!

Yes, with the head hurting as much as it did, I completely neglected to mention that as of 23 June 2007 (what a 40th Birthday present), I have a divorce. A lovley crisp Decree Absolute arrived in the post the morning before my birthday. I didn’t really manage to summon up any major enthusiasm for it at the time…even reading it was a little painful, and it seemed like a little bit of an anticlimax after the enormous struggle to get it.

I’m now putting in a spoiler-if you are easily upset, it might not be an idea to carry on reading…..

I got married on 21 July 2001, to a deranged Frenchman who glories in the middle name of Marcel (now, surely that should have told me something). I don’t know why I am bothering to disguise him, he wouldn’t know how to use the internet if it rose up and bit him in the arse. I’ll call him D_____, to spare his blushes, maybe. I was putting a lot of trust in him…considering he was a supposedly recovering alcoholic.

We met in 1996- I went for the weekend, and ended up staying for 7 years….which all sounds gloriously romantic, cue Edith Piaf singing and chocolate box scenes of joyful couple running through the streets of Paris hand in hand, a la Robert Doisneau. But it wasn’t like that at all. Think more of Emanuelle Beart in miserable drudgery in Manon des Sources, or a scene from Les Diaboliques….

(I had my wedding reception here…)

I went for a conference on European Youth Exchanges…I was working in Bradford at the time, and I was the only person who could speak any French that they could find at short notice…..So they rang me on the Thursday night, and I was there by Friday. I met him at a social evening, where we spent 6 hours arguing passionately about young people, and another 2 or 3 snogging (sad, teenage, I know…and I was 29 at the time).

He came to see me off, we swapped phone numbers and addresses….we started writing, and phoning, and visiting. My ex was a major liar. It was at this point that D______ chose to tell me that he had Leukaemia. I’m telling everyone now, because I can, but for years that has made me feel such an idiot. That I believed him. Everything began to take on an air of snatched urgency, so little time and so much to do. Every time we separated it was worse. I made the decision in the end. I threw in my dream job I’d waited 10 years to get (Community Arts Officer for the Bradford Foyer in progress), the training they were paying for me to do, packed my bags, and moved to France. Work even offered to keep my post open for 3 months, in case I changed my mind. I didn’t ask him, I just did it. If you have principles, it’s important for me to live by them. If we had so little time left, at least we would have it together.

I didn’t question the fact that he drank quite a lot. Growing up in London, most of my friends were work hard, play hard, it didn’t seem that strange. But when I moved there, I realised that the Pastis started even before he got out of bed. When I questioned it, I was told that as he was dying anyway, it wasn’t a problem. How naive was my 29 year old self, with the benefit of hindsight.

I finally found myself a job, but it was becoming evident that whatever I did, it was all subsumed in a tide of Pastis. I can’t even smell aniseed now without feeling sick to the bottom of my stomach. I no longer had a home to go back to- my flatmates, I found out after a call from the landlord, had spent the rent money I’d left, sold or stolen half of my possessions, abused the cheques I’d left for the bills, and the landlord was keeping the rest against the money owed, or he had already put in a skip.. Everything I owned except what I had in my suitcase, gone.

I did love him. Deeply, it was only that that kept me going. It got worse, and worse. I succeeded in getting him a referral for detox, but after getting him to the hospital, they said they no longer had a bed. It’s hard getting anyone to detoix, they have to want to go, and if when they get there, that happens, you have lost your chance. Finally his job intervened, and he was taken to the Clinic attached to the ministry for which he worked. He stayed there for 2 months. When he came out, promising never to do it again, and telling me that now he had me with him he wouldn’t, everything was good. He wanted a life, he wanted a family, he wanted normality. Within a month of him coming out, I was pregnant, and overjoyed. I started preparing for the baby, fessed up some of the truth to my family, and carried on. But I then had a blood test which told me that I had a risk of Downs Syndrome, and I was asked whether I wanted an amniocentesis, to be sure. My mother had had one, so I saw no problem. Also, how was his problem going to affect a child?

It was excruciating, and I didn’t remember my mother telling me that. Two days later, I was assaulted on the RER, and was admittted to hospital, bleeding. By midnight I was calling for the nurse, I was in pain, I was told to shut up, and I had my still-born child alone in a hospital bed before anyone bothered to come. The nurse arrived after the event, and they wouldn’t even ring D______. I was very depressed, even more so after they left me in the maternity ward alone, having shown me the baby in a plastic bucket.

Within another month, I was pregnant again, with M_____. All went well, until July, when I met some people I knew from work in Bradford in the street (they were on a course)- when I invited one of them, Nick, back for a coffee, D_____ gave him a black eye, and knocked me unconscious for three hours, while he went out and left me. October, when his daughter from his first marriage visited for Hallowe’en, D_____ started drinking again with a vengeance. It got worse and worse, I had made my bed so I had to lie in it. I didn’t even have enough money left for the medical treatment most of the time.

M_____ was born in 1999, and no-one knew what was happening behind the smiles. The next year and a half I didn’t know what I would find when I got home from work, lied to friends, family, educational psychiatrists alike. To all intents and purposes we were a sweet little perfect little multi-cultural nuclear family.

Behind the scenes it was only the Prozac, the Xanax, and the Stilnox that kept me halfway sane. As a ‘jeune mere’ you have to smile infinitely, isn’t it wonderful, isn’t it lovely……when behind the scenes your heart is breaking. I had no money to pay the creche, to buy nappies, to buy baby food, to eat lunch even. The whole motherhood and family thing for me was such a sham, I had to seem happy because everyone expected me to be, but in reality it was one of the worst periods of my life. I woke up each day dreading the day ahead. Oh, and how my friends were jealous of my pretty storybook life, the handsome Frenchman, the little family. It was nearer to the original fairystories, of darkness, suffering, and death than the sanitised Disney, Irma-la-Douce type fantasies of my friends

We were even taken as an example of wonderful multi-cultural living by the anglophile town we lived in- invited to premieres where I had to prop him up in corners, that kind of thing. The European Union in action…

I couldn’t even find solace in my usual eccentricities. The longer we were together the more he took exception to everything I did, wore, said. Reading in English was a subversive action, along with having friends and dressing strangely. If I had a phone call I had to have the speaker on and do simultaneous translation….His paranoia reached such levels that I couldn’t go to the supermarket without being accused of torrid affairs. It wasn’t until M_____ was nearly 2 that I finally achieved him getting detox again. For that, I had to threaten the psychiatrist that I was going to self-harm and admit myself instead. He had kept asking me to marry him, in the good times. I told him I would if he would go. It took his boss, three work colleagues, and an alcohol-induced epileptic fit that went on for 45 minutes.

My friends begged me not to do it. But I had promised. So we married in July. One of my friends, C________ even took me aside just as I was about to go into the town hall to beg me not to go through with it. I haven’t seen him since, he was so upset he went off to Algeria never to return.

All was well for a little while- then I was made reundant. I decided to study for my CAPES, French secondary teaching certificate with the money. I was at home for the year. The paranoia was again rising. I couldn’t go to the library or talk to a friend without accusations. Even so, amazingly, I had friends like Cathy, Linda, Kyriaki, who put up with his rudeness and abuse. By June he was drinking again, he started on my birthday. he made an enormous scene at my friend Cathy’s party (we share a birthday), and was so drunk driving home that he couldn’t find the way home from Rueil-Malmaison- where he used to live.

We had decided to make a new start. he had applied for a transfer back to home, to Brittany. We ended up in the Vendee instead (which isn’t so far). Any excuse. This is where he really started being slap-happy. I became his punchbag. It was evident he’d had practice, it was never where it would show.

We went on holiday to Biscarrosse. It was the worst time of my entire life. Fourteen days trapped in the middle of nowhere with a paranoid alcoholic, what fun. I poured every bit of alcohol away. He just beat me up and found more. It came to a head when his brother came to join us. After we had all been out, he knocked me unconscious, left me for dead, and left me. His brother left after he had beaten him up as well. I woke to find M_____ asking me if I was dead. I told his mother, showed her the bruise, and she told me to ‘deal with my own shit’. The day we moved to Sables d’Olonne, he was stopping on the motorway to drink.

It got worse and worse. The beatings were becoming standard, and I was very alone. My parents came for Christmas- a veneer of normality. The day they left, he beat me to a pulp, and I awoke to find him raping me. That’s when I knew, I had to go. I’d tried before- but he wouldn’t let me take M_____. I am five feet two, he is six foot. I had to plot carefully. Finally, he was again admitted for detox (the seventh since I’d known him). I rang my parents, admitted all (the hardest phone call of my life), waited for the money they had wired me to arrive, packed my bags, took M_____ out of bed at 4am, and raced to the border- he was leaving hospital earlier than expected. I raced to Paris, onto the Eurostar to London, and there the phone rang, just after I had cleared customs, and the doors were closing on the train. I went back to my parents, with nothing.

He couldn’t believe I had done it. I was getting 20+ phone calls a day from him and his family. He refused to accept the divorce petition- I have been trying for this since 2003- and tried to get M_____ back. Everything was a lie. He lied about the leukaemia, lied about his job, lied about his first marriage, lied about his past, and I could take no more. It had been a seven year, painful sham. He still wouldn’t accept it was over. he even rang me on July 7 two years ago to see if I was alive after the bombs. I coudn’t resist asking him if he had hoped I wasn’t. Legally, the whole divorce was an expensive minefield, no-one could ever tell whose subpoenas were valid, whose law applied as he was French and I was English…

It took me a long while to put myself back together again. My friends helped- Matt, Peggy, Catherine, Martin, Mia, Martha, Jack…….without them I could never have got myself back.

Despite knowing all of this, last year HWCBN viciously tried to put me back to where I had started again. Thanks to AD and TNO, Spicy and D, Beaut1ful, Dam and Woo, for being there when I needed you. I have Mr A to thank for saving my sanity, and even for de-demonising the past for me when we had to go back to Sables d’Olonne in February.

I still have problems with my head and my back from the beatings. I still have nightmares where I wake up in bed next to him. But at last, it is over once and for all. The chapter is closed. It took long enough. I was married for six years- of which, I only spent 1 1/2 years living with my husband. I wasted 7 years in total on the relationship, and the only positive outcome is M_______. I can now close that book, and put it away once and for all.

Mr A says I have now spoiled his fun though. He was enjoying living with an adultress……

 

 

Bela Lugosi’s Toenails!

Posted in blogging, books, child kidnapping, creative / writing, Dalston, employment, family law, France, glasgow, gothic, hen night, international family law, london, Marie Lloyd, me and my world, meme, migraines, morecambe, movies, music, music hall, pagan, penguins, Rocky Horror, Sylvia Plath, travel, werewolves vampires and ghoulies, work/life balance on June 14, 2007 by Khlari

I am going to steal an idea from SurlyGirl here. Have you ever noticed on your feeds how people have come to your blog through arcane google searches?

Think about the penguins. Those penguins gave me more readers than I could have dreamed of. Surly Girl’s experience was about Sarah Beeny’s tits……Therefore I am going to make the rest of this post up with arcane statements and see how many more bizarre readers I get through mentioning them…….

Let’s see….

Ditta von Teese’s bellybutton maybe. That might be a good one. Or maybe with the penguin theme…..Penguin kinky sex.

What about Pagan Penguin Perversion probably get three hits for the price of one on that one.

Dragons seem to get lots of hits on mine too. Lets use Dragon Penguin Morecambe Hussy. From the last couple of days we could have Victorian Cauldron Gestapo Frida Kahlo. Or Pentacle Penguin Happy Fairy. Or Gothic London Penguin Post. Maybe Marie Lloyd Mabon Billy Bragg.

Frequent ones are Gothic, Fairy, Penguin, Pagan…..but some of them it is honestly unfathomable how they get to me. Maybe this could rival googlewhacking- with the person who gets the most hits from the most bizarre things winning?

And now for something……

Posted in blogging, books, creative / writing, France, me and my world on May 30, 2007 by Khlari

Utterly disconnected. Has anybody ever read any Marie Darrieussecq? I was bored last night (Mr A playing Civ again, useful excuse not to write THE NOVEL) so I decided to revisit a few french weirdnesses.

I first read this book when I was living in France. It’s called Truismes, which can be truths, but can also be a play on words about a sow (truie). It is truthfully one of the strangest books that I have ever read either in English or in French. (It is published in Enlgand by Faber under the title Pig Tales). It is about a woman in a nihilistic futuristic world that slowly, and bizarrely sexily, metamorphoses into a pig. It’s very odd, even by my standards of oddness. The only thing I have read that is nearly as strange is Alina Reyes. The closed nature of the world and the bizarre nature of the transformation are a little like Angela Carter circa ‘The Passion of New Eve’.

Lately I’ve read some of her other books as well, but in English – they are better in French really. Even in English, they should be read just for their seriously mind-blowing qualities, and the strange nature of the discourses within…..you finish them almost dazed.

Write me Happy!!! (That’s Damn Scary)

Posted in blogging, creative / writing, France, gothic, london, me and my world, meme, morecambe, movies, music, pagan, work/life balance on May 24, 2007 by Khlari

Mr Spicy Cauldron has set me a meme challenge as I am apparently a miserable old goth-bat…..

“Now, I have a meme for you to start off. I’m calling it Write Me Happy. You have to write a post that ONLY contains references to the things in your life that make you happy, contented, fulfilled, etc etc. NO NEGATIVES. Tell the world some good stuff in your life. At least two decent paragraphs. No one-liners. No snappy sentence and that’s it. “

Alright, here goes with it……things that make me happy.

Paganism

It’s basically my kind of religion. I was brought up being dictated to about what you should do and believe, how and when you must do it. Paganism has an inner liberty, an inbuilt freedom where everybody can find and follow their own path, and there is no empirical ‘right’ or ‘wrong’. There are no ‘experts’ and everybody’s knowledge and experience are valued equally.

Paganism doesn’t throw guilt onto everyday activities such as sex, it is celebrated as part of the human experience. There is not a fixed morality, but a code of give out what you would like to receive back. There is also nothing like the special feeling you seem to get amongst a group of pagans, a certain shared intimacy, a warm glow, a creative buzz……..

Friends

I love my friends, I really do. They put up with me wittering and being a drama queen and part-time psycho-bitch . I like to share, and unfortunately that sometimes includes the v bad times as well as the good times. My friends have been my rock, they have saved my sanity when everyone else gave up.

When I think of my friends I have a nice warm feeling in my tummy, and mental pictures such as Mr SC drunkenly playing ‘I have never’ and rambling about ‘The Faraway Tree’ at 5am in the Morecambe (and all of us joining in….) or lying with my head on Matt and talking rubbish about Marc Almond with Mart Mia and Jack til the sun comes up. Punting drunk with Catherine in Cambridge on the day of our ‘O’ Level results, singing nursery rhymes in Transylvania to the bears with Peggy, drinking jasmine tea in La Defense with Cathy, Christophe and Linda….friends to me are important, and should be cherished. I think most of them know that I would do anything for them, and once my friend, always my friend.

Writing

I know that on the whole, I probably write an immense amount of pure drivel, which some misguided individuals occasionally choose to read. (You can get medication for it you know). Oh yes- am being fluffy, nearly forgot. There is nothing like the pure adrenaline buzz that you get when you put something down on the blank page and it begins to make a story, a narrative, a poem. It seems to suddenly form itself.

Writing take on a life of its own, it suddenly begins to live apart from its maker…there is an amazing feeling when something you have written is actually on the printed page before you…..and I love doing it- cathartic, mind-changing, deranged (often), a playground for thoughts and ideas…..

Painting

I love to paint, although it has almost been so long that I have probably forgotten how to hold a paintbrush by now. Painting was one of my first loves, and one of my eternal dilemnas has always been what I do about this…..I am unable to make a decision, I love to write and I love to paint, that’s how you end up on a stpid degree like Art History- because they won’t let you do one in Writing and Painting!

My writing is quite dark, so I guess that my painting shows the other side of my personality. In print I am all doom and gloom and gothic, but in paint I am light and bright and extreme…..so now you can see where all my happy thoughts have been hiding…had to stop when M____ was born after an experience involving M___ and a jar of neat turpentine….oil painting and babies don’t go! I paint LARGE and in oils, which is also kind of limiting, as that requires space! I’m just arty-person basically – I also love to do ceramics, sculpture, collage, screen-printing….all those non-money making skills!

Books

You can never have too many books. This is true, never, ever, have too many books. I love books. I sometimes go and stand in second-hand bookshops and sniff. You can tell by this statement I am very very sad indeed. Books have been my constant companions in life. I have been able to read since I was about three, and it has always been my favourite thing to do.

I have discovered all sorts of things from reading, it makes me laugh, cry, find new worlds, explore other cultures…..Books are always there for you, however you feel and they can transform any mood in an instant.

Mr A and M_________

Yes I moan about them I know. Mr A has now been in my life for almost a year, since Dam and Woo’s wedding in fact. He has, completely, changed my life. He has made me feel so much better about myself and my life, he supports me in whatever I do, he gives advice not criticism, and above all, it is important to him whether I am happy or not. A year down the line, I still fancy him like a sad teenager, and am still finding out things about him. He makes me laugh, he shares in the good times and the often difficult ones, and he is full of surprises. He loves M_____ and she loves him back without prompting. I just love him very much.

M_____ is an amazing little girl. She has gone through so much in her short life, she has been to almost as many schools as she has had years on the planet, she has changed countries, towns, cultures……. She is fiendishly intelligent, frighteningly self-sufficeint, and wildly opinionated! She is bright and beautiful, with a naughty twinkle in her eye. I don’t know what I would do without her.

Without either of them in fact……

There Mr SC and not a fluffy bunny in sight!

I tag…………….

Kitty @Kitty’s Ramblings

TrashCanDan @Musings of a Damaged Mind

Amethyst Dragon @ Musings of a Purple Dragon

Beaut1ful @ My Place

Silent Fruitbat @ Silent’s World

Thinking Blogger Awards

Posted in blogging, creative / writing, France, gothic, me and my world, meme, morecambe, music, pagan, werewolves vampires and ghoulies on May 15, 2007 by Khlari

A much much belated thank you to Damian at Be the Change, Tread the Path who has nominated me for his Thinking Blogger Award. This idea originated with Ilker at The Thinking Blog, and you can find the original idea here. Unfortunately this happened the other week when I was lying on the chaise longue going urrrrgh….. (I was a little bit ill and ooky). So I haven’t thanked him as soon as I should, or nominated anyone else as soon as I should!

Damian in his nominations spoke about the pentacle, the power of five with the ‘sacred space’ in the middle. I think that the image of the pentacle and what it stands for also symbolises the balance neccessary to make someone a thinking blogger- they should have a little fire, a little air, a little water, a little earth, and a little spirit…..like the people that wrote them!

First up, well it had to be Spicy Cauldron didn’t it- the man that I’m afraid, is responsible for all of you having to put up with me in the first place. His blog has the power to make me laugh, cry, share up and down time (and get a little green around the edges about his poetry)!

Second would have to be MsDemmie at Life at the Edge– another person who has the capacity to clam me down or wrench my emotions, to make me howl with injustice or cheer in solidarity…her blog covers so many topics, all of them entertaining and well written

A new one in the list would be Tinkerbell NL, the adventures of a witch from the Netherlands…which gives me the warm glowy feeling that there are other cyber pagans out there in the universe of life and the net doing the same things we do and thinking the same thoughts we think……

My next choice would have to be the words and the pictures at Kitty’s Ramblings. Kitty’s words mean as much as her truly glorious artwork!

Last but not least that naughty kitchenwitch over at Musings of A Purple Dragon that is AmethystDragon WHEN she gets some entries posted, they show all of her personality…….mad as a hatter but we love her for it…the person responsible for me ever coming to Morecambe, if I hadn’t talked to her on Vintage Gothic one day, I’d never be here now!

So:

Andy @ The Spicy Cauldron

MsDemmie @ Life at the Edge

Tink @ Tinkerbell NL

Kitty @ Kitty’s Ramblings

AmethystDragon @ Musings of a Purple Dragon

This is how it all works, from Ilker.

Should you choose to participate, please make sure you pass this list of rules to the blogs you are tagging. I thought it would be appropriate to include them with the meme.

The participation rules are simple:

1. If, and only if, you get tagged, write a post with links to 5 blogs that make you think,
2. Link to this post so that people can easily find the exact origin of the meme,
3. Optional: Proudly display the ‘Thinking Blogger Award’ with a link to the post that you wrote (here is an alternative silver version if gold doesn’t fit your blog).

That was that! Please, remember to tag blogs with real merits, i.e. relative content, and above all – blogs that really get you thinking! It is the first time I am starting something with my blog so I hope it doesn’t come back to haunt me.

Happy link-love-sharing, whatever it is!