Lipstick kissed elbow glove

On some faraway beach

Tue, 12 Aug 2003 12:04:17 GMT

This is the only result that google returns. I check semi-regularly to make sure that's still the case.

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Full circle

Mon, 30 Jun 2003 12:05:15 GMT

Part Seven

A week or so later I went down on a pre-arranged visit to Clairey's. It was supposed to be a party with a couple of other people but in the end they couldn't go. And Miriam got in touch with me the day before to say that she wanted to go along. Which was great. But then, while I was at Clairey's, Miriam phoned again to say that she couldn't make it. The phonecalls really started to dry up now. I remember clearly at one point her father laughing down the phone at me when I told him that we were engaged. I managed to speak to Miriam eventually and she shouted at me for knowing nothing about Islam and that was that. I didn't speak to her again. I wrote her a letter explaining how hurt I felt etc.

Which takes you pretty much up to the beginning of my journal. Yes, I decided I had had enough so I just set off walking, but then I noticed I was heading west so I decided to walk all the way to Cheltenham. Only police picked me up, sent me back to the college where I was taken to a psychiatric hospital for assessment, which consisted of roughly the following.

Them: Do you want to kill yourself?
Me: I don't know. No, I suppose.
Them: OK, he's fine. Discharge him.

I headed halfway to Cheltenham on the train a couple of days later but got scared so turned back. On the way back I tried phoning Miriam again. I was told she was staying with her uncle. The same uncle who had come after us that night in Oxford and who she had vowed to me that she wanted no further dealings with. So, yes, I had hope. I rang the police in Cheltenham. They were very reluctant but said I should go to the station in person. So I did. Lordy, I was in a right state. Well, they went round to Miriam's house, drove back and told me she was coming into the station to speak to me. She came with her father. As soon as she arrived I could tell something was wrong. She was wearing huge baggy clothes (not her style at all) and her face seemed to have changed shape. But mostly it was her eyes that struck me. She waffled all sorts of rubbish but I just asked if she loved me. She said no. And that really was that. She walked out. I think she might have looked back as she left but my mind might just be playing tricks on me there.

About a week later I received a typed letter, copied to my college Dean, of all people, which said, amongst other things, (and I quote):

“I am Islam and Islam is me. I was lost but now I have found my way.”

There were a couple of basic English grammatical errors in the letter, which Miriam would never make, but which someone who hadn't been raised with English (such as her father perhaps) certainly would. I would never hear from Miriam or any of them again.

What strikes me most about all of this is the absolute unwillingness of people (Miriam's hall warden, her neighbours, the police, my dean, quite a few of my friends) to get involved or say anything. I was told on several occasions that I must respect 'their' culture. I could rant about this for so so long.

But there you are.

THE END

Mon, 30 Jun 2003 07:41:04 GMT

Part Six

And then, something changed. Her father started acting nicely. He agreed to pay for her flat and be the guarantor. He let her have a lot of her stuff back (no photos or diary or any record of us though) and she moved into her new flat in Cardiff. As worried as I was about it, she went to visit her family a couple of times.

My Birthday came around and she gave me an engagement ring. I put it on but it was too small so we had to rush to the hospital to have it cut off. While we there, she told me that her father had arranged for her to see a self-confessed Islamic psychic who had warned her of great danger from a man with long hair and an earring. And clowns, for some reason. The ring was cut off.

We had started having arguments for the first time ever, which was a very worrying development. We always made up but things were awry. I don't think she trusted me much anymore and she was spending more and more time back in Cheltenham with her family. If I ever said I was worried about this it just led to an argument. One day she was going back to visit them for the weekend and I was sad because I didn't want her to leave. Well, we argued, I lay on the bed crying as she left. That was the last time I saw what I would call Miriam. A day later she rang me to say that she had to stay in Cheltenham. Her mother had mystery pains in her chest and couldn't look after herself. The hospital were unable to find anything wrong with her at all, but her mother insisted that Miriam stay and look after her (despite having her own parents, her sister, nephews, nieces etc.). The stay was to be indefinite. Miriam's father made a big point about how she was free to do whatever she wanted but I wasn’t allowed to ring the house phone as that upset Miriam's mother too much. Miriam wasn't allowed on the internet by her father and every time she tried to leave the house, even if just for a walk, her mother took a turn for the worse. The charger for Miriam's mobile mysteriously disappeared as well, so soon I could no longer contact her in any way. I used to sit all day online hoping that she might get to an internet café while also staring at my own mobile (I had one then) waiting for her to ring me quickly, as she sometimes would. But it wasn't really Miriam I was talking to. She wrote me the occasional letter but again, I didn't really recognise her. She told me that another (female) cousin) of hers had sort of taken her under her wing and was proving very helpful.

I was very very down at this time. Because it was the long vacation there was nobody left in Oxford apart from myself and Ron and and my friend Brewis, although he was often away. I was sharing a flat with Ron, which was not very good at all. We argued and bickered like small children. I tried to phone Miriam's house occasionally but all I got through to was her father. Occasionally I snatched a few brief sentences with her. I tried to explain that I thought she was being brainwashed but she wouldn't hear of it. I tried to speak to our college Dean but he explained that this went beyond the level of counselling he had been trained for. I really had nobody to talk to at all. I stopped eating at around this time.

Fri, 27 Jun 2003 14:35:44 GMT

Part Five

Later on that evening we got another phonecall. Her uncle and several other men were at the lodge and were demanding to speak to her. The police had been called. They started ringing her mobile and sending text messages along the lines of “If you just come back with us I’m sure we can sort this all out”. We were both near hysterical. I knew that if she went out and spoke to them then that would just be it. My door intercom buzzed. It was another student, Will , who they had seen going into the college and asked him to speak to me. I got rid of him. Miriam wanted to go outside and speak to them but I was utterly loathe to this so she spoke to her cousin on the phone instead. I think she spoke remarkably calmly given the circumstances. She said she would be staying in Oxford for at least the evening and would be in touch with the family again when she was ready. The police arrived and moved her uncle and the other men on and then we went down to the lodge to speak to them. They suggested it would be better if we kept a low profile for a while so we were moved into another room in college and were told to stay there as much as possible and given numbers to call in an emergency. We also got given a copy of the phone messages that the lodge had received. My personal favourite was something like

8.15: A Mr Smith called asking for directions to the college, saying he wanted to look around as he was planning on studying here. He spoke with an Asian accent. I told him that the college was closed.

So, into some poky little guest room we go and we stay there for most of the next week. I was working for the college over that summer anyway, so I would carry on living there, but Miriam needed to sort her stuff out. We went off to the bank to try and get a new bank card and some cash for her. Because her father also had access to her account (he had refused to let her have her own) he had, that very morning put in a direct debit to drain her account of all funds. Luckily, the woman in the bank seemed sympathetic enough and managed to just cancel that and sort Miriam out with some cash. The next thing was to sort out somewhere to live for her. She was still lined up to get her studio flat in Cardiff so we rang the agency. Her father had already contacted them to say he was no longer prepared to be the guarantor. Obviously, he wasn’t going to provide any kind of financial assistance to her either.

Well, the next few weeks were spent trying to find a job for Miriam and so on. We went to speak to the medical sub-dean, Peter Winterburn about changing course to English. We explained the situation but he still demanded that she get a high 2:1 in her retakes or she wouldn’t be allowed to change. It was only later that we discovered he had been speaking to her parents. We made grand plans for the future as well. Psychotic messages continued from the family. I heard more about what had happened in the house. At one point her father had picked up a broom and said "If you’re so desperate for c0ck why don’t you just put this inside you". And so on. Miriam was absolutely terrified of ever speaking to her family again. I told her that she had to, for her sister if nothing else. And because if she did then maybe there would still be a peaceful way out of this all. So she started speaking to them on the phone again. But her father and mother were still coming out with the same emotional blackmail.

Fri, 27 Jun 2003 11:19:07 GMT

Part Four

Ron returned with food and a huge beach towel, for some reason, and we spoke for a bit. He suggested that if he was in Miriam’s situation he would probably choose family. Well, the hour mark came up and Miriam’s cousin sauntered out of the house (the same one who had abused her). He told me that Miriam had decided to stay with her family but that she couldn’t tell me herself because it would make her too sad and that she just wanted me to leave. Well, I was unsurprisingly suspicious but there wasn’t really a lot I could do. They refused to open the door when I knocked any more and it was getting on for Saturday evening now. The only thing I could really do was head back home and try and talk to the Citizens’ Advice Bureau on Monday. Just as Ron and I were turning to leave two police cars came screeching up the street and went to knock on the door. I asked some police officer what had been going on. The next door neighbours (who I had originally phoned the police from) had heard screaming coming through the walls and had phoned the police themselves, apparently. (Funnily enough, I would later learn that the person screaming was Miriam’s mother, holding a knife to her throat saying she wanted to kill herself because she was so ashamed and wasn’t Miriam screaming at all). At this point, the neighbours on the other side returned from a day trip or something and asked what was going on. When I told them, they chuckled and went inside. I think I shouted something after them.

Five minutes later a police bloke came out of the house and told me that they were going to bring Miriam out and asked if she had somewhere to go with me. I said yes and asked if I should wait in the car but they told me there was no room and that they would meet me and Ron at the station and that we should hurry up and get out of the road as they had seen he family turn nasty in situations like this. I saw her uncle at the door of the house give an evil look and draw his finger across his throat, like it was a knife. So, Ron and I started running towards the train station while I tried to laugh and cry at the same time. About half way there the police car containing Miriam sped past us but then pulled up and let us two in and there was much hugging and tears and IloveYous and so on. The police told us that they had stayed behind to talk to the family for a bit but that we shouldn’t hang around. We ran into the station and jumped onto literally the first train there which was just pulling in at the time. It turned out to be going to Birmingham which was a bit out of our way but alright. Miriam had only managed to grab a few things and throw them into a bag before she left so we had to get her a ticket and stuff.

We got back to Oxford, said thank you and goodbye to Ron and went up to my room. Miriam had her mobile with her and had several emotional blackmailing text messages and voicemails on it already by this point. Then the internal phone in my room rang. It was the porters’ lodge saying that somebody had rung the college to complain that I had kidnapped their daughter and that the dean wanted to see me right away. So we both trundled down to the lodge and explained what had actually happened. The college Womens’ Adviser came down to speak to us as well. They were entirely on our side and said they would do whatever they could to help. We went back to my room and talked and I found out all about what had been going on inside the house. I don’t think that torture (both mental and physical) is too strong a word to use.

Fri, 27 Jun 2003 08:13:18 GMT

I wonder if anybody is actually bothering to read all of this.

No matter, here is Part Three

I wasn’t entirely sure where to find her house but luckily it was quite near the station. We got there, we knocked on the door. Out came her father and started shouting at me. In the background I could see Miriam trying to come out and speak to me as well but being held back by her Mum and Aunt, who were hitting her. They had also dressed her in the ‘modest’ way. They were speaking all the time to each other in Gujurati so I couldn’t quite understand but the basic gist appeared to be what a disgrace to the family she was. While she was asleep, they had been through her bag and found her diary and pictures of us and really did know everything. Well, when I saw them hitting her I kind of lost it and started shouting and crying myself which didn’t really help matters. Ron was trying to talk reasonably with her father but obviously that had no impact. All we got was how dirty and disgusting she had been and so on. While Ron carried on talking to her father I ran next door and persuaded a neighbour to let me call the police.

The police arrived and went in to talk to the family and to talk to Miriam. After a while they came out and said that there was not a great deal they could do as Miriam didn’t want to just leave so off they went. At this point, I think, Ron decided to go into Cheltenham and buy food and stuff since it looked like we might be there for a long haul. After waiting for a bit and calming down I knocked on the door again. After much grovelling and so on, I was allowed to speak to Miriam, but only while her father watched and I was not allowed to go within 10 feet of her. She told me a bit about what had been happening in the house. They had been beating her, had threatened to kill her, her mother had threatened to kill herself out of shame, they were going to disown her and so on. Her father had told her that she was free to leave whenever she wanted, so long as she signed a piece of paper to say that she was no longer part of the family and would never be allowed to see them again. A key thing to mention at this point is Miriam’s little sister, who she loved dearly. Effectively, her father was forcing her to choose between her family or me. I kept on trying to tell her that there didn’t have to be a choice and that she didn’t have to do it this way. Once she had been forced back inside her father spoke to me some more. He said that if I converted to Islam (ha!) then I might be able to see her again, but only if he was satisfied that I was a good Muslim and even so he was unsure about this because I was white and he said he had friends who had married white people and that in his opinion it never worked properly. So, he said he would give Miriam an hour to choose between myself or her family and slammed the door in my face. I went to wait in the bus shelter on the other side of the road. It was raining I think.

Thu, 26 Jun 2003 13:53:23 GMT

Part Two

Now then, towards the end of my Summer term (the end of my 2nd year and the end of Miriam’s 1st) she had to look for a new flat in Cardiff as she no longer wanted to live in halls. Her parents had sent her to the most backwards repressive hall of residence in the world. It was, literally, full of good little Muslim and Christian girls) Visitors had to be signed in and out and there were no visitors allowed after 10pm. Males visitors were just about tolerated but very much frowned upon. So yes, she wanted to move out. Originally the plan was to move in with her friend Laura and a couple of others but Miriam felt uneasy about living with that lot and so wanted to get her own place. To do this she needed her father to agree to be guarantor and help with getting the money for the deposit. Because her parents were quite well off she relied on them to help her out with her course anyway, which was more expensive than average as it was Medicine. Not that she wanted to be doing Medicine. That was a course her father had chosen for her, since she had been in school. She loathed it. Really really loathed it and wanted to change to English. Naturally, her parents were far from keen on this idea and only after much bargaining and so on did they agree to not oppose her.

All the hassle she was getting from her parents over the new flat and the course change were really starting to tell. She was on the verge of a nervous breakdown and very much didn’t want to go back to her parents’ house over the summer. Instead, she wanted to move into her new flat, get a job (something which they also strongly objected to) and stay in Cardiff. Because she couldn’t just do this right away she lied to them about when her term finished. Well, perhaps inevitably, they rang up her tutor and found out about this deception. They drove up to Cardiff that night, threw all her stuff in their car and forced her back to Cheltenham with them. What riles me at this point is that the warden of her hall of residence knew the situation with Miriam’s parents as Miriam had talked to her about it before, yet she did nothing, even though she saw what was going on.

It was the very last night of my term, the night this happened, so I was out drinking, obviously. When I got back I sort of collapsed in my bed but was woken up by a phonecall in the middle of the night from Miriam telling me that what had happened and that her parents had taken all her stuff and that she wasn’t allowed to use the phone or anything and that she intended to escape to Oxford in the morning. At about 8 in the morning I was woken up by a call from the porter with a message that had been left for me from Miriam. It was, simply “My parents know everything. Come to Cheltenham.” Barely sober or awake I managed to realise that she must have snuck that message out and was quite worried about what was going on. I briefly considered getting all my friends and going with them en masse as a big army to Cheltenham to rescue her. But in the end I just forced Ron to get up and told him to come with me.

Thu, 26 Jun 2003 11:05:49 GMT

I started this journal almost two years ago. I briefly spammed it out to the Mansun community but I doubt very many people took any notice. Nobody else I knew (in real life at least) was on here. I wrote down precisely whatever was in my head. Worrying about who might read it and what they might make of it and whether I should filter it were never an issue. I miss those days.

Last month I left this journal. The whole filters/bitching thing had become too much. I swore a lot. I regret it. I don't regret swearing at the people - I still feel they deserve much worse than that - but I do regret that that was how lipstickglove came to end. Except it isn't quite. Because I want to take this journal full circle and close it off properly. And in the spirit of how I first started writing and how I have been trying to get back to ever since, here it is. This is me.

This is Part One

Miriam and I went out for 3 months initially, but I broke it off because, at the time, I was uncomfortable being in such a committed relationship. Basically, I just didn't want to be tied down at all. Well, anyway, we stayed in touch as friends over the following months and she came to visit me in Oxford just before Christmas 2000. I hadn't actually seen her again since the breakup but as soon as I did I just felt very strange, like it was utterly wrong that I wasn't with her. After a night of vodka we ended up kissing and all the rest. And just for once the morning after it actually felt good and right and so on. Anyway, she stayed a few more days and that weekend is one of my happiest memories. I don't actually remember the first time I said The Three Words back to her, but it probably wouldn’t have been until the next year.

Well, we saw each other as much as possible for the next 6 months. Although she was studying in Cardiff and I was in Oxford, we were really only at our respective universities for tutorials. Any non-essential commitments were binned. I'm not exaggerating when I say it was an incredible relationship. Absolutely everything clicked. We never argued once. It was, well, nails.

Eeeenyway, being as her family was VERY devout Muslim she obviously never mentioned me to them. They phoned her up every single day to check on what she was doing etc. We often spoke about how she felt towards Islam and she told me how she had become increasingly disenchanted with it as she grew up. She still believed in something, she said, but nothing like the way Islam describes it. She also told me about the time she was sexually abused by her cousin when she was younger. She had been too terrified to tell anyone about it in her family, as she would have been the Bad Person, accused of bringing the family into disrepute and so on. Apparently this cousin had once confessed and repented to her uncle anyway, so his sins were forgiven.

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One last word. Read. Understand. Take offence if you will. It probably doesn't concern you. Goodbye.

Fri, 16 May 2003 16:31:46 GMT

You people are a fucking joke, do you know that?

A bunch of gossiping, malicious, self-serving, two-faced, hypocritical little shits.

My only regret is that I didn't spot it sooner.

I've got out of your life so now do me a favour and stay the fuck out of mine.

If you know what this refers to then I'd say there's a fair chance that means you. If you don't, I'll be in touch.

-x-

Made from balsa wood

Thu, 15 May 2003 09:07:16 GMT

Why not say what you really think?

I'm sorry for not being what you want me to be.

I'm just sorry.

This place is now closed.

-x-

So I put on my chinese dress for you

Wed, 14 May 2003 15:44:29 GMT

The great hunt for office equipment continues afoot! A few months ago I managed to get my mitts on one of those squishy pad things that you put in front of the mousepad to rest your wrist on (Old man I work with - "It feels like a silicon breast") and now I have a keyboard wrist support thingy - sort of. Except it's not made out of nice squishy material, just some vonny foam. It does, however, feature a series of pictures showing me how to take a 5 minute ergonomic exercise plan! I truly pity all of you for not being able to see these.

I do want a proper silicon keyboard wrist support thingy though, because they look pretty flash and I'd like a bit of that. Except if I worked in facilties and some ted rang me up saying they had weak wrists I know precisely what I would think. Yeah, exactly.

Apparently I have to be in at 0930 hours for a meeting tomorrow morning - Ahine!!! And they're giving me actual real work to do. I'm going to join the union.

I think I might take my finger relaxation exercise now then.

-x-

Wed, 14 May 2003 10:42:40 GMT

barrysarll is deaded!!!

:(

-x-

Wed, 14 May 2003 10:12:29 GMT

A semi-colon is a perfectly cromulent apostrophe according to my stupid hand. My little finger has been feeling strange for weeks now anyway, Not painful, just wrong...

I am officially now regarded as 'OK' at my job.

I cry too easily

It is King Adora tonight. Come on, people! Speaking of which, sweetie_fiend - you must find me a copy of the single!

Join layingacable! Go on!

No, I'm not going to say anything else.

-x-

Tue, 13 May 2003 15:31:43 GMT

Plan for tonight: Read!

Books = escape.

I'm so pleased. I haven't felt this into books since I was in school. The old excitement is back :)

I'm excited about something else too. But, um, yes...

-x-

I like ice cream. New.

Tue, 13 May 2003 13:44:27 GMT

Sorry and worry really should be rhyming words.

I don't get angry too often, I tend to favour the despondency way of doing things. But it just really doesn't seem fair.

Question (tell me what you think about me...) Is causing something bad to happen as a result of your actions really any worse than allowing something bad to happen through your own inaction?

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What goes up must come down

Tue, 13 May 2003 09:20:32 GMT

When he saw the look on my face, he smiled.

Drrrrrrunk Mary-Ellen is so much fun. I only wish I could have gone on to Trash.

He actually smiled.

Low, high, low, in that order. High next then, right? I can't decide whether I prefer small, rapid undulations or large, infrequent ones.

Is this making any sense?

-x-

The Vampire Lestat

Mon, 12 May 2003 16:18:50 GMT

I love it when you find the kind of book that you spend all day thinking about reading. The kind of book that causes you to miss your tube stop and get lost at Westminster in its needlessly complicated route to the eastbound platform. That makes you wish you were one of the characters. And there are another 8 after this one apparently. Are they as good as the first two, does anyone know?

-x-

Mon, 12 May 2003 14:51:51 GMT

Hello everyone. This is vaguely urgent and important. On Wednesday night King Adora will be playing a show here in London town. Is anybody else going to this for to because I am scared of walking in on my own. What with work and so on I won't be able to get there until about 8pm...

-x-

Mon, 12 May 2003 13:15:32 GMT

Oh.

-x-

Mon, 12 May 2003 10:16:04 GMT

Finally, and rather instantly, I appear to have learnt how to apply eyeliner to myself without looking completely terrible. Hurrah!. It still takes me ages though. And I was in a hurry this morning so haven't removed it properly, leading my boss to suggest that I look rather ill. Hehe.

Anyways, undaunted by the previous spectacular failures of gamehelp and cozzers, I have decided to make a new community. You shouldst all join layingacable and please let me know of any terms you think should go in the userinfo as I appear to have left my profanisaurus at home this morning.

-x-

A few good things

Sat, 10 May 2003 10:19:16 GMT

missfrost is back from holiday in Cornwall today. The big bytch didn't even send me a postcard. Unlike when she went to Manchester and sent me 4 (four) postcards featuring the 'attractions' of that 'city'.

culturedgoat and latt used a doubleteam move to beat the fiendish wasp. Hurrah!

And I'm one day closer to being happier.

-x-

A real Friday poll

Fri, 09 May 2003 11:36:12 GMT

Ever since w e moved into our flat there has been a dead wasp lying prostate in the bathroom lamp. Despite the shudders it still sometimes inspires, I can just about cope with this.

Imagine my consternation this morning, then, when, whilst shaving, I noticed that a HUGE, monstrous wasp was also now buzzing around inside the lamp. Not quite as big as in that picture, but still. I know not how it got there, but if it got in then it can get out. I opened the skylight and made a swift exit with my still fairly bristly chin.

Now, the problem is, that wasp is still there. There is a good chance it won't have flown away as wasps are sadistic little sh1ts like that and it is probably waiting to sting me. The bathroom door doesn't close properly. And there is a gap big enough for a wasp to get through under my bedroom door. It could be absolutely anywhere in the flat tonight when I get home.

View Poll: #133034

Fri, 09 May 2003 09:56:58 GMT

A girl called Wendy and a boy called John get very very drunk one night and end up in bed together. Pretty soon afterwards they realise they've made a mistake. Both of them feel pretty bad about this. Wendy puts on her f*cked-up hat and decides that as this is such a heinous act and because she believes the universe centres around her that this couldn't possibly be any of her fault and abrogates all responsibility, effectively accusing John of raping her. John is f*cked off. This comes between John and his friend Michelle, who just so happens to be Wendy's flatmate. John is even more f*cked off. This simmers

Fast forward a few months and Wendy decides to teach Michelle a lesson by violently attacking her one night. Michelle feels terrified, depressed &c &c. Wendy is as cheery and breezy as ever. John is even more f*cked off. John wants to kill Wendy.

-x-

Fri, 09 May 2003 09:13:27 GMT

View Poll: #133014

An idea

Thu, 08 May 2003 15:53:18 GMT

How would peoples feel about having an Poker Night round my gaffe at some point in the not too distant future?

I'd get in some chips and we could all, like, pay a small fee at the start of the night with the eventual winner taking it all, or possibly with smaller prizes for 2nd and 3rd places?

The real point of the evening would obviously be sitting around drinking and bantering.

Please say whether you think this is a good, bad or terrible idea.

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