Society for Acrimonious Divorce S.A.D.

Alan, Ann's cousin, added to his observations about difficult divorces. We know so many people who are going or have been through problems with divorce, he is considering starting a special group to meet and compare problems. It is to be called S.A.D., or the Society for Acrimonious Divorce. He plans to charge a small fee as a fighting fund, and members shall gather round the bar of their local pubs to discuss tactics in warding off the evil ones. Members can contribute towards Jamaican obeah if they want their Great X dealt with.

Two friends came round today for coffee, Robin and Yvonne, who live in Tilbury Juxta Clare. They are the parents of Sam, Mary-Anne's husband, and always full of interest and fun. Today they were telling about Robin's cousin, Paul, who had to have a cataract operation. He worked as a signwriter, but his sight was so poor he had to put stencils of the lettering on van sides, to paint through. After the operation, he could see well enough to paint directly as he used to. Another relative of Robin lives in Southend, and after his cataract operation his sight was so good he began to take walks to the coast to eye the girls in bikinis. He had forgotten how much he had missed seeing, and wanted to make up for lost time.

They were reminiscing about Tilbury Hall, when the lady of the Hall used to hold the Christmas Carol service in her home if the church was too cold. Yvonne described her as speaking in a voice that 'made Prince Charles sound common!' Now the Hall is enclosed by a high fence and the owners have shut out casual walkers with a locked gate across the old footpath. The new lady of the house is a chain smoker, who has a private helicopter and plane so she can continue smoking.

Please add any comments if you have been through an acrimonious divorce

Burn the Witch!

Lining up the lasers

The day began cold, with heavy cloud leaving the sky still dark at 8 o'clock and wet with clinging drizzle. Cancer is like a wicked witch working evil within. And like witches of old, the evil must be burnt out. Let the fire begin!

The first ritual burning began at Addenbrooke's Hospital this morning. I stopped in a lay-by en route, to take the ten vitamin B3 tablets I am instructed to take one hour before the appointed time. Then I am stripped to my underpants to expose my tattoo spots, and laid on a cold steel slab. The oxygen mask is fitted across my face, and the laser guide beams turned on. I am moved and poked to manoeuvre me into position, then everyone leaves and a siren sounds to warn of radiation danger. The machine thuds to life, and cold air from the cooling fans adds to the discomfort. To the sound of loud bleeps, the whole thing begins to turn round me, blasting the bladder from different angles. Opening my eyes is highly disorientating; the optical illusion is so strong that it seems to be me that is rotating, rather than the machine, making me dizzy, certain that the table itself is tilting and will tip me off. So I keep my eyes closed, or stare through the gaps to the ceiling of the room rather than at the machine. Then there is silence, and a voice says "that's all done," and they release me from the straps and let me down.

Many people waiting for this treatment seemed to be alone; it was strange to think we all have cancer in common. But I was so glad that Ann and Edwin had come with me. They steadied me as I left, and gave comfort that I was not alone, and we would get through this together.