The Tale Of A Savage Garden Tamed

THE TALE OF A SAVAGE GARDEN TAMED: –

(Or in other words, My garden needed a severe tidy up and I couldn’t do it).

Things, so to speak, were starting to get a little bit desperate regarding the state of my garden. Not just a bit over grown, but a mini urban jungle threatening to invade my home via the back door.

A little melodramatic I hear you mumble, but no, things in the outer sooth of the garden to the rear of my home were really that bad and needed to be remedied as soon as possible.

I am currently a Housing Association tenant. I live in a house specifically built for and also adapted for a person with mobility disabilities and one of the more important conditions of my lease is that I keep the garden in a neat and tidy state. This is to keep pests down and to ensure that visitors and neighbours are not troubled by the sight of a true nature garden, unkempt and unloved.

There had been a few hints and comments from the on site staff and a kindly word from a neighbour. I had asked the Housing Assossation rep on site if she knew of a good gardener that charged good to reasonable prices as just about everyone in my neighbourhood is either mobility disabled or has some other form of condition and has a carer or two to help them. She had no useful numbers or help to offer in my seeking a gardener, even though the Housing Association employs it’s own contract gardeners to keep the bits on public show in tidy order. She offered no contact number for them, nor any help on finding an alternative gardener…Sod it, I thought, I’ll look for a gardener myself, even though she had assured me weeks before that she would pop their contract gardeners details through my letterbox, I had tired of waiting and asking her, and asking her again.

I went retro and grabbed a small yellow book that purported to be a telephone book. It didn’t look anything like a telephone to me, but I, none the less perservered in my epic retro efforts to find a gardener.

I turned page after page, searching for the section that said “gardening services”. No hashtag, no search engine to offer me assisstance and I couldn’t google it at that precise moment. I suddenlt felt old, and also empowered, having the in real life seek and find skills needed in a paper based throwback world.

I looked for local gardening services as I like to support local business and also to help the local economy…I’m awesome like that and I wish more people were.

I could hear the garden defiantly growing as I perused the information printed afore me.

The first firm I rang was the nearest to me locally and I decided to ring at about five minutes to five in the evening….I wasn’t trying to be difficult, I just hadn’t realised what time it was.

The answerphone kicked in and then was promptly snatched up and I was surprised to be greeted warmly and politley, that usually doesn’t happen when you ring a business at five to five in the evening…I immediatley smiled…This was an awesome start.

I had a little chat with the nice man on the other end of the telephone line…no tweeting, texting or skyping to be found here, just the good old fashioned, talking to someone on the telephone. He listened to what I was saying and didn’t rush me out of the conversation…Another massive bonus and I was still smiling.

Eventually after getting the factual stuff out of the way, I arranged an appointment for him to visit me for a quote. I was surprised to hear him say he’d be here in half an hour, as he was just down the road from my home. I agreed and quickly got The Boogeyman to tidy up a bit, not that my home was a mess, it’s just that the cat had been playing with her toys and I didn’t want anyone tripping over them. That done, The Boogeyman disappeared off to where he dwells in the house when he’s not required and I waited for the gardener to arrive to give me a hefty quote for the work that needed to be done in the garden.

I was a bit weary as I’d had some gardening work done about 9 months ago and I firmly believed that I was “fleeced” on that occasion as well as feeling uncomfortable when they had asked if I had the money to pay for the job and that they would take me round to the cashpoint if I hadn’t. That firm also showed scant regard for their health and safety whilst doing the gardening work, frequently making me gasp with worry and shock at how and what they were doing to reach ivy that had grown up to the eves of the house. Let’s just say they neither used ladders nor safety goggles, nor any other required safety equipment I thought they should have had. That firm will never get any more work from me again. Talk down to me because I’m a woman and disabled and keep demanding cold drinks from me every five minutes and you lose.

Mike Evans from E2 Landscape Architecture turned up precisley when he said he would. Waited to be invited in and listened to what I hadn’t told him on the telephone which was important information if he was to do the work.

He listened carefully, looked at my face when he spoke to me, (which was very nice and refreshing as most men talk to my mammaries), and didn’t talk down to me or make me feel inferior. He was aware that I was disabled and waited for me to lead him to the garden, rather than just lamping through my home to where he thought the back door was.

All the way through the meeting he treated me with respect, summarised what kind of work I wanted done and was open, warm and polite.

This was a massive win.

I asked Mike Evans when he could start the work for me and we agreed on that Friday afternoon as long as the weather held. I gave him my contact details and thanked him for making it an afternoon job appointment as I needed quite a bit of time in the mornings to get up and about, but I think he had kindly already considered that. We also agreed on a price for the work to be done, (which by the way was a totally awesome and fair quote), and with a happy thank you he left.

FRIDAY, THE DAY OF DOOM FOR THE GARDEN:

After I had managed to get out of bed and gotten dressed and gimbled my way downstairs via my chairlift, I got the kettle on and tea making equipment ready for Mike Evans to arrive.

His van pulled up outside my abode precisley whe he said he would. 12:30 p.m. on the dot.

He came to the door and waited to be invited in and we briefly discussed how and what equipment he would be bringing into my home as there is no outside access to my garden.

Again he was very polite and explained everything and did exactly as he said he would do concerning the work. I watched him take his strimmer to the bottom of my urban jungle, he flicked on his safety goggles and started to get to work.

I nearly collapsed laughing when my garden fought back and tried to kill his strimmer just as he’d put it to the grass. I know I shouldn’t have laughed, but I couldn’t help myself as I’d sort of jokingly warned him about something like this happening. I shut up as he sheepishly dashed into my home, announced that he’d need to get some tools out of his van to fix it, then I watched him dash out to his waiting chariot of tool salvation.

He gallantly came back and in a determined fashion, cantered back into my garden to fix his strimmer. He was most triumphant and once again donned his safety goggles and started to strim my lawn…(stop giggling you miscreants at the back, I know what your minds are like).

Mike worked very hard, so I made him plenty of cups of tea to keep him fortified in his epic struggle with the urban jungle that repeatedly fought him every step of the way. I also provided him with a chair to sit on whilst he drank his tea, as I thought he deserved a sit down every so often and he was most grateful.

The thing is, I am a responsible, considerate, ethic and fair employer. If I contract you to do work on site at my home, then I am responsible in part for your health and safety, your welfare and your wellbeing, plus I don’t want to be sued if you trip over my carpet and break your leg in the resulting fall causing you to be unable to work for the next few months.

I am certain Mike Evans would agree with my ethics and my treatment of him whilst he was on site working. I’m also awesome like that. I’ve employed a human being to do some work for me, not a slave, nor a robot and I wish everyone had such considerations.

Anyhoo, Mr. Evans had succeeded in getting the darned jungle garden strimmed. I could see that the masive rake he now held in his hands would be adequate for the task of raking the cuttings up for their incarceration in the bags he’d brought with him. Hard work that raking malarkey, so I made him yet another cup of tea. After he’d finished with the gathering of grass and weed debris, he once agin visited his chariot and produced a most impressive and awesome lawnmower, manouvered it into my home and carefully guided it to the back door and out into the garden.

More tea later and much mowing, the garden was looking rather awesome and very tidy.

Mike found a bees hive under the garden and showed me the holes where the bees were coming and going from. I was amazed and watched in fascination as the furry bumble bums did their thing. We also found crickets and other life parading about, annoyed that the little darlings had been disturbed. It was all awesome.

Mike got back to work and tidied up the paving stones without using any weedkiller as I have a pet cat. I must say that he really did do an amazing job and it was a pity we hadn’t thought on to take a before and after picture, because it really was an epic ordeal of a job.

We both surveyed the work done and were both really pleased with the results. All Mike had to do now was get his equipment back into his work chariot along with the bags of cuttings and be paid.

I paid him ten pounds over the agreed price. Mike was extremely happy with this and I thought he really deserved the extra money as he really had worked very hard and had been polite and generally brilliant all the way through. I also confessed to him that I’d had a good laugh at him when he’d first started the garden and his strimmer had thrown a hissy fit and that alone had been worth the extra money.

We discussed further work and roughly when it would be carried out and roughly how much that work would cost, which I was entirely and extremely happy with and I can say, for certain, with my hand on my heart, that Mike Evans of E2 Landscape Architecture shall be definatley returning to have another go at my garden. (Stop sniggering you guys….harumph, childish lot).

So if you to are interested in the awesome garden experience of E2 Landscape Architecturethen here’s the website for you to ogle…

http://www.e2la.co.uk/index.html .

So I’d like to say a big THANK YOU to Mike Evans for his hard work and the way he treated me whilst he fought an epic battle with my jungle of a garden and won. He is indeed The Garden Jungle Terminator and he will be back.

It’s A Kind Of Magic

It’s a kind of magic:

My name is Miriam Said and I’m just a little bit strange.

I should not exist, but I do.

Now, that seems like a very strange statement and I suppose it is to most people.

The only problem is, is that, I am not most people.

I don’t believe in God, but I do believe in magik.

There’s another strange statement, with the spelling of magic in the old style.

The magic I point to is not the everyday, sleight of hand used today, by magicians, although I do enjoy their entertaining routines and trying to work out how they performed their illusions and sleight of hand routine.

The magic I speak of could be termed as “real” magic.

“Nutter” I hear you say…..I accept your view and I am not offended by it.

Let me explain:

I was born nearly 2 months early, groggy, bruised and tiny.

I weighed just over a bag of sugar and was concussed.

Shortly after being born, I died, for approximately 4 minutes and was then revived back to life.

Then they told my Mother I had Down’s Syndrome, because I was floppy and I had the tell tale “slanted” eyes and that I probably wouldn’t reach 20.

This diagnosis was retracted 2 days later when they realised that I was of mixed parentage.

I’m half Malaysian, (Father) and half British, (Mother).

So I had already gone through, violence, premature birth, death and now discrimination.

I was in the special care baby unity for over 3 months. After the 2nd month my Mother never came to visit me, nor did any one else in my family.

The earliest memories I have are from when I was in the special care baby unit.

I had pads on my eyes, was tube fed via a tube that went into my nostril and down into my stomach, and was in an incubator for about 2 months.

After I was well enough to be removed from the incubator, I remember feeling cold and crying, I remember the nurses unsure about whether I’d be able to bottle feed and were concerned that neither my Mother, nor Father had turned up when they had notified them that I was getting stronger and was out of the incubator. It wasn’t until the next day that I would have my first ever bottle feed.

The nurses were stroking my cheek, and I wanted to let them know I knew, so I tried to eat the nurses hand…As a baby will. I could hear them talking about me.  One said it was just a reflex. The other nurse disagreed and stuck her little finger in my mouth and I sucked on it.

That nurse squeaked with joy and promptly put a bottle teat in my mouth and I finished off a full 4 ounce bottle of milk so they gave me another one and I did another half a bottle.

After being fed I had the first and best burp of my life, then slept. I still had pads on my eyes and couldn’t see.

It was a little while after this that the doctor came to look at my eyes. He took the pads off and looked and decided another 2 weeks of covered eyes and he’d check again, so it was back into darkness after experiencing the pain of sight and light.

The next thing I remember was waking up and smelling something I had never smelled before…It smelled sweet and dangerous and amazing. The window near me was open and it was warm and it was raining.

That sweet earthy smell and the smell of the room I was in were so different.

Skip forward a few years:

At the age of 2 I was in hospital, a result of my Father’s violence, and I had a very strange experience. An experience which I cannot explain and I don’t wish to try.

I do, however, accept that experience because similar experiences to this initial one have happened frequently throughout my life.

It was also whilst I was in hospital that I had a most peculiar diagnosis. I was classed as an exceptional child. Gifted and offered the opportunity to attend a boarding school for gifted children where child prodigies were coddled. They were surprised to find a 2 year old reading at the level of a 15-year-old and possibly at an older reading age than that.

A specialist tested my abilities and my parents were summoned, (I had seen them once in 6 months prior to this). My parents declined the offer. If I had have been able to go to that fabled school for gifted children, my life would have definitely been completely different from the one I have had so far.

An opportunity was lost and out of my control. I begged in my childish way to be made a ward of court and to be sent to theat school for gifted children, but, alas, I was only a child with no power.

Skip forward a few abuse filled years, of which I shall not burden you with here, as I don’t want to make you cry or feel pity for me at this point, other than to say that I had tried to commit suicide 13 times before I reached the ripe old age of 10.

It was during this time, that something else magical happened.

I was seriously bitten by a stray dog. My right hand had a hole in it right through the middle. I’d lost a lot of blood and there was a strike on in the health care sector and only certain hospitals were taking in patients.

They took me to Newcastle Royal Victoria Infirmary, a teaching hospital.

I was in the accident and emergency unit and was seen by a relatively young doctor.

He was amazed to find that he was able to put a whole pencil right through my hand and called colleagues over to look at my injuries. Ii was treated by 3 doctors. They cleaned my hand and patched me up as good as they could at the time, then sent me home for 6 weeks with instructions to return after then to have the stitches taken out.

3 weeks after that something else very strange happened to me and my eldest sister. She has no recollection of what happened, but I do, and I know that there is an independent witness that was there at the time. Again, I cannot explain what happened, nor do I wish to try, but the result of that occurrence were amazing.

A week after the strange event, my injured right hand began to smell really awful. The stench was like rotten meat. My mother took me back to the RVI as she thought I had a serious infection in my wounds and that I was at risk of blood poisoning or something worse.

By sheer coincidence, I saw the same doctor who had patched me up initially. He covered my hand in iodine, unsure as to what was wrong. The skin on my entire right hand was tinged a green colour and the flesh was indeed rotting, but it was a mystery as to why this was happening. Once again 3 doctors came to look at me and 1 of them proclaimed he knew what had happened and became extremely excited.

They huddled in a pack and discussed my case, with the words, impossible and that couldn’t happen, being overheard by me. Finally the excited doctor came at me with a wickedly sharp scalpel, turned my right hand over and went to slash my wrist. I, of course, reacted by swiftly jerking my hand away from him and asking why he was going to cut my wrist. He asked me the strangest question a doctor has ever asked me….

“Do you believe in magic?”

To which I replied “yes”, and he asked me to trust him. He started to cut my wrist and no blood spewed forth. I watched in gruesome detail and fascination and awe as he proceeded to peel the skin from my right hand like it was an organic rubber glove, only having to cut around where the stitches were.

When he had finished his careful ministrations, there was the skin of my entire right hand with holes where my stitches had been. By this time there were about 10 doctors gathered around us with gasps of amazement doing the rounds.

One of them exclaimed that this was impossible and that it should not have happened. The doctor holding the hand glove aloft really ramped up his excitement and literally danced while he asked me if they could keep it.

I agreed and they sort of ran around, frantically looking for a jar big enough and some formaldehyde.  I watched in amusement as 4 doctors all returned at the same time with the required equipment. One of them put the jar on the floor, than a lady doctor poured in the formaldehyde, then another doctor wrote a label out whilst the doctor who had removed the hand glove, lowered it gently into the jar of chemicals for its preservation. They topped up the formaldehyde, put a lid on it and then labelled the jar.

My hand skin glove looked very strange floating in that jar. The doctors collective excitement was filling the room and they had forgotten about me for the moment, until I coughed and told them it was weird but cool.

They gazed at the hand skin glove in the jar of formaldehyde for a few moments longer in a sort of amazed rapture and then the spell broke and they treated me.

The new skin covering my right hand was kind of opaque and in places raw looking. They pondered how to treat it for a little while, and discussed it amongst themselves and eventually agreed to treat the hand as a burn.

They covered my hand in iodine, then put a cold gel on it, covering it, then they ran around and found a plastic bag to put over my hand with instructions not to remove the plastic bag for at least 2 weeks and not to get my hand wet at all, and to return in 2 weeks time. I watched them put the jar with my hand skin glove inside, on a high shelf and  they asked me if they could write about it in a special paper and I said yes. They got my Mum to sign some release papers for my hand skin glove and we left. My Mum thought it was all very strange too.

We went back 2 weeks later and saw the same doctor. My hand had healed and he took the stitches out, saying that he had never seen anyone heal so quickly and he thought it must have been some kind of magic.
After this I stopped trying to commit suicide and realised that I believed in “real” magik and that I was awesome.

In the years that followed, I have encountered many more strange things, and I still can’t explain them, although I must say that I have freaked out one physics teacher in high school and at least three boyfriends.
Strange things continue to happen around me, but they have all been positive events, with positive results and are often very beneficial.

In this post, I’ve only told you about the events that have been documented and my accounts can be mainly corroborated with these, but there are many unexplainable events that cannot be corroborated and would only be anecdotal to those who were not directly involved or to those who did not directly witness those events.

As always, I tell the truth, as I see absolutely no value in doing otherwise.

So somewhere in a hospital in a jar of formaldehyde, there exists a small part of me complete with my fingerprints to prove it.
I have died and come back to life and I should probably have died many times over throughout the years, but considering that I’m still here, you can understand why I believe in “real magik”.

Thank you for reading and I welcome any views you may have, both negative and positive ones…after all, we’re only human…..right?

.

Perception

Perception

 
As I pry the nights tendrils from my vision and watch the sun struggle to rise,

As I listen to the birds singing and hear the world move in space and time.

There’s a shift in my perception, my slumbering consciousness waking from dreams.

I survey the metaphysical landscape and reality ain’t what it seems.

——————————————————————————————-

I blink away the odyssey, and punish this brain for reason and thought.

Trying to rationalise this experience from what I’ve learned before.

Reaching, fumbling, struggling for grasp. A child in a grown up place.

Evading an explanation, it resists existence and refuses to form a face.

——————————————————————————————-

The scars of my flesh begin to itch, my emotional scars do too.

What is this alarming stinging, this torture of mind and skin.

Emotions, throw themselves at me in banshee wails while flailing.

Shouting, screaming, beating, accusing, mournfully wailing.

——————————————————————————————-

Suddenly I prise open my lids for vision and struggle to rise.

I hear the birds singing. The alarm screams out the time.

I shift my position as I awake from a dream.

Realising, not everything is what it seems.

——————————————————————————————-

A poem by Miriam Said.

A Penguins Ponderings: Why Do People Hate Lawyers?

Why Do People Hate Lawyers?
This is a question I have asked on Twitter and in real life, because I can’t quite understand why people say they hate

Lawyers.  So why do people say they hate Lawyers?
Let us first recognise that ordinary people do not usually have any contact with a Lawyer or Barrister in real life unless they have need of their legal expertise.

From asking the question in real life, there seems to be a genuine venom used when people talk about Lawyers.

A lot of people I had spoken to had used the services of a Lawyer when having to deal with a very stressful divorce or when their children had been removed from them by Social Services for various reasons.

Their experience of the Legal System was at a time in their lives which was frightening and extremely stressful and usually involved Family Law cases in the Magistrates or County Courts.

A lot of people told me that their Lawyer seemed to be caring at the beginning of their situation, then aloof and distant as the case dragged on and they became frustrated at not being able to contact the Lawyer dealing with their case, or that their Lawyer gave them very little information or updates on any progress and even when their Lawyer did do this, they didn’t understand the Legal speak, or jargon that the Lawyer was using. They also complained about the cost of using a Lawyer when they were not entitled to Legal Aid.

There was also great animosity towards the Lawyers “on the other side”, especially in divorce cases.

How could this extreme animosity and hatred towards Lawyers have come about?

Is is because Lawyers do tend to distance themselves, in regard to their clients, during a case because of other pressures, which the client is not aware of.

Is it because the Legal process is slow and frustration sets in because ordinary people do not understand the Legal process and blame their Lawyer for being slow to act on their behalf in their cases.

Is it because Lawyers are seen as snobs by ordinary people due to the history of Lawyers being from the “Upper Class” in the past.

Is it because ordinary people are suffering emotional stress at the time and need a scapegoat to blame for their troubles and take it out on their Lawyer.

Is it because ordinary people perceive Lawyers to be rich and treat clients as second citizens, or could this also be because Lawyers are generally well-educated and intelligent and this “rubs people up the wrong way” especially if no one in their family has ever been to University.

Have they been given bad Legal advice or received an inadequate service from a Lawyer in the past and now mistrust all Lawyers.

Could it be because ordinary people have no understanding of the Legal Profession and see it as an alien world that they are afraid of and reject.

Or perhaps, it could be that some Lawyers do actually come across as aloof and uncaring because of a lack in their social skills.

It could also be that there are some really bad Lawyers out there giving the rest of the Legal Profession a really bad name.

What I think may be the problem:

I think the reason why people hate Lawyers as much as they do are all due to the above reasons and more.

Many ordinary people do not realise that a Lawyer has to deal with some awful and often horrifying information whilst dealing with such a variety of cases on a daily basis. Some cases may involve child abuse, others, may involve murder or serious assaults where severe harm has been inflicted on a person. Other cases may involve other sickening items of what one human being has inflicted upon the other, which is why I respect Barristers and Lawyers so much. Some of the information they receive must be horrendous and harrowing. With this in mind, a Lawyer must exercise some level of detachment from a case in order to be able to function for their clients interests and this is not understood by the general public.

Some Lawyers are really bad at dealing with people in general terms and fall back on what they know, i.e., legalese and not contacting their clients with updates on cases, (sometimes they really are too busy to pick up the telephone to enact a courtesy call to a client). This again, is woefully not understood by ordinary people who do not circulate in the Legal pond.

Lawyers are often perceived not to have a soul, because of this and are though of as heartless and remote from ordinary life, when quite the opposite is often true. Many Lawyers do a lot for charity or take on cases Pro Bono because they feel they can make a difference, and a lot of Lawyers are quite sociable outside the world of Law.

The instances of “bad Lawyers” spread through word of mouth in the ordinary world of the public and this then transforms into a sort of legend of pain and suffering for the unfortunate soul who had chance to have had dealings with them, thus tainting Lawyers in the public psyche and making them into a kind of Boogeyman.
It could also be that some people feel very ashamed and embarrassed at getting into a situation that they do not have the knowledge and experience to deal with themselves and have to pay a Lawyer to act on their behalf making them hostile to Lawyers before they even contact one.

All of these things may be why ordinary people seem to hate Lawyers with such venom and I understand why ordinary people come to the conclusions about Lawyers that they do.

However, what I still do not understand is how some Lawyers can also hate other Lawyers.
I myself have a very high regard and respect of both Lawyers and Barristers having met with them either in the requirement of their legal expertise to get me out of a pickle, or interacting with them in the social arena away from Law.

Lawyers are after all, human…aren’t they?
If I am right or wrong, I would be happy to engage in a cordial debate and to discuss what others opinions are on the question, why do people hate Lawyers?

So why do people hate Lawyers?

A Penguin That Helps To Solve The Coldest Of Cold Cases

How can a penguin help to solve a cold case? I hear you ask….well…..

For those of you that like to paddle in the Twitter pond, you will know that my avatar is a penguin and I am often refered to as Lil’ Penguin.

I often display the traits of a real penguin. They are hardy, strong and dedicated animals, who protect their young and commit to a relationship with a mate for life.

I often tweet that I am going off on a mission and I quite literally am.

My missions at the moment, involve helping to solve Murder Cold Cases.

A Cold Case is an investigation into a crime that the Police, (in which ever country they may be in), have exhausted all of their current avenues of investigation and have no more leads that may solve the crime in question.

Cold Cases often go back many years into the past when there were no DNA techniques to help solve crimes and evidence gathering was not the same as it is today.

When this happens, there is a heroic service dubbed, The Cold Case Squad, who open up cold cases and investigate them, often using modern techniques and also revisiting the scene of the crime and interviewing original witnesses where possible.

I am currently involved in helping to solve cold cases with @Vidocq_CC who has  an excellent blog at http://www.defrostingcoldcases.com/

There is also the Blog of Joseph Giacalone at http://www.coldcasesquad.com/

Both of them are usually involved in a cold case live chat tweet on Fridays on the hashtag #cclivechat .

Come and join us to see how awesome these guys really are. (Normally at 13:00 USA time, which works out about tea time in UK).

Both are blogs regarding the cold cases are mainly American, but they do look at international cold cases and both Joe and Vidocq, (The Vidster), are really excellent to work with.

Up to now I have helped in seven cold cases. Some of them are serial killers cases, others are murders that haven’t been solved yet and also some missing persons cases that have gone cold. I will be helping in many more.

I am currently working on three ongoing investigations, Egg Harbour, Gilgo Beach and Karen Caughlin.

Egg Harbour is a cold case in New Jersey, USA. (Serial Killer Case).

Karen Caughlin is a Canadian cold case. (A 14 year old girl murdered in 1974).

Gilgo Beach is in Long Island in New York, USA. (Serial Killer Case).

You may have seen the Gilgo Beach or Long Island serial killer murder investigation in the news recently.

Some of the stories are heart breaking, others are gruesome and some lead to avenues that are twisting and turning.

We would very much appreciate your help in solving these cold cases and if you do want to get involved, but don’t know where to begin or how strong your constitution is, I suggest you start by dropping in on the Twitter live chats on a Friday or regularly visiting the Defrosting Cold Cases Blog for updates and information on the cases we are currently looking at.

Why do I help in solving cold cases??

 There are a lot of reasons, but the main one is a feeling of satisfaction, knowing that I have at least tried to help, even if it is in a seemingly small and insignificant way. My brain is also put into full thinking mode and when my thoughts or ideas are passed on to the Police on the beat to assist them in their investigation, that fills me with a certain glow. There is also the human aspect of helping to solve such cases, because behind every death there is a family or loved one grieving and suffering. I like to think that I am helping to end that pain in some small way

So why not join us and help, you could become a real hero and  that would truly be awesome.

My definition of a real hero:

A true hero works secretly, not in a blaze of glory for all to see, but in gentle ripples of satisfaction knowing he truly made a difference.

Welcome To The Awesome

Let The Awesome Begin.

Hello every one. I’m just learning about how to blog and would appreciate your patience until I become familiar with Word Press and all of it’s glorious tools.

You can find me in the pond that I like to paddle in, that is Twitter.

I tweet a lot and can be found @miriamsaid.

I have guest blogged at @TheTimeBlawg and it was very well received…So I blame @BrianInkster for getting me hooked on blogging.

I also have new guest blogging projects being published soon on other blogs, I’ll notify you about them when they are up.

The awesomness has already started and there is more on the way.

So I leave you for now, with the immortal words of two of my film gurus, Bill and Ted.

“Be excellent to each other”

“Later awesome dudes”.