Today I stopped copying posts to my ‘old’ blog site, the one started by Melissa, whilst I lay in Toulon, near death.

This site is much better, techy wise, and allows me more ownership and control of the content in the future, however that may manifest itself.

I’ve been chatting to Claire Lomas, of Robotic Suit London Marathon fame ( amongst other things ).
She wrote about the people that couldn’t help but write and tweet unkind things about her, and wondered why on earth they did. What motivation could they possibly have?

I read her book with fascination, so much resonating with me.

The ‘troll’ thing did too. I’ve wondered why anonymous strangers get pleasure from putting comments on my online diary…
People I don’t know, happily hiding behind daft, made up names.

I tended not to delete their comments, as the rest of you, like me, just thought ‘ what a twat ‘.

They can’t post stuff now, unless I approve it, so it’ll be easier to dismiss their idiocy, and you won’t see it at all.

Thanks Melissa, for kicking this thing off.
Baring my very soul has been my salvation from time to time, particularly whilst in Stoke Mandeville.
It’s not the most enjoyable of places, despite the great work they do there.
Short of staff, space, and equipment, it soldiers on, but I shan’t look back with fond memories. It kept me alive, when I wanted to be dead, then kicked me out when I wasn’t ready. It’s obviously in a no win situation, and for that reason I feel guilty implying criticism so through non gritted teeth, I’d like to thank that hospital for saving my girls’ Dad, by giving him something to do other than topping himself.
Last night we watched a film where a little boy visits his Dad’s grave and cries on his knees.
I imagined that was me in that hole, and that little boy my Amber.
I don’t know what she was thinking, as I stroked her hair, but I was filling up.

I wonder what irrelevant comments my odd trolls will send about this post….