My Story 10. December 7th 2020 - Mum - Panic Attack - Silver Haze - New Office - North London Matriarchal Mafia

Phew, that was close.

I am shaking writing this; panic attack perhaps? my gut is tight, shoulders tight, head spinning or, it's just the super-silver haze kicking in?

Let's start yesterday, 1400 hours, Sunday 6th December 2020; I start with a four-mile cycle up some steep hills, a day off writing and move Lulu, my trusty campervan, onto the drive outside my home, connect the electricity supply with heater on low. Diary out, dates to be entered, having agreed to visit a mate, maybe buy his off-road bike, then visit mum and dad. I park in their drive, tight fit but done it a few times, and be in a bubble (single man over 65) for a week or two. My brother John has been visiting on a regular basis and taking mum to the hospital for her eyeball to be removed, they play with laser guns, and put the eye back in again. He also has a campervan, much bigger than mine, and stays in a site nearby. My turn to offer support; I will sit on the harbour wall, walk on the beach, practice on my new bike -retrace old steps - and spend time with my mum and dad. I also could do with a break from here. I call dad...

"Lambo calm down, calm down, breathe, you can do it take a deep breath, put your hand on your belly and breathe through your second chakra, or why not have a large glass of the quarter bottle -Sheilas, last ever bottle of Old Poutney - in the larder", Lambo replied. "Just fuck off and leave me alone", he responded, put his boots on, pulled on a woolen hat and stormed off down the garden, ignoring the whisky.

"Sheila won her final race and ascended to heaven on 27th February 2020. Four days later I was arrested ..." please be patient and all will become clear.

One week after her death I engaged in full on building works, sixteen hour days, bonfires to die for (close once - never use petrol) and eighty tonnes of hardcore; gravel shingle, 120 railway sleepers, mini-digger, big roller and one amazing helper later, a stepped garden on three levels with a 32ft X 12 ft static mobile home at the bottom, purchased week before lockdown, we were top of the list for delivery. As you do when one needs to scream, shout and let it all hang out. Just after completing that lot, end of June, my dad invited me to Bridlington to have a weekend with them and my brothers. It didn't go well. Here a snip from my Anxiety Depression Crash blog;

'I arrived a day before the rest, booked into a B&B fifteen minutes’ walk from my parents’ home. Dad and I walk into town for a pint in a very packed Wetherspoons and crowds everywhere. Virus? Brid must be exempt me thinks. We had a great time and repeated the exercise the following day. On returning John & Dianne were sat in the garden.I smile and say, ‘Hi John, lovely to see you, do we touch elbows, shake hands or hug'. John stands, walks away from me and announces they are leaving. ‘John what’s the problem’ I ask. ‘You should have thought about that before opening your mouth’, he says and then left'. After ranting a bit, walking into town and drinking six pints, Lambo calmed down. We left the next day, as my other brother Mick was due.

I keep my extended family [EF] informed of my blogs and stuff via a group email, I am not sure any get read but the pleasure is in the sending. In my old office -now in my new one - on the bookshelves, top one  are my family albums, my boat albums, rugby albums. In a recent email to the EF I explained I would scan all the old albums and distribute copies. I have made four different ones; One each to my children, Emily and Chris, in both of these I have excluded all photographs of me, so not to cause any anxiety if seen by my unseen grandchildren, an album with my mum, dad brothers and sister, plus a final album called; 'Kerry & Colin: A snapshot in time'.   It just seemed a lovely thing to do. I did it, finished yesterday and .. Photobox takes a while to master, but then good.

Colin is the softy in this relationship, he is crying typing this ... Where was I? Oh yes;

Lambo has stormed out of the house, after speaking with his dad, and ignoring the whisky, 

My new office (Cosalt Super 32) has a timber deck surround leading to a new (twelve years old) mobile home, double glassed, gas central heating and a lot warmer than a 300 year old stone cottage with drafts. My desk looks SE to SW through out the day. I am her to write, not slob about in the house with memories of the past few years ever present. Clean, fresh and no distractions ...

Till now, 1500, Lambo bursts in, sucking heavily on that Vipe tobacco thing, a daft addictive comfort blanket, and flops on the sofa. I stop typing, sit straighter, my back clicking as I lengthen my spine, still sore from this mornings cycle home from Bristol road garage, 0830 this morning, as trusty Saab in for mot and service. At my desk, glimpses of sun through the grey blue stratus clouds. three degrees Celsius outside, I turn to the right, the end of my desk meets the end of an eight foot long sofa. Lambo is sitting, sucking on his vipe thing, half the time its empty but he doesn't seem to notice.

"Lambo lovely, what happened with your dad?"   A long silence then ...

"I checked they were ok, my dad was watching Spurs v Arsenal and Spurs were winning two nil and he seemed happy to chat. I checked his house number and postcode as photobox delivery dates were beyond my leaving here  [Lambo pauses and takes three deep breaths]  so wondered if they could come to you, for when I arrive in Lulu. I plan to stay in the van and all I need is a power supply. Lovely, my dad started saying but, 'what Betty, what what' took over. It then became clear another conversation was taking place. My dad returns, "Colin, mum says its not safe, the virus is killing people everywhere and it not safe to travel". "I am travelling anyway dad, to see mates on the way, and judging by the shoppers in London yesterday the roads are going to kill more than the virus". "Dad, is there another reason my mother doesn't doesn't want me around?"  he hesitated for a second then responds, "yes you know there is, but nothing I can do about it. Life is very stressful at the moment and I am falling out with your mother which is daft for a 90 year old." I said I would ring in a weeks time to check he was ok and hung up. Then I exploded"

Four days after Sheila died I was arrested for publishing the following blog. Here is the beginning, the original blog has not been removed, just being updated and dyslexia corrected. 

This is what brother John meant when he said, "You should have thought about that before opening your mouth",

My post said;

The Goddess Sheila Gibbons had courage. Courage is not the absence of fear. It's, feeling and embracing the fear, then proceeding. In our short time together Shit was a common theme. On our first boat trip, leaving Queenborough (Sherness)  at 0400, Sheila shit the bed. She had come back from South America with a bug? We were just on our third or fourth date. Any self respecting, upright, egotistical arse-hole;  would have dumped her the minute I got home. I did, sort of but that had more to do with her Sister-in Law than Sheila. I didn't, I cleaned up her shit and said; 'lets stay her till tomorrow, we don't need to leave at 4 am'. Anyone who knows Sheila knows what happened next...

We moored in St Katharine Docks six hours later and she totally shocked me by ordering a Tuna melt, I had a full English, in the cafe. Loads more shit but it can go for now. Anyway; courage. embracing the fear. When I first met Sheila, my divorce was raging.  I wrote letters to my Children, she said hold.  I wrote an entire submission to the courts, detailing the domestic and violent abuse I had suffered during my marriage. She said 'hold for now', you will know when the time is right. It will take real courage to do that. This is my submission to the court, never sent.  The Lawyers had threatened me with injunctions and the rest. The fear embraced me. Om Sheila, thank you for showing me: Courage in not the absence of fear:


Chronology of physical and other abuse by Kerry Lambert towards Colin Lambert

Statement of Colin Lambert 28th February 2017

Background:
1. Met on Monday 1st September 1974 walking into a churchyard. The two PE teachers (the only two) at St Marks Comprehensive.
2. First ever date, November 5th 1975, Roslyn Park Rugby Club bonfire party and disco.  Can’t find Kerry for over an hour.  Discover her with her hands down Bob Mordell’s trousers and her tongue down his throat. Response; ‘well I am not your girlfriend yet’. So the dance began.
3.  I was a sort of professional rugby player, England squad & Harlequins and having just arrived from Yorkshire.
4. At the end of our probationary year Kerry was promoted as my boss.  The whole school knew this was the headmaster being vindictive.  To stop me leaving Kerry paid me half of her salary increase.
5. We were both living separate lives and on one occasion bumped into each other (Kerry with mates – me with rugby mate) in the notorious singles bar ‘The loos Box Kensington.
6. Kerry left St Marks School and went to another school in Wembley.
7. I dog sat for Kerry parents as she went skiing with them for Xmas and New Year.  Kerry seemed to get sadistic thrill from telling me of her fling with a racing driver called Ken.  I am aware she saw him on a number of occasions after that.
8. We moved in together in 1978.  Shortly after, I was injured (Vitreous haemorrhage August 1978) and after ten days in hospital was flat bound for a further six weeks.
9. I discovered Kerry was also dating the PE teacher in the school she had moved to.
10.  I proposed and we married four (should have been three but Kerry’s mother had another appointment) days later.
11. On making the decision to try for children we did a lot of soul searching tears and I had something of a breakdown.  I wanted to start life as parents without games and deceit. I remained faithful for 15 years from that point.

12. Our daughter Emily was born the following summer in 1981.
13. I had also quit teaching, enrolled at The College of Estate Management and began four years of exams and training to qualify as a chartered surveyor.  I qualified in 1985.
14. When our daughter Emily was 8 Months old, Kerry picked her up off the floor and threw her onto the sofa in a rage.  I told my doctor. We had counselling at the Tavistock Clinic London.  Emily came with us and crawled around the floor.
15. She fell out with the counsellors and we left.
16. My doctor then referred us to Jeremy Pfeffer , as a couple, for the first time.  We saw him as national health patients at the London Hospital in Mile End Road.
17. Kerry fell out with Jeremy and we withdrew. I saw Jeremy next 15 years later.
18. Kerry would have occasional outbursts of anger and when confronted would joke, ‘my mother smashed a lampshade on dads head, so stop complaining’.
19. Once qualified (1985) I worked my way up the corporate ladder and set up Lamberts Surveyors Ltd on 1st March 1987 and began trading on 1st December.
20. Kerry returned to University and three months after our son Chris was born he was put into North London (Poly) University crèche.  We also started a succession of nannies (21 in total over 13 years).  Kerry became totally obsessed with work and went back to full time work as a market researcher.  She worked 60 hour weeks and often evenings and weekends.
21. I respected Kerry’s decision to work but also rejected her suggestion that I give up work and become a house husband.
22. I saw Lamberts Surveyors as my safety and security. I was also developing Lambert properties and had combined the various interests to create the Lambert Group.
23. I complained to Kerry that life was not perfect.  Her response was ‘I am not your therapist, if you have a problem go and find one’

And that runs to over seventy entries, many with sub-section.  I did find a therapist, a good one, he must have been good, I'm still here.

Problem was having published my seventy odd entries, it coincided with the Caroline Flack media explosion. I could very easily, and told them so, jump on her bandwagon. I didn't but clearly made them anxious enough to have me arrested on some daft charge of harassment. 

My brother John's wife is mates with Kerry, my ex-wife and speak regularly. My mother is terrified she will loose contact with here grandchildren and great grandchildren, if I am allowed in the house. How that message has found its way to her I wonder? My mother is being used as a pawn, as is John my brother, in a game controlled (my children included) by the NLMM and their daft amounts of money. More about them shortly. It's my dad, and my mum, I feel sorry for. Lambo wants to drive to Brid anyway, he needs a holiday, but I am more cautious.

Had the NLMM been the other Mafia I could well have been in a motorway bridge before now. 

I have no idea what happens next; what should I do, what should I say?  I will trust in the Universe. Om