Steve's F

Steve's F

Sunday, 3 April 2016

St Mandi of Hove, Patron Saint of lost causes and left luggage

Stupidly, I got involved with a married man. I did ask, dear Reader whether he was married and he assured me he wasn't. He used to take off his wedding band when he came up to see me,  only he's  not great at lying and left it on when he sent me a selfie from the local  Specs R Us trying on some new frames.

He left her - he said his marriage was on the rocks for years. He provided for the ex and the daughter now 13, who he never sees anymore because his bitch of an ex wife has poisoned her, all their friends and even threatened to go and tell my BF's 84 year old mother about my "past" if he didn't  break up with me. He didn't. At the time it made us stronger.

She, we'll  call her St Mandi of Hove, the patron saint of lost causes, left luggage and endless pity potty, embarked on a campaign  against me including going to the police and making a false allegation that I was harassing her. I was arrested and only released because my blood pressure went soaring and the bastard custody sargeant didn't  want  a death in custody  investigation.

This drama  went on for months, my then solicitors, Janes, asked the police to look at the unending stream of emails and texts from her to her estranged ex which clearly constitute harassment and stalking - of me, through him.

The officer in the case a rookie called Gemma Clarke at Brighton police thought  she was onto something. A big fish. A criminal mastermind perhaps and the case went from the magistrate's court to Hove Crown Court. The sensible judge at Hove Crown Court threw it out, when the CPS asked for a second go in the magistrate's court, realising they would never get a jury to believe the ranting diatribes of a scorned woman. The CPS asked if it could go back to the magistrates, the judge declined, they'd had their bite of the cherry. You'd think she'd  stop?

She stalked me for months, getting  her friends to friend  me on Faceache , connect on LinkedIn and  follow  me on Twitter, she reads every  word I write and tranfers it so she thinks it's  about her. She was unwanted at birth and given up for adoption. Adopted  women are easy prey to vultures and cannibals. More about that later.

I watched my partner  get depressed, worried for his daughter, unable to communicate. I watched his ex's lawyers, Mischon de Reya egg  her on with this false harassment allegation and churn fees.  Her solicitor Kate Clark became a witness for the deranged  ex St Mandi, of the Open Wound. Her brother, Robin Paine who used to be quite senior at the London Metal Exchange also became a witness to "harassment" against his sister by me although I have never once corresponded with him, in any way, except to tell him to leave us alone when he joined his adopted sister in her campaign and lies.

My partner  became  angrier and his rage had one outlet - me. St Mandi is so excellent at playing the victim, she left him guilt ridden and disabled. More than anything he wanted access to their daughter and has tried a stream of therapists for family therapy but Mummy Dearest is too busy or blames me  for yet another imaginary infraction. 

She got a  colleague at BHASVIC where she works to support her malicious allegation.

This mess caused untold stress in my life when I had already been told by my GP that I was in stroke zone area with my high blood pressure. I didn't  want to go on life long medication, so I had a choice - cut out the stress or have a stroke or a heart attack.

You see, people must think I'm weak or Mrs Milktoast because of convictions dating to 2005 and 2008 (blogs passim). They think I'm an easy target because I'll bow down and take whatever punishment you think I deserve. You're so wrong.

Injustice makes me physically ill. I spend most of my life fighting other people's  battles  which is how this started with St Mandi the Dispossessed of Hove. What on earth do you think I'll do to you if you bring something that feels unfair to me? Lie down and play obedient? No,  I'll stirr a storm and whip up a whirlwind and you'll reap the reward of your lies.

I thought the narcissistic nightmare had ended. One house was sold,the ex could buy  her own place having  extracted more than half of the £1.2m selling price. I thought she'd  moved on. 

On Friday, my BF had sent  me a copy of a letter I needed only it hadn't reached me, and he had to go out to meet someone. I was looking  for the letter to send to myself on his laptop and suddenly found an endless  trail of emails from his ex who had just cleared  a cool half a mil,  half his pension ( quite a lot I imagine  after 30 years working in investment  banking ) and was about to cash in on the sale of another property they owned together. She suffered post natal depression  and "couldnt work " so she holds down an exam invigilator post at BHASVIC. She made sure she cleaned  him out though. 

Only she is on no rush to sell the other property now, because  I'm such a bad person and she feels he endorses  my bad actions towards her. The only problem with that is that I  haven't  spoken to her or had any contact at all for well over a year. I barely  think about her. She doesn't  exist in my world.

She claims the police are watching and monitoring all my "abuse" and advised  her to change all her numbers and contact details, which I don't really care about but which makes it impossible for the ex to contact his elusive child.

The police in Brighton deny this and the Officer in the Case who brought this false allegation is being investigated, so I very much doubt that she, Gemma Hawkes is going to want to get into more trouble. Professional Standards are so far up her ass, she has to ask them before she can take a shit.

I saw emails from St Mandi that confirm child abuse and neglect - the ex claims she has no money for food because he had not paid maintenance for his daughter on exactly  the first of the month. 

She claimed darling little  Emily couldn't  go to town with her friends because there was no money for her to have lunch and go to a movie with friends. 

What kind of deranged, sad, unfit mother says or even writes these things? This is all current. She's  too busy working to sort out the last vestiges of their  life together but there's no money for sandwiches. Last time I looked a meal deal was about  £3? She doesn't  have £3 when she siphoned off £5k  a month in both January and December from their joint bank account?  What is she doing, supporting a cocaine habit?

The emails go on to say that she will tell their daughter that the reason for their financial woes is that dad's not paying his maintenance. What kind of household does she run that she can't afford the basics for her only child?

While she was in the throes of her post separation drama she threatened to kill herself and she crashed her car deliberately into a wall. She sent morose suicidal texts about " what will happen to Em?" 

She tried to stop access to her child in the Family Court because of  "my past" to her child by me...except I don't  care if I never  see her and wrote to CAFCAS and the Judge explaining that. That little ploy didn't work then. Her father still hasn't  seen her, access to a counsellor hasn't happened, St Mandi thinks she can play the courts and the system because of her hatred and rage towards me.

I have written to BHASVIC and the Governors there to ask what is being done to safeguard the 2 500 children, who are vulnerable  because of their, age against this mentalist. She needs help and to sort her life out, not to be around children because she's shown what lengths she'll go to,  when she feels scorned or unheard. This is not a safe person for children to be around.

I have also written to BHASVIC and asked them why they allowed  another member of staff to get involved in a malicious campaign of a woman  scorned. I'm sure parents will want to know that processes are fair and tolerant  and witch hunts aren't  condoned. 

I fully expect asswipe ambulance chasers like Mishcon de Reya and Kate Clark her solicitor to behave this way. I've come to expect most of the policeforce are corrupt or stupid or personally want to make a name for themselves when it comes  to me.  I expect  a little more  propriety  when it  comes to a sixth form college.

Friday, 1 April 2016

Breaking Worse

This article was first published by the Economist on 1 April. I liberated it because it deserves freedom and to be more widely read. 

Women in prison - by Martha Gill
Breaking worse

Female prisoners are more badly behaved than male ones
Apr 2nd 2016 | From the print edition

Bad behaviour behind bars
AS A rule, women behave better than men, or are less frequently caught out: they make up just 5% of Britain’s prison population. Even these troublemakers are gentler than the opposite sex. In 2014 eight in ten women prisoners were jailed for non-violent offences, compared with seven in ten male prisoners.

Behind bars, however, a different trend emerges. It is women who more frequently run up against prison rules. In 2014 there were 137 punishments doled out per 100 women but only 105 for every 100 men. They are also more violent, committing 52 assaults on staff per 1,000 female prisoners in 2015 whereas the male rate was 45. Why do women behave so badly in prison?

Diego Gambetta, a sociologist, says women make rougher inmates because they take longer to establish a hierarchy. Fighting, he says, “is an information-seeking device”, and although the toughest men sport large muscles and scars, the toughest women are harder to spot without a scrap. Another theory is that female prisoners are trickier to manage because they are more likely to suffer from mental illness: in 2015 26% of them (and 16% of male inmates) had had a psychiatric admission before going to prison. A third argument is that female jails are less crowded, so unruly prisoners are easier to spot.

The explanation that many academics and think-tanks favour is that guards are less tolerant towards women. A 1994 study of Texan prisons found that wardens in female prisons demanded total compliance but those in male prisons did not. Ellie Butt at the Howard League, a prison-reform charity, thinks little has changed. Female inmates, she says, are considered doubly deviant—“a woman, and a criminal?” says one female ex-con, “You’re practically Myra Hindley!” Guards may be more likely to write up and punish women’s verbal assaults on staff than men’s.

Government figures hint this is true. “Disobedience or disrespect” was the reason for 44% of punishments given to female prisoners in 2014 compared with 39% of those handed out to men. Farah Damji, who has spent time in prison, says male guards were particularly keen to put her in her place. “It was a sense of, you think you have some status in the outside world? I’ll show you,” she says. Ms Butt reckons such treatment contributes to the disproportionate levels of self-harm committed by women—26% of the prison-system total in 2014. Punishments were designed for men, says Juliet Lyon at the Prison Reform Trust, a charity, and are often a bad fit for women.

There are some promising signs of change. Since 2006 the rates of female assaults on staff have more than halved whereas male assault rates have stayed roughly flat. The gap between male and female punishment rates has also narrowed. One reason, Ms Lyon says, is that staff are learning more about working with prisoners who have suffered trauma.

A different approach altogether might work better. Women fare worse than men after prison: they are more likely to reoffend after sentences shorter than 12 months, the type they most commonly receive. They do better on alternative measures, though. Around 95% complete community-service sentences, but only 76% of men do. If jail turns women into Walter White, the anti-hero of the television series “Breaking Bad”, there is a case for not putting them there in the first place.

Sunday, 3 January 2016

The Dreamers by Day

I saw this on Rob Symington's blog. I remember how I felt when I first read it. Emboldened, inspired, awake.
Sweet day dreaming!

Friday, 20 November 2015

Flowers. Everywhere.

Flowers for Freedom, liberating Flora
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Flowers for Freedom at the

Lightbox Gallery Art and Craft Fair

Saturday 21st and Sunday 22nd November 2016

         "now with added va-va-voom flower power!"
                                  -the Ethical Hedonist

Every day in captivity, Ai Wei Wei, the Chinese artist sent the  Government a bunch of flowers. Thus the concept of flowers for freedom was born.  Although a person can be deprived of their liberty, their relationships, the ties that bind, their captors  cannot  strip them of their capacity to create and to appreciate beauty, even in the most evil of places and through the dark night of the soul. 
Using colour and light to break out of the monochrome, barred and gated  world of an institution, painting flowers became a way to cling on to my sanity and defy feeling “locked in.”
The proceeds of the sales from Flowers for Freedom help to fund art classes and workshops  for women only, at drop in centres, refuges and enterprise hubs.  The response has been really positive, with outcomes in increased confidence, communication and group working.

I am deeply grateful to Peter Blake, the art teacher at HMP Bronzefield for his encouragement and to the Lightbox gallery in Sutton for taking my first attempts at art seriously.  Also thanks to Piyush Suri of Handmade in Britain who took a punt and let me exhibit at Handmade  at Kew, a learning curve for all. These new watercolours depict the freshness and sensuality of women and flowers - they'd make a great Christmas present and come framed by Accession CiC
 in West Ealing.

I look forward to seeing you this weekend!
Farah Damji

Lightbox Gallery, Chobham Rd
Woking, Surrey, GU21 4AA
Flora Notecards
£2.50 each
£10 for 5
Buy Now
Paintings from £85.00
Prints £10.00
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Boudoir Notecards and Watercolours 
Cards £10 for 5
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If you would like a painting of a particular flower it can be painted especially for you, to whatever size you would like.  Farah also undertakes commissions for designers, architects and publishers.

Please contact us to arrange a visit or to have a chat about your requirements on: 07512 320 700  or email
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Sunday, 15 November 2015

St Yasmin - The Patron Saint of All Sorrows

My Father – Amir the Terrible and his sister St Yasmin of the Vale of All Sorrows

Yasmin, once the darling of the Islington dinner party, curry queen, respected commentator on multiculturalism has built up a lucrative platform for herself as the voice of Muslim womanhood, feminist, leftist, vox populist of anger and outrage. Show her a bandwagon and she’ll eagerly mount it.  

She specialises in specialism and over the years, alarmingly, aunty has become Aunty’s favourite – what better pantomime than a spewing, uninformed colonial banshee for TV screen fodder to play to the masses.  Human flypaper makes for great voyeurism. Over the years she has passed herself off as the go-to  Muslim controversialist , an untouchable -  more  Chicago than  Slumdog . 

I am Yasmin Alibhai Brown’s niece.  I was recently sent an article she wrote for the Daily Mail  last August about how she single-handedly looked after her elderly mother, Jena,  at the end of her life because my father, her older brother Amir,  “abandoned“  them.  She states she finds it hard to forgive him; he  left the burden of responsibility with -  the ever pleasing and compliant St Yasmin of All Sorrows. This is the same mother she described as a prostitute in her whinging immigrant tome, No Place like Home,  in which she described me as too beautiful and troubled for my own good. Yasmin is a fantasist.  

My grandma Jena was complicated.  Yasmin never forgave her for that.  She never forgave my father for being his mother’s son.  Jena was a hypochondriac, mentally unstable, prone to depression and a religious fruitcake – subscribing to the belief that the Aga Khan is the living descendant of the Prophet. She spent hours cross legged on her sofa watching daytime TV , rosary in hand, praying for her children and her grandchildren - in between doctor’s appointments.  She popped Mogadons like M &Ms.

My father was sent to boarding school in Stroud in Gloucestershire, from Kampala Uganda, by his father but he had to go back to Africa aged 14 to become a petrol pump attendant.    Amir, still a child himself, took on the responsibility for his entire family – Yasmin and Zarina, another sister who disappeared into the abyss of mental illness. He cared for them and he provided for them in every way, but he didn’t have a role model or a father figure to learn from – he did the very best he could. 

Controversy as currency is the fodder of many a column here and elsewhere. Rarely in my experience are  lies like hers so close to home the coinage. Years of her lies and abuse of my father have passed, she describes  me as  bi-polar;   she does what she must in order to fill a weekly column   to  stir up hatred and validate the vacuous existence.

  She might as well spread her legs wide and allow whatever passing populist cock to ram itself inside her and  fill her up  so she can  then ejaculate the passing  rubbish deposited in her. This column of weekly spunk. That is what she has become, a media whore, ready for the rape of Mamon and to be pimped by polemic.  

My father would have been 75 this year, however he died 5 years ago this month, I still miss him and think about him daily.

Because he always knew what was right and no matter what far flung mess I had managed to get myself into, he unfailingly helped me to sort it out.   There was a kind of cruelty about him too, he was quick tempered  and often violent, he hit Yasmin, which is not unusual in South Asian families.  I felt the back of his hand on several occasions until I finally stood up to him. He never laid a finger on me again. He hated duplicity and weakness. More about that later.

She alleges that Jena was ignored by my father when he went to live in South Africa in the early 90s. He had to go,  at the height of the recession, to keep his property empire in London from going under, he needed to find new income streams .   He wanted to build something new, he always had itchy feet for the next adventure.  My parents’ marriage was not a happy one and perhaps he felt he could start over in Africa where his life began. Africa is like malaria  - it never leaves you.  

 What she forgets to mention is that Yasmin forced Jena, who raised me and who I called Maa and was living with our family in a comfortable house in Northwood,  to move  and live with her in a flat on Ealing Common to look after her first born, Ari.

Who put down the sizeable deposit on the flat in which she still lives on Gunnesbury Road for Yasmin? My father.

  Yasmin also forgets to mention in her spiteful and inaccurate piece for the Daily Mail that a few years later she threw her own mother out of that flat  when she decided she no longer needed her services as unpaid housekeeper and child-minder. Jena was left homeless but for the kindness of Ealing council and social workers. What was Amir supposed to do from South Africa? He asked Jena to come and live with him but her doctors, her social networks and her life were in London.

The reason Yasmin hates my father and tells so many lies about him is quite different. The truth lies in a random glimpse of her first husband and childhood sweetheart, her beloved “Sky” Alibhai a zoologist on the platform at Baker Street. My father was on the train on the way home and saw him kissing a much younger, blonde woman. That Sunday, Sky and Yassi ,  as she was known before she joined the ranks of the white middle class she so despises – this  double barreled doyenne we know today -  were at our house for lunch. 

My father asked, in his usual direct fashion why Sky was kissing a stranger and why Yassi was tolerating it. Her world came crashing down. Her fantasy life, the safety and security she always craved and thought she had built  were just  an edifice. They hurriedly left.  Sky tried to make his marriage work for the sake  of their child, Ari , but he left soon after and has built a new life with Zoe, the student he was snogging. My father shamed and mocked her for not realising sooner that the weekend zoological trips, the expeditions were forays into quite a different type of undergrowth and  to capture  a particularly  enticing  young specimen..

I stopped loving Yasmin a very long time ago. I was sexually abused   from the age of 9 by older cousins. She knew about it, but did nothing to stop it .  Years later, she was regaled nationally as being the woman who brought down convicted paedophile Stuart Hall. It is easy to live a life in the limelight and do the right thing with the public behind you   and where  plaudits are plenty. It is a lot harder to do the right thing when no one but the family is watching. I blame her for a lot of the subsequent dysfunction I lived in, until I could come to terms with being sexually violated by my own family, and for this to pass unspoken by an aunt I thought loved me and cared about me.

Leave my father’s memory alone Yasmin.  Next time you sit down to write some pathetic victim gurning nonsense,  know that I'll come for you legally. You can't defame the dead but you will learn to respect my right to privacy and to quietly enjoy my family life.

My children grew up with him and they  love him and they knew him. While he may not have been the best father to me, I will never forget the image of him in his boxers and shirtsleeves engrossed in a Lego construction with my son Imran, aged 4  sprawled on the floor in his mansion in Cape Town. Or Imran asking me if we can share fathers because his was a bit lousy, or my daughter’s smile, even when she was a baby, when he came into the room.

He left a legacy of greatness and strength, of charitable deeds that go unmentioned and always will because he didn’t need plaudits or crave publicity. You are one of a kind.  I don’t know many Muslim women who drink, eat pork and are married to a white middle class man – the type she wishes will soon be made extinct. 

Yasmin's dedication to her then fiancee Sky Alibhai

They say that sunlight is the best disinfectant.

 1443 words

© Farah Damji 2015

Friday, 6 November 2015

Not Bladerunner but London 2015

Watched the police get ready to kettle a bunch of kids at Trafalgar Square this evening. Really sad to see the erosion of freedoms we're all sleepwalking into. I walked home from Soho Theatre through Westminster to Pimlico tonight and I didn't see an act of violence or destruction of property. Loads of cops stacking up on overtime and riling the peaceful protestors.

Saddest moment of my whole life in London was seeing police propoganda projected onto the walls of the National Gallery.

RIP democracy UK.

And here's a picture you won't see on MSM.