Archive for the Mizbah Rana Category

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…


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……



A Portmanteau of blogging pleasures…..

Posted in blogging, child kidnapping, Child Protection, creative / writing, employment, family law, gothic, hague convention, Human Rights, international family law, legal aid, me and my world, Misbah Rana, Mizbah Rana, Molly Campbell, morecambe, movies, music, pagan, penguins, Rocky Horror, werewolves vampires and ghoulies, work/life balance on March 30, 2007 by Khlari

A la Mr SC, I’m just going to highlight a few things I’ve been reading lately….a few I’ve read before, and a few that I’ve been newly introduced to…..First up has to be Mr Spicy Cauldron himself, with his post about being banned in China! Wahay! I am…..

Firstly TrashCanDan’s blog, Musings of a Damaged Mind, which made surreal reading, and so much the better…a worthy blogroll addition….hell, there’s lots of musing going on round here, me, AD, Dan……and the bacon tattoo stole the show completely……

A purple-brained dragon, AmethystDragon has had me fantasising about Johnny Depp in work time, thinking what it must be like to have a purple brain and looking at my visual DNA, and is even leading Mr A astray with her homage to Hayseed Dixie I don’t feel like dancing (bluegrass style)

Through Mr Spicy Cauldron, I was also introduced to YeYo’s blog, Ye-Yo, Lillies of a Mother, and her spirited post ‘A Letter to Joe Q Public’ about the importance of legal aid both for clients and their legal representatives…something that obviously caught my imagination with recent events in my life….

Then there’s Hayes’s new blog QPLog Brainmatter…….Have seen Hayes around, but now can read him online regularly! I loved Bridge to Terabithia as a kid as well…..

I feel for Nathalitanis, who is having employment hassle in ‘Oh No, not again’ over at One Life among The Many- breathe deeply and try not to hit them (too often)!

Not forgetting Sue’s new blog, Pastyme with Good Companye, and it’s recent post on one of my heroes…Sylvia Plath

ChaoticKitty has been creating some beautiful visuals again over at Kitty’s Ramblings with her latest artwork…it’s stunning, go take a look on Busy weekend

That bad girl Beaut1ful has been leading me astray into the world of blogthings again, hence my own disgraceful showing in the purity score….

To finish, loved Howard’s post on The WebPen Blog about Randomnessocitiation: Pursuit Of The Obnoxious Mind– Started me thinking……Grease set in a Lancashire mill town perhaps?

And if you want the bag, it’s available from Elizium, my friends Martha and Mia’s goth online and offline wonderland!!!

Catastrophes, Courts, Road Trips, Rain, Rouen and Bakewell Tarts #8

Posted in child kidnapping, Child Protection, creative / writing, employment, France, hague convention, Human Rights, international family law, legal aid, me and my world, Mizbah Rana, morecambe, pagan on February 28, 2007 by Khlari

Waking up in the cold grey light of a February morning in Birmingham. Grabbed breakfast and off we went to Morecambe. Crawled back in at about 11am, then I went off to AD’s to pick up M______, the cause of this pilgrimage. Don’t you just love children. ‘Hello Mummy’ it says ‘I’m happy you’re back but I don’t want to go home now as I’m playing with Boogyboo and we’re making wands’. Great. I have missed the little…darling, and all she wants is for me to go away!

AD’s living room packed with an AD, an OH, a Willow, a SpicyCauldron and D, and a Silent, so have many brews and hugs

and catch them up wth the news, until am banished home to sleep by AD with a promise she will deliver a monster later, after they have all been up to run around like lunatics at Heysham (children that is).

Gratefully go home and slump with Mr A, until overexcited little monster reappears. Unfortunately we are having a bedroom tidiness isssue (lack of to point that it is an obstacle course), so end up spending my one day of rest on Monday being big bad mummy again. She likes the presents though, and it’s good to be home.

Back to work on the Tuesday with everyone doing the ersatz smiles and ‘how did it goes’…cheesy grin cheesy grin. Then I am told, despite doing the phased return as I was asked to do in order to avoid the disciplinary…I am still going to have a disciplinary anyway. welcome back to the caring sharing world of where I work.

Catastrophes, Courts, Road Trips, Rain, Rouen and Bakewell Tarts #7

Posted in child kidnapping, Child Protection, creative / writing, France, gothic, hague convention, Human Rights, international family law, legal aid, me and my world, Mizbah Rana, Molly Campbell, morecambe on February 23, 2007 by Khlari

He was getting more and more greenish by the minute…….then ran. The hour and a half trip became a symphony of running up and down between the deck and the loo……When we finally got off at Dover, we then had the joy of being stopped by customs (for the third time this trip………). I have never ever been stopped before (except for on emabarrasssing strip-search incident at Manchester in the late 80s, but I blame that one on the person with whom I was travelling), but Mr A says this happens to him all the time, apparently.

As we drove out of Dover, it was still only 11pm, and Mr A said that if we did back to Morecambe in the same time we had down, we could be home in bed for 5am……sounded good to me, just wanted to get home.

It was still raining as we hit the motorway, and it carried on….heavier, and heavier, and heavier……It was becoming really hard to see anything, and the section around the M25 had me looking at the map fifteeen times as I figured we could have driven to Edinburgh in the time that it took…..We had considered popping to crash my brother’s birthday as we passed London near-enough, but by the time we had got there they would all have been too drunk to make any sense…….on, and on, until we hit Birmingham…that’s where the trouble began, Birmingham ring road……we were negotiating it at about 25mph in the dark and driving rain. Our eyes were hurting with the strain of seeing where the hell we were trying to go. We couldn’t take any more, by now it was 5am. Stopped at a service station where Mr A made me a ‘nest’ in the boot, and finally nodded off. Ignoring him saying I bore a resemblance to an Ewok, or a Hobbit. Just praying that we didn’t get fined for doing it, as everywhere we stopped had maximum parking times…thought they were ‘rest areas’?

Woken up eventually by a grey Brummie dawn, and a curoius bloke noisily emptying the bins……. a coffee, then onward, up north. On to ‘sunny’ Morecambe……

Catastrophes, Courts, Road Trips, Rain, Rouen and Bakewell Tarts #5

Posted in child kidnapping, Child Protection, creative / writing, France, hague convention, Human Rights, international family law, legal aid, me and my world, Mizbah Rana, Molly Campbell, morecambe on February 15, 2007 by Khlari

Fit the which the Bakewell Tart may become evident…….

We eventually went back to the hotel and fell asleep, interrupted by phone calls from our friends and family, AD and D among others, until I took pity on Mr A and we headed off to the Leclerc cafeteria as he was again ‘fading away’………

The next morning we headed off back to Blighty with a double mission ahead……well triple really. To get to Calais, to visit my great-grandfather’s grave in the Aisne, and to get some pressies for people……

Left around 8, and fairly whizzed as far as Rouen this time, as we even managed to find the elusive A28 which had eluded us before…..up to Tours……and then on and on and on and on. I had looked this up on the War Grave Commission site, with directions…..and they went on, and on some more. First find P_____ we did, then the route took us back the way we came in……

Mr A ‘suggested’ that I could have asked the woman at the Peage on the motorway, not seeming to realise WE ARE IN THE SOMME….surrounded by war cemetries, and I happened to know this one was small………. then got annoyed when I mentioned that little fact. So we argued all the way there…. Mr A finally ignored the route given…and we found it. Every town we had been through was closed, and I hadn’t been able to get any flowers anywhere. In France they DON’T sell them in petrol stations………. The sun was settling, we were rattling down a narrow unlit cart track, but we were there.

I found Sydney eventually. He’s been there since 1917 with no-one visiting. Noticed with a little pang that he was the age I am now when he died. His son only died in 2005. But I had nothing to put on the grave, which upset me after coming all this way.

Mr A then said…something from home, and hared back to the car. Returning with a Bakewell Tart. There we were, two mad goths in the deserted graveyard at sunset in the back of beyond, and I was laughing and crying at the same time. Mr A said ‘A taste from home, thought he’d appreciate it’. He was, after all in the Nottingham and Derbyshire regiment, so it seemd oddly appropriate. So Sydney lies there with a Bakewell Tart to remember him by.

On to Calais……

Catastrophes, Courts, Road Trips, Rain, Rouen and Bakewell Tarts #4

Posted in child kidnapping, Child Protection, creative / writing, France, hague convention, Human Rights, international family law, legal aid, me and my world, Mizbah Rana, morecambe, pagan on February 15, 2007 by Khlari

I promise that I will get around to the Bakewell Tart eventually……..

So then the solicitor came and got me, and I had to leave Mr A behind and go up to see the judge. By this time I really was shaking, a lot. I was taken into a little room, where there was….. a judge and a solicitor. No husband. The judge then asked his solicitor whether he was coming. She mumbled that he had left an answerphone message that morning saying that he would not be attending, after telling her that he was the day before. Hmm I look at my solicitor and she looks at me. Evidently pissed again.

The judge then explained that this should be a conciliation process, with each of us giving our side of the story and our wishes. Then she turned to me saying

‘Madam, I understand that you have come from near the Scottish borders, and Monsieur had less that two kilometres to come. You had already written to me saying that you may not be able to attend on a financial level, and on an emotional level, yet you are here. He is not’

Then she got really cross and ferreted about in the Code Penale for ages, shouting things at his solicitor so she could only mumble back. Then she slammed the book shut.

She then asked me about what contact D____ had tried to have with his daughter in the last 4 years. I explained about no money, no contact, no birthday and Chrsitmas contact, and about M_______ refusing to speak French because she was so traumatised by her father’s behaviour.

The judge then explained that he would have to have a phased return…starting with letters and phone calls, and due to his behaviour, eventually in a contact centre. She agreed that there would be no question of me putting him up given his behaviour and the fact I have a new partner….She asked me how this would be arranged in the UK. I said that as I worked for Social Services, this could be arranged (which seemed to go down well). His solicitor claimed that he didn’t know where I was, didn’t have numbers etc……so I produced the emails between me and them proving the contrary.

Now the judge got in a really bad temper. She explained that as D_____ had demanded this case, and not turned up, he was in effect in contempt, and that no amount of excuses from his solicitor were going to get him out of this. She said that as I was asking for a declaration of incompetence of tribunal, I would get one, and declared herself incompetent to judge the case. So all judgement would have to go back to the UK.

She advised me to sue D_____ for damages for all the inconvenience of me turning up and him not bothering, and said that now if he wished to argue the point he would have to find HIMSELF an English solicitor and go and argue this in the UK.

She also finally pronounced on the Hague Convention ruling. She ruled that D_____had left it far too long to try and make a Hague Convention case, and that ha had run out of time, as she would consider M_____ now normally domiciled in the United Kingdom. So there would be no question of ‘returning’ her to her father or place of birth. Then she definitively closed the case, with a recommendation that it should never again be opened by a French court.

I really wanted to kiss that judge but thought it might be inadvisable as a) she was a woman, b) she was French, and c) she might just change her mind.

Came back down with the solicitors and talked to them for a while. Became evident his solicitor didn’t have a clue. Mine had whispered to me on the stairs on the way down ‘drunk again?’ His solicitor started arguing about contact. Told her he would have to have parenting and psychiatric assessments, as well as risk assessments before he was allowed anywhere near. ‘How do you know this’ she asked in a snotty BCBG kind of way looking down her nose……’Because I work in Child Protection’ , I said…..touche!!!!

We came out of the court feeling like a ten ton weight had been lifted from my shoulders……and around the sunny bay for a coffee……….