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In a small maternity delivery room in Cheltenham, long ago, an exhausted young woman lay in a bed soaked with blood, sweat, amniotic fluid and tears; she had in her arms the most precious and beautiful thing that she had ever seen.

He was low birthweight and tiny, but he had a perfectly formed little Pixie face, not a single wrinkle on his beautiful, soft skin, and the eyes of a wise old man – boring straight in to the heart of his mother, and right in to her soul.

The young woman – still recovering from the painful contractions, all of the pushing and the subsequent birth – gazed at the child that she had grown inside of her. She was facing motherhood alone due to a violent marriage that she had been forced to end; her husband had attempted to kill her, and then the child inside her. At least his attempts on both lives had failed.

She vowed to the newborn, who she was cradling so gently, that she would look after him no matter what. Both of them together, forever.

From the day of the boy’s birth, though, his mother knew that something was wrong. Nobody would listen to her, but her child – her beloved boy – would not accept skin contact and never learned to speak. His temper, as he grew, grew with him and his mother could only watch in horror as she came to realise that her child had a disability that she would never be able to help him with. He was eventually diagnosed as autistic.

The child was violent and strong and, after too many physical attacks his mother – who adored him and wanted the best for him – was forced to send her beloved boy in to foster care. She had recently recieved a diagnosis of epilepsy and was unable to cope with her son’s strength. It was the best way forward for both of them. She could still spend time with her son, and he would be with a family who were trained to deal with his outbursts.

His mother had struggled so hard to prevent that from happening; she was desperate to keep him with her, but it simply wasn’t possible.

The little boy is a young man now, and his mother is me. Throughout his entire life I have gone through heartbreak after heartbreak in order to do what is right for him. It was not easy for me to give him up, even though I realised that – for both our sakes – I had to.

In spite of anything that has been said to me of the contrary, I did what I did through love. What good am I to a profoundly autistic child when I can collapse and seize without notice? How on earth could I restrain a teenager bigger and stronger than myself so that he can’t cause harm?

Sometimes, there is no choice – regardless of how much it hurts, or how much you know it might hurt in the future. When you love somebody you have to risk emotional pain.

My little man is currently residing in a psychiatric unit. The fact that it is the right thing for him does not make it any less painful for the many people who love him.

Love hurts.

Nightmare In Silver has little in common with The Doctor’s Wife at first glance. The Doctor, Clara and kids end up on Hedgewick’s World of Wonders for a good time. Soon they hear about the missing Emperor’s war with the Cybermen and things go horribly wrong when the Cyberplanner (a kind of super Cyber consciousness) gets inside The Doctor’s head. Clara is left to try and stay alive before the military, headed by Captain Alice, blows up the entire planet. Meanwhile, The Doctor plays a deadly game of chess…

Apparently Gaiman’s mission was to make the Cybermen scary again and on the whole I think he succeeded. The moments when the Cyberplanner spoke through The Doctor were chilling, especially when he mocked The Doctor with his own catchphrases like “allonsy.” The decision to have Matt Smith play two parts in one body was a bold move but it worked for me, only serving to reinforce how strong an actor the Eleventh incarnation of our favourite Time Lord is. Similarly, the separation of Clara from The Doctor gave us the chance to remember how independant, fun and bold Clara is as the new companion. Warwick Davis as ‘Emperor Of The Universe’ Porridge was wonderfully understated and his quiet speech to Clara about feeling sorry for the people who pull the trigger was both sad and a brilliant piece of forshadowing.

I don’t think this episode is a masterpiece like The Doctor’s Wife was. There are still the typical Gaiman elements; the abandoned circus, the grotesque, the rag tag team of characters, the strange blend of sci fi and fantasy that is Gaiman’s signature style and an emphasis on moral conundrums. But this episode is a lot less serious than The Doctor’s Wife despite Nightmare in Silver’s fear factor, and it has a lot less to say. At least at first glance. On rewatches, the complexities are more noticeable. Nightmare in Silver isn’t perfect, but it is thought provoking and well acted teatime entertainment. That’s all I want from Mr Gaiman.

Nightmare in Silver: 10/10 inky stars

FINALE: YES I’VE SEEN IT AND YES I AM BEHIND WITH MY BLOGGING. My brain is still shattered and I am in no state to review the finale till after another veiwing. Moffat you audacious bastard.

Maureen is addicted to all things speculative fiction, including Doctor Who. She guest blogs for MrsTribble but you can find her at her speculative fiction blog InkAshlings or on Twitter. She also reviews sci fi and fantasy books on Goodreads if you like that kind of thing.

Psych Unit

I have mentioned my autistic son many times before. I’ve shared the good times, the bad times, some photographs of my handsome, cheeky little man. A young man who is basically thoughtful, sweet-natured, warm hearted, kind, handsome and funny. He has a smile that could light up the entire solar system, and a laugh to match.

He is a beautiful boy. He would never deliberately harm anybody, but over the last few months his behaviour has become more and more difficult for people to cope with. Several of the services he was recieving have been withdrawn recently, because people just cannot deal with him any more.

I still didn’t expect the news that I recieved yesterday though, in spite of my son’s deteriorating behaviour. I was just home from Book Club when my mother called me.

My son’s behaviour has become so erratic and violent that he was admitted to a psychiatric ward on Saturday; he’s been sectioned for twenty-eight days. Sectioning means that he will be held against his will for his own safety while tests are carried out; we’ve always known that autism isn’t his only issue – and perhaps we can now find out what else is going on.

My son is non-verbal and so he can’t tell people how he feels. Many of his physical attacks on people are born out of sheer frustration. This is known to all and is therefore being removed from the equation when it comes to any new diagnoses.

I really did not want to write this, but then I decided that my son’s story might benefit parents of autistic children who may have other special needs, just as my son does. I wanted them to know that they are not the only ones.

However; whichever deity you trust, please send them a prayer for my little boy.

R: The Stealer Of Hats

Hey, this is a small house. An extra five people in it is a lot of people! Not only Lisa, but we had my Bridesmaid and her partner and D’s Best Man and his wife.

Eventually there was just my Bridesmaid and myself left in the house (everybody else moved on to D’s Dad’s so that we could get ready without D seeing my gown). We vegged for a while and then we got ourselves ready for my now Mother and Stepfather in law to collect us.

Arriving at the scene of the crime – John Ray House, Braintree, Essex

My only scare of the day: The Best Man dashing out to the car park and saying:

“Gemma; D doesn’t want to see you…”

Liz and I exchanged looks of horror; my heart was almost literally in my mouth.

“… in your gown, until the ceremony. He’s asked that you wait in the hallway until he’s called through.”

Phew. Talk about hair-raising!

(There is actually a photograph of D placing himself in the “Naughty Corner” with his back turned. Sadly I don’t have it on my laptop!)

So Liz and I stood there with our teeth chattering, greeting guests and getting photographed a lot until we were told it was safe for us to enter. We were both interviewed briefly, and then this happened:

I’d chosen this melody – Watermark by the fabulous Enya – as it always reminds me of happy times spent with my sister. It was the only entrance music that felt “right” to me.

The marriage itself was a very relaxed affair; vastly due to the very nature of our guests, but also – in part – because the lovely Registrar kept losing where she was in her “lines” and making everybody giggle.

First kiss as Tribble and wife

There was confetti (mostly dumped straight into my cleavage by my new Mother-in-Law amidst much laughter) and then there was the reception:

The White Hart Hotel

There was the meeting of new friends:

There was also a bit of Doctor Who silliness, courtesy of my good friend David:

Well… they ARE!

Much fun was had by all, and Tony (who is a counter tenor) even performed a little bit… and then we all sang Spike’s Let Me Rest In Peace as we were driven by the Best Man to our various neccessary locations.

It was such a beautiful, happy day. No pomp, no circumstance, no fuss. Just two people in love getting married bathed in the love of a small gathering of friends and family.

With this ring…

I can’t believe that we have now been married for a whole year – and it’s been the happiest year of my life. Thank you, D, for loving me just the way I am.

Admit it or not, we all secretly laugh when somebody drops a bomb, guffs, lets one, however you refer to it. We can pretend to be offended, but for the most part your face is hurting from holding in that painful belly laugh that alerts everybody else to the fact that somebody farted.

But why do we always pretend that it’s somebody else, a creaking floorboard or – should a stink-cloud occur – that it was the dog five doors down? Anna Lind Thomas not only almost gassed her husband on their third date, but she laughed about it five years down the line and decided that the internet should be allowed to laugh with her.

(Psst! It’s my wedding anniversary tomorrow, so we won’t mention  The Wedding Night Toxic Fart From Hell; D almost didn’t survive the stench)

Yes Harry; we ARE amused!

Look! Even the Royals let one go occasionally – in public!

(I dare you not to laugh at this picture. Nope, I can see you trying your hardest not to – you have that “gurn” face going on)

Now on to my point. “Ladies don’t fart”.

We don’t? Really? Since when?

Try spending some time at Tribble Towers, where whoopie-cushion sound effects, tooting, stench-clouds and levitating duvets are a regular occurance. Depending on who did it, one of us will say “oops” and one of us will laugh raucously; one of us squeaks politely, the other lets rip with gunfire or the infamous SBD.

Guess which one I am?

Birds do it

Bees do it

Even educated fleas do it

Let’s do it

Let’s have a guff!

I’m not ashamed to admit that I find farting ridiculously funny; I think my own farts are funnier than anybody elses’, because I’m really not ashamed that my body needs to get rid of poisonous gas. Why should I be? It’s natural, healthy and a source of amusement to all who don’t pretend that farting isn’t amusing.

So next time you trump, let one, parp, toot, guff, drop the ball, cut the mustard or let the dogs out… just laugh! Everybody else is going to laugh anyway, so why not?

I’m having a kebab later, and that duvet is going to be on the ceiling… which shall no doubt cause some very loud laughter on my part.

Let thy wind blow free

Where’er ye may be

Church or chapel, let it rattle

Let thy wind blow free

(source unknown)

]]> http://rosewinelover.com/2013/05/13/let-the-wind-blow-free/feed/ 10 rosewinelover Fart Yes Harry; we ARE amused! http://rosewinelover.com/2013/05/12/together-they-weeped/ http://rosewinelover.com/2013/05/12/together-they-weeped/#comments Sun, 12 May 2013 10:19:19 +0000 Missus Tribble http://rosewinelover.com/2013/05/12/together-they-weeped/ Continue reading →]]>

Reblogged from terry1954:

Help me, please someone help me. I am drowning. People walking each direction. No one stopping but each person looking. No one getting involved. Too busy  living, distracted minds.

One soul tossed a few coins in the direction of the cry. Lost children scampering to gather precious solids into their tiny hands. Claiming change for their own; needed for a nibble of food.

Read more… 786 more words

It’s 1893 Yorkshire and a man’s brother has just died at the hands of the mysterious Mrs Gillyflower. The brother goes to see London’s finest detectives who soon investigate ‘the crimson horror.’ Upon investigating the photo taken of the body, and in particular, the man’s eye, Vastra and Jenny see The Doctor reflected in the photo. But that’s impossible, right? Sweetville is a place for the fittest and the most beautiful of humanity and is run by Mrs Gillyflower. The brother reporter died investigating the quasi religous place, but why? And how on earth is The Doctor involved? Jenny goes undercover to infiltrate the place in her sleuthing role while Vastra and Strax man the fort in London. What’s with Mrs Gillyflower’s daughter, Ada, and her secret monster? What’s the deal with the red bodies? And who is Mr Sweet?

Even the promo poster this week is gorgeous, instantly reminding me in fact of the dvd cover for The Ruby in the Smoke which features the villian, Mrs Holland, in the backdrop and Sally is close up left. The second Sally Lockhart adaptation, Shadow in the North, which Matt Smith also had a role in as Jim incidentally had a plot which features a Utopian dream gone wrong and also requires Sally to investigate by infiltrating;

On an unrelated note, I wish they’d made more of these because the adaptations were damned good. Also Pullman, just write more Lockhart. She was great.

Have a picture of Matt as Jim because everyone needs to see this show. EVERYONE.

Ahem. Anyway. Reviewing. The parallels with Sherlock Holmes are also obvious and a spin off show about the ‘real’ Holmes team would be quite wonderful. One of the things that I have been enjoying about series seven after the serious (and seriously) intricate plots of the Pond’s in series six, is how much fun the show is having right now. None of these episodes have been Pulitzer prize winning material, but damn, they are just so much fun every week. Clara and The Doctor took a back seat too, which allowed for us to really enjoy Vastra, Jenny and Strax. Though Strax is still a take him or leave him character for me, I love the dynamic duo and they should come back muchly. I enjoyed having a really evil villain to sink our teeth into with Mrs Gillyflower but the reveal about Mr Sweet was kinda… well… bittersweet. It was a suitably sad ending and yet oh so right.

The Doctor leaves the episode still refusing to clarify much about Clara to the trio who are of course dumbfounded that she is even alive and there is a rather interesting part at the end of the episode where Clara finds pictures of herself throughout different eras with some help from her two kid charges. Thing is, some of the pictures she knows aren’t her and yet… they are. I just had the best thought. What if the pictures were taken by Vastra and Co.? What if they have been doing some investigating of their own (COME BACK FOR THE FINALE PLASE). No idea. I can’t wait to find out where this is headed.

The Crimson Horror: 9/10 inky stars

Next episode: NEIL GAIMAN YOU GUISE. But let’s be realistic with our expectations, lest we anticipate The Doctor’s Wife every time and even Gaiman has to be human, right? Right?

Maureen is addicted to all things speculative fiction, including Doctor Who. She guest blogs for MrsTribble but you can find her at her speculative fiction blog InkAshlings or on Twitter. She also reviews sci fi and fantasy books on Goodreads if you like that kind of thing.

I have spent the last ten years trying to rid myself of the phobia that – until now – has controlled my life. For most of my life, if I was travelling somewhere, my first question would always be “Will there be spiders?” and I always had to check every nook and cranny before I could relax.

Five years ago I began to use my phobia for online research and understanding. I even submitted a photograph to our local paper, picturing me holding a garden spider in a bid to recover from my fear.

It was last year that my recovery truly began. I would like to discuss it further, but I need to warn anybody who is sensitive that there will be links to and pictures of arachnids beneath the jump.

I met somebody through a friend, who loves spiders and often photographs them to post the images on Facebook.

Between my new friend and my phobia I decided to do some research online and learn about various (and there are many) arachnids. I wanted to understand that our eight-legged friends play a very important part within our ecosystem and that we shouldn’t fear them.

Many of us Witchy types believe that they are messengers from The Goddess. Even if some Wiccans fear them, we will never harm them.

Last year my husband was pruning his small trees, when I noticed a discreet movement. It was a large spider who was definitely of the orb weaver family, but posessed some unusual markings. Elegant black and yellow legs and a black body with vertical yellow stripes on each side. She was so pretty that I named her Glory.

I only recently discovered what she was: she was a Wasp spider – not exactly a common species!

We left her alone, obviously, but we have both dealt with spiders getting in the house since then.

For instance, I was suffering from insomnia last night and was quite happy on the sofa when one of these appeared:

House spider

She was rather large, and appeared in the living room from… actually I don’t know where she came from. Probably a pair of shoes that I’ve not worn in months.

Some years ago I would have screamed and rushed upstairs to wake my husband (yes, he has been woken at 4am before to remove an eight legged horror).

Instead, I was shocked to not be reacting. I said hello to her and promised her that she was safe. I got a glass, put it over her and then admired her pretty colours and her elegant, delicate legs for a while. I then got a sheet of paper to slide underneath the glass and set her free in the garden.

I am beginning to realise that – if you take the time to observe them – spiders are actually quite beautiful.

Besides, who am I to be afraid of a small, harmless creature when I’m harming myself to remove my tattoos?

And in my twenties I was mauled by a German Shepherd. I still have scars – both physically and emotionally. I used to cross the road to avoid Spaniels – one of the most loving and loyal breeds there are. I just couldn’t be near any Dog at all.

Some years ago, while we were searcing for a disability-friendly guest house, my husband found Hope Orchard. What we didn’t know was that there were household pets.

I have always been absolutely fine with cats; I’m somewhat allergic but I adore them (actually, Jasper is always welcome in our Hope Orchard room – he might shred the newspaper, but otherwise he just wants love and will curl up on the bed; Liz and Graham know to check our room first if they can’t find Jasper).

As for Dogs? I was still terrified of any Dog other than my friend’s ridiculous but gorgeous Rottie. Oh, Willow was wonderful and stupid and beautiful. How many Dogs do you know that will walk around with a sock on their nose?

Anyway. Willow [RIP] was a wonderful and silly Rottie. She is missed by many people.

So… D and I arrive at Hope Orchard for the first time and we’re confronted by this:

Well… an elderly, arthritic version of this very handsome Dog anyway. He barked a lot and the Guest House owners needed to assure me that their Bertie was completely friendly and just barked a lot.

I fell in love with him whilst having breakfast the next morning. After all, how can you not fall in love with soulful Doggie eyes and a sweet Doggie face? We also met Louis (one of the cats), who decided to jump on my husband and get himself across the table in hopes of stealing my bacon!

Yes… the Hope Orchard Cats only look stupid. Trust me; they’re really not!

Sadly, we arrived at Hope Orchard one day to hear the awful news that Bertie had passed away. We were both very sad about it, but then Graham brought out the beautiful Staffie baby that he just couldn’t leave in the shelter:

This is the closest likeness to Toby that I can find. Toby is a beautiful brindle Staffie, about eight years old. The most dangerous thing about him? His tongue, his tail and his enthusiasm for people he knows and likes.

I’m not afraid of Dogs at all now, and I have these wonderful Terriers and a crazy Rottie to thank. Also, of course, their humans.

In summary: Clara is allowed to fly the TARDIS with The Doctor’s guidance after the episode establishes yet again Clara’s feisty relationship with the time machine. Because it is being flown with minimal defences, the TARDIS is sucked into a scrapyard for salvage and resell. The Doctor gets out in time but Clara is trapped inside the crashed ship. The Doctor manages to persuade the salvagers to come inside and help him find Clara using a clever ruse but can he fix the TARDIS engine room in time, undo cracks in time, the engine exploding and figure out what the creepy animal matter inside the TARDIS is before it’s too late?

Even though the plot was half baked there was just so much in this episode to pull apart. Thompson’s previous episode for Doctor Who, The Curse of the Black Spot, was also minimal on strong plot but reflected an awful lot of what was actually going on in series 6 with its establishment of two realities. I quote a friend of mine on lj, elisi Here

Anyway, before I move on, I feel obliged to point out how – as many of us suspected – ‘The Curse of the Black Spot’ turned out to be a big metaphor from start to finish…

There was the mark of Certain Death (/fixed point), which turned out to be something else. There was the Siren/Mermaid who rose from the water, who turned out to be a doctor. (And she sang.) There was the fact that everyone had to go to a parallel world in order to sort things out. There was the necessity of confirming a marriage in order to save the man who was dying (I swear to you, by the higher power of your choice, that when the Doctor and River got married this image sprang into my head). And finally there were continued adventures, with everything different and yet the same, and the pirates thought dead in their old world…

I very much wonder if this episode is mirroring the series 7 arc in a similar way to Thompson’s pirate episode. We have the TARDIS engine exploding, cracks in time making a comeback, Clara still not making sense but being posited by The Doctor as a trick or a trap, glimpses of the swimming pool and of the library (everything always comes back to River’s library) complete with a history of the Time Lord’s. We have Clara reading out loud “So that’s who…” and The Doctor telling her that she will forget everything that happened once time is reset. Of course, what’s the one thing we learnt from s5 and The Big Bang? Moffat loves the motif of memory and Amy WAS able to remember her past with The Doctor and bring past events back into her own reality. The precedent is there. Could Clara do the same? And there is still “Run you clever boy, and remember” and what on earth is that about?

Way back in the days of The Snowmen, I said that I thought Clara was a TARDIS or a TARDIS avatar. This episode makes me feel that Clara must be linked to the TARDIS even more strongly. There’s three more episodes left until the finale so have the beginnings of a theory put down on the blogging table. I think that Clara will remember The Doctor’s name at the field of Trensalore. I think that somehow this causes silence to fall and the TARDIS to explode and that the TARDIS exploding links Clara with the TARDIS so that she is scattered throughout time and space. I think that this season is heading towards The Time War and the time rift faster than you can scream “Geronimo.” I think it is pretty clear now that Moffat is going to explore the War further and that Clara will be a trick or a trap but set by who? Omega? And lest we forget River who was practically everyone’s theory at once… Clara is probably still just a perfectly ordinary girl in spite of this.

With all of this glorious meta who cares that Journey to the Centre of the TARDIS was big on promise and short on delivery? Who cares that the plot could have been stronger? Who cares that this was no Gaimanesque game changer?

Certainly not me.

Journey to the Centre of the TARDIS: 8/10 inky stars

Next week: BAH more Mark Gatiss BUT WAIT… the return of Madame Vastra and Jenny? Oh Santa Moff!