Author: anneethompson

Letters to a Sister : 43. Lent and Laughing

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Did you have a nice week? I managed to remember both Husband’s birthday AND Valentine’s Day last week. This is surprisingly difficult because they come so close together. I did one year forget the Valentine’s card completely. I didn’t realise until I was going to bed late on the evening of the 13th. We always exchange cards first thing in the morning, so there was no way I could make an excuse and say I was giving him my one later – he knows me too well, he would know I had forgotten. What to do?

Then I had a brain wave. Husband is a very organised person. He always keeps everything in tidy places, they are easy to find. He is also quite sentimental, he keeps all the cards that he is given. These traits provided an excellent solution. I sneaked to the cupboard where he keeps his old cards and found a Valentine card that I had sent him a few years previously. Popped it into a fresh envelope and there you are, all sorted. The next morning, there was his card waiting with his morning tea, just like normal. (Yes, I did admit to it, but much later, after it wouldn’t matter. He wasn’t surprised.)

I have never claimed to be a saint, (and people who know me have also never felt tempted to give me that title.) With this in mind, you will understand why I have decided that our church’s plan for Lent – to do one random act of kindness every day – is beyond me. I am just not that nice. I have therefore decided to lower the bar a little. I am going to try and not be bad at least once every day during Lent. So far this is going okay.

It means I have to do things like change light bulbs sometimes. I hate doing this. We keep the light bulbs in a cupboard that is very awkward to reach, between a chair and a bookcase behind a table. Getting new light bulbs is a hassle. Now, our bed has two reading lights in the wall behind it. I like to go to bed early and read for hours, so my light often needs a new bulb. Husband rarely reads in bed, his bulb hardly ever gets used. It is much easier, when my bulb runs out, to just swap it with the one in Husband’s light. He did comment last week that the bulbs don’t seem to last very long because he never uses his light but the bulb frequently needs replacing. I just smiled. If my bulb goes during Lent I will replace it properly. Probably.

I also have to try and not laugh inappropriately. This is very hard for me. I am someone who laughs a lot – it is my default reaction. I even laugh when I am asleep sometimes, which is very annoying because I wake myself up giggling and then cannot even remember what I was laughing at! Husband also complains.

The thing is, I do find rude jokes funny, ‘The Inbetweeners’ was my favourite programme for a while, which even my children told me was inappropriate for a woman my age. When someone drops something or falls over or says something wrong, I feel those giggles bubbling up inside and the more I know I must NOT laugh, that they will find it hurtful, the harder it is to stop.

I am making a special effort for Lent (though actually that bit is not going so well. Someone told me this week that their neighbour had been found dead in their car. They were waiting for the AA to arrive. They had a flat battery. Something about it just struck me as hilarious. I’m not sure I managed to look sad and caring, but I did try.)

It was always a problem when I was teaching – I was never very good at telling off the children because I always wanted to laugh.

I remember once a thirteen year old boy came up to me very pale faced and told me that he had swallowed the end of his crayon. He was obviously terribly worried that he would die or something. I’m afraid I wasn’t the sympathetic caring adult that I should have been at that moment, partly because it was stupid for a boy that old to be chewing his pencil anyway.

I also remember when I was teaching infants and a little girl came to the front and said she wanted to sing a solo to the class. All very good for building confidence and allowing her to express herself. Except that it was terrible and by the end I had tears running down my cheeks and was hidden in a hanky pretending to blow my nose so the class wouldn’t realise I was laughing. It was not my finest hour as a caring primary school teacher.

Anyway, hope you are managing to laugh at the right times this week. Sometimes it’s a life saver.

Take care,
Anne x

PS. You do realise that Mum cycles on the path, don’t you? Why does she need a BACK light??

PPS. I feel you need more veterinary practice. You can take daughter’s cat (who hates me) for her jabs while you’re here.

You can find my sister’s letters at:

http://ruthdalyauthor.blogspot.co.uk

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Letters to a Sister : 42

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I do hope you have managed to find Mum’s secret stash of sugar. Is her house warmer now she has replaced her windows? She was very pleased to have them done, to get rid of those leaky old ones and have them replaced with smart plastic ones. She even coped quite well with having a builder around.  It reminded me of when we did our building work. That was something of a learning experience for all of us.

Firstly, I learnt that wood really DOES float. Do you remember how the ducks started laying on the island? All those lovely big eggs and I couldn’t reach any of them. So, when we had the scaffolding up, after the builders had gone home for the day, I thought I might borrow some of the scaffolding planks and use them to walk across the mushy floor of the pond to raid the island. The bottom of the pond is full of silt and is very dangerous to walk in, so I figured, in my wisdom, that laying a plank across it would make a safe route. I lugged the heaviest plank I could carry up the garden and called grumpy eldest child to come and watch, so she could rescue me if I fell in.

She followed me up the garden muttering about revising for exams and that wood floats and my plan wouldn’t work. I could hardly carry the plank, it was so heavy, so I was sure she was wrong. She wasn’t (she rarely is.) I threw the great heavy plank into the pond and watched as it floated away.

I now had eggs on the island AND a plank of floating scaffold that I couldn’t reach. When the builders returned the next day I had to tell them that one of their planks was in the pond. I decided not to explain. They will have assumed it was one of the boys (which is an excellent reason for having children. They take the blame for all sorts of things.)

My next disaster also involved scaffolding. As you know, I am afraid of heights. It annoys me, seems silly to be scared of something so inconvenient. So I decided to conquer my fear and each evening, I would climb the ladders to the top of the scaffolding. I thought that if I went up to roof height every evening, eventually I would stop being frightened and my fear would be over. It didn’t work.

Going up was fine. But when I got to the top, my body just gave in to the phobia. My brain was telling myself it was fine, I was safe, sit up and look around. My arms and legs disagreed, shook compulsively and I thought I was going to faint. Very annoying. Husband was not impressed when he found me up there and had to come up and talk me back down the ladder. I decided to not try again the following night.

Husband had bit of a learning experience himself. We went to Spain that year for our holiday and he kept complaining of a pain in his side. He eventually went to the doctor and was told he had a hernia. I thought they were things old men got. I could not understand how city worker husband had got one. Then someone mentioned that he had been having weight lifting competitions with the boys, seeing who could lift the heaviest bit of scaffolding. It all made sense. I was perhaps not as sympathetic as he hoped, even though he assures me that he won the competition.

Do hope we don’t find Mum sitting on the roof – I’ll call you if I do.

Take care,
Anne x

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You can read my sister’s letters at:

http://ruthdalyauthor.blogspot.co.uk

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For Valentine’s Day

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Love
by Anne E Thompson

No more,
Do I carve big hearts in the sand.
Neither do I scribble our names entwined.
Nor do I keep your photo’ under my pillow.
Nor chant your name like a rhyme in my head.
I do not whisper about you with friends,
Nor blush when I hear your voice.
I do not loiter in the places you may pass,
Nor practice smiles for you before a mirror.

Yet still,
My heart thrills at the sound of your laughter,
And I watch the clock when your arrival is near.
I am content when I manage to please you,
And I watch your face when you drive or read.
I learn every wrinkle that creases your smile,
And I bend to your moods as they change.
For though time may mellow and age us,
My love for you remains
The same.

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Letters to a Sister : 41

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Thanks for your letter. You are very lucky that one of your boys cooks. I wish someone in my family did. I hate cooking dinners, really hate it. It is a pressure every day, trying to decide what to eat in the evening. Part of the problem is that although I hate cooking, I do like eating decent food. So ready-meals just don’t do it for me. None of family really cooks though, unless it’s Mother’s Day or something.

Actually, that’s not quite true. When I was in labour with Son 1, Husband did cook pizza for two year old daughter. I told him he just had to take it out the freezer and put it in the oven. Which he did. Literally. It wasn’t until daughter complained there was “white stuff stuck to it” that we discovered the polystyrene base had also gone straight from oven to freezer. I think that’s the last ‘dinner’ he has ever cooked. I blame his mother.

My sons also aren’t great communicators when they’re at uni. I send them emails and texts, letting them know what’s happening, but they rarely reply. Every so often I send an, “Are you dead?” text. To which they usually reply, “Yes, murdered horribly while in pub.” So I know they’re basically alright.

You can then, imagine my concern a few weeks ago when I arrived home to find a message on the answer phone saying, “please call me,” and a text saying the same and three missed calls on my mobile. Heart in mouth I dialed his mobile, hoping that he would pick up, wondering who I should call if he didn’t. He did.

“Oh, Mum, where have you been?” he said, “I need to know how you make soup.”

We discussed the whole idea of beginning messages with “it’s not an emergency.” Then I told him how to make soup.

You have to read my book when it’s published. It is not optional for sisters. It won’t scare you, you’ll be fine. Actually, I have nearly finished the main part, the bit about the psychopath. Which I’m quite relieved about because she’s not very nice.

I did lots of reading, read some papers by neuro scientists and got some of their books. I also watched some clips on YouTube, so I could try and imitate the speech patterns of how known psychopaths talk. It was all very interesting actually. The thing I found most disturbing was how likeable the psychopaths were. I think of myself as a good judge of character, but these people, who had sometimes murdered dozens of people, came over as very nice people. They were the sort of person you enjoy being with, the people who you invite round for dinner.

They were also very believable. Even though I knew, from my background reading, what the true situation was, when you heard someone telling you that they came from a “loving Christian family” you tended to believe them. It was all very interesting. Husband did get a bit fed up with it though. He would come home from work and I would begin a sentence, “Did you know….” and he would instantly say, “Is this about psychopaths?”

Your writers’ group sounds fun. I would love to be able to talk lots about my book. I wouldn’t want feedback though, that would be way too scary. You can be my writer’s group when you come over. I can talk for many weeks about psychopaths – how long are you staying for?

I might even bake you a cake. I like making cakes, it’s only dinners I find emotionally difficult. I will make it during Lent, then it will count towards one of those ‘random acts of kindness’ that we’re all supposed to be doing every day. I have a feeling that might turn out to be even more stressful than having to cook a dinner every day.

Take care,
Love, Anne xx

PS. Bring your wellies. It hasn’t stopped raining since you were here last time.

PPS. Happy Chinese New Year. It’s the year of the Monkey!

This letter is a reply.
You can read my sister’s letter at:
http://ruthdalyauthor.blogspot.co.uk/2016/02/cakes-migraines-and-cooking-letters-to.html

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A Heavenly Story

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A man died and went to Heaven.

When he arrived, an angel showed him around. There were lots of large buildings and they began to walk past them. They passed one building and there were sounds of splashing and singing. The man asked who was inside.

“Ah yes,” said the angel, “Those are the Baptists.”

Next they passed a building full of chanting, with smells of incense wafting out.

“That’s the Catholics,” explained the angel.

Then they came to a building with candles twinkling in the windows and choirs singing.

“That’s the Anglicans,” said the angel.

Then they came to a building that was very noisy, lots of laughing, guitars and people were singing the same songs over and over again.
“That’s the Pentecostals” said the angel.

On they walked, passing many different buildings, each one with a slightly different style. Then they stopped and the angel asked the man to take off his shoes. They walked forwards very slowly, not speaking, silently, until they had passed a large building. The man could see many people inside, but the angel warned him to not make a sound.

At the end of the tour, the man thanked the angel but he had to ask, “What was the building that we had to creep past?” Why did they need to be so quiet? he wondered.

“Ah, well,” said the angel, “the people in that church think they’re the only ones here.”

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This is a story that my Dad used to tell. I think its blunt humour is still very relevant today, when surely one of the greatest wrongs in the modern church is a pride in our own theology, an unwillingness to really believe that we might not have it all sorted, that perhaps there is more to God than we fully understand.

Dad was good at little sayings and stories. I remember him giving me advice when we were looking for a church to join.

“Anne,” he said, “you will never find the perfect church. But if you do, don’t join it. You will spoil it.”

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Letters to a Sister : 40

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How was your week? I am feeling hassled! It’s mainly to do with not having enough time at the moment. I have started writing about Joanna (my psychopath) and I’m loving it. I spend all my time thinking about her, imagining what she is like and I am desperate to write her story. But real life keeps getting in the way. I notice dirt I ought to clean up, husband wants dinners, the animals need looking after, I still have all my commitments at church, I have friends to keep in touch with. It all feels like too much sometimes.

I know it’s better than having an empty life – sometimes I’ve had those phases too, when I have too much time, life is lonely and boring – but right now it’s too full. Then I wrote a whole chapter of my book and realised afterwards that it was wrong. I had my psychopath stalking victims on Facebook but actually she was active before 2004, so social media wouldn’t have been available for her. Very annoying. I had to think back to those days when we didn’t have computers and we actually read newspapers for our news and had absolutely no idea what aunty Flossy was up to.

I do find that I get stressed very easily now – do you? I have actually started having proper panic attacks over the tiniest thing. I thought for a while that it was due to my brain surgery, they cut through the bit that controls stress in the body, so I was blaming all my worries on that.

However, when I mentioned it to my hairdresser (no, do NOT laugh at me – hairdressers see more of real life than most other people, plus when you are stuck in a chair for ages, it’s natural to chat, you get to know each other) she assured me that many women of my age start to feel nervous about things. I have been asking around and I am amazed at just how many people do get anxious about situations that they know are ‘safe’. Things like having coffee with a friend or going somewhere that I go regularly, all now cause these anxiety feelings. Really, I would much rather just stay home with my animals and never go anywhere. But that would be odd. Even for us ‘women of a funny age’ I feel there should be limits.

It made me wonder though if it is just a natural part of aging. If worrying about things that never bothered us before is so that we do start to cut back, we become less adventurous at a time of life when perhaps we should be thinking twice before we bungee jump or trek through a rainforest.

At our church group this week we were asked to consider how we could build bridges with people, to be involved at a deeper level with people. I told them that actually I wanted to blow up a few bridges. I don’t think it was quite the response they were hoping for.

It’s true though isn’t it, sometimes we can feel stretched too much, as if we have become like that stretchy man in The Incredibles. A bit too thin.

They have also changed the name of the church group. It is now called a ‘Life Group’. Not sure what I think about that. It sounds like the religious equivalent of ‘AA’, some sort of support group. Or perhaps that’s the idea, maybe it is a kind of support group, meeting friends to share how we’re getting on with trying to live good lives. Not very well in some cases (but you’re only allowed to say that about yourself.)

Take care,
Anne x

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How to Know Your Gender

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There has been a lot in the media recently concerning gender issues. If you are confused as to which gender you belong to, this short quiz might help. If you are a sensitive soul, it might be better to consult your medical practitioner.

Answer the questions and keep a tally of whether you score mainly A or B or C.

  1. During a discussion:
    A You always think you are right.
    B You always think you are right, until someone challenges you, then you assume you must be wrong, then in the end you discover that you were right.
    C You don’t care who is right or wrong, you just do whatever you want to do.
  2. When you were small:
    A You were often told to take your hands out of your trousers.
    B You were often told to stop playing with the hair of the person in front of you.
    C You liked to play with spiders.
  3. When you need scissors:
    A You think you know where they are but when you look, they are not there.
    B You think you know where they are and when you look, they are there.
    C You never use scissors, you prefer to bite things.
  4. When the toilet roll needs changing:
    A You sometimes put a new roll on the holder.
    B You put a new roll on the holder AND you throw the empty insert into the bin.
    C You never use toilet paper.
  5. Which is true ? :
    A You know the make and model of every car your family has ever owned.
    B You know the name of every car you family has ever owned – there was “Connie Consul”, “Betty Beetle”……
    C You do not like cars and if forced to travel in one you are usually sick.
  6. When on a long journey:
    A: You never even think about where there might be suitable toilets en route.
    B You sometimes worry about where there might be suitable toilets en route.
    C You do not like cars and if forced to travel in one you are usually sick.
  7. If there is an unusual noise in the middle of the night:
    A You get up to investigate, sometimes taking a weapon.
    B You send the person next to you to go and investigate.
    C It is usually you who has caused the unusual noise.
  8. When you go grocery shopping:
    A You rarely have a carrier bag with you.
    B You usually have a carrier bag with you.
    C You prefer to catch your own food.
  9. When you have your hair cut:
    A It always takes less than an hour.
    B It always takes more than an hour.
    C You never have your hair cut, you prefer to leave it all over people’s cushions and sweaters.
  10. Which is true?:
    A You hate peeling boiled eggs and oranges and so rarely do either.
    B You hate peeling boiled eggs and oranges but you do it anyway.
    C You never eat boiled eggs or oranges.
    Answers:
    If you scored mostly As, you are probably male.
    If you scored mostly Bs, you are probably female.
    If you scored mostly Cs, you are probably a cat. This quiz was not really aimed at you.

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Letters to a Sister : 39

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Have you read any good books lately? I have just finished’ All Quiet on the Western Front’ by Erich Maria Remarque. Have you read it? It’s brilliant, some bits made me cry. I wont tell you the ending because you should read it if you haven’t already.

It’s about a group of boys, aged 18 or 19, all from the same class at school, who are called up during the first world war. It’s fictional, though Remarque was at the front during the war, so I’m guessing it’s fairly realistic. The thing that makes it even more interesting is that they are German, so you glimpse how they saw us, the enemy. It is very well written. I read a translation by Brian Murdoch and it was very easy to read, didn’t feel like a translation at all.

I think the aspect that touched me most was that the soldiers all knew each other so well. I think of young men being killed and it affecting their parents, sisters, wives. I had never really appreciated how they had sometimes grown up together, they were watching their friends die. There’s one part, when one of the characters dies and Remarque writes:
“After a few minutes he sinks down like a rubber tyre when the air escapes. What use is it to him now that he was so good at mathematics at school?”

You cannot read this book and escape how awful war is and how pointless it can seem to the young soldiers who are actually fighting it. They often discuss why they are there, what they are achieving and they never really solve it. It’s interesting because they have no hatred for the enemy, they are just doing their duty, what is expected of them. They are angry but the anger is directed at the governments, the powers that caused the war. They see it as pointless.

I read a version I bought from Amazon which is part of ‘The Collector’s Library’. They are tiny hard backed books – perfect for having in your bag when forced on shopping trips with your family. I have a few of them. Have started reading ‘Jekyll and Hyde’ now. I have too many books really but I might want to re read them so am loathe to take them to the charity shop. Perhaps I will start loaning them to people, just to get them out of the house for a while. Everyone I meet I will take a book and tell them I thought they would like to read it. That should clear a few. Husband is keen to do the same with the cats….

I discovered that Husband has been sending son ‘how to be a good boyfriend’ advice. So much I could say here. Apparently he recommended he should start the relationship with a questionnaire, find out what she was expecting/willing to offer. Said he wishes he had thought of that thirty years ago. Ha!

At church yesterday, our Pastor started to introduce a new initiative for Lent. I find that Pastors like new initiatives. If you scratch the surface, they are exactly the same things that our mother and grandmother did, just in a different wrapping. But maybe we need to be reminded to keep doing the old stuff. Anyway, his idea is that instead of giving up something for Lent (no chocolate for forty days and so on) we should do something – specifically one act of random kindness for someone each day. I felt there might be potential in this, instantly thought people might find it helpful if I let them know in the weekly bulletin that I like Fruitgums. Husband said I was missing the point.

The examples given were things like giving a stranger loose change in the carpark, or buying a coffee for the next person in the queue. To be honest, if a stranger bought me coffee next time I’m in Costa, I would find it a little freaky. Do hope the whole church isn’t added to a police ‘watch’ list. However, I can see that being kind for no reason is a good aim, one we should probably do even when it isn’t Lent. Pastor then said we would share how we were getting on during Sunday services. Might be going to St Nicks during Lent.

I like your article about Parliament (http://ruthdalyauthor.blogspot.ca/2016/01/the-palace-of-westminster-tour.html) You managed to find out lots of facts about the building – unless you made them up? Hey Ruth, we should do that. Let’s do a tour of somewhere and then just make up our own facts, both put them on our blogs and wait to see if they ever get copied. Would be so funny. Aren’t you tempted to do that when you’re writing your educational books? I know I would be – maybe I should stick to writing fiction.

I had better go. I wanted to tell you about the book so am writing this in my pyjamas.

Take care,
Anne x

 

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Letters to a Sister are posted every Monday.
You can read my sister’s letters at:

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The Rich Man

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Once upon a time, there was a man. A very rich man. He was also a very holy man. He trusted God with his life and tried his best to follow what he was taught. The man was now very very old. As the man grew old and weak, he realised that soon he would die. He trusted that when that happened, he would go to Heaven. But he was worried. He did not like the idea of going empty-handed, of not taking anything with him.

“God,” he prayed, “I know that when I die you have promised to accept me in to Heaven. And I know that I am not meant to take anything. But please, could you make an exception in this case? Could you let me take a bag with me?”

Now, God is a kind God, so he considered the man’s request very carefully. He knew that the man had tried his best to follow him during his life, that he had been generous and kind, that he had shown mercy and tried to live a good life. He knew that the man was very worried about this and God didn’t want him to be anxious. So he agreed, he told the man that he could take one small bag to Heaven.

Soon after this, as expected, the man died. He arrived in Heaven, carrying one small bag.

“Oh,” said the angel at the entrance, “you cannot bring that in here. You cannot bring anything to Heaven.”

“Yes, I know,” replied the man, “but God gave me special permission.”

So the angel went to check and sure enough, he discovered that this man was allowed to bring one small bag into Heaven. Now, word quickly spread amongst the angels and saints in Heaven and they all wondered, what had this man brought into Heaven? So they all came, eager to see.

They crowded round the man, peering over each other’s shoulders, jostling for position as the man knelt down and slowly unzipped his bag. There, shining brightly, were four solid gold bars.

There was a moment of complete silence.

Then, perplexed, one of the angels asked, “You brought pavement?”

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I love this story. I heard it in church, I cannot even remember who told it but I used it many time when teaching because I think it makes a good point. When we decide to follow God, we sometimes have to let go of things and this can be hard. Whether it is our ambitions, dreams, or wealth , there is actually no point in holding on to them. What God provides is always so much better.

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Letters to a Sister :38

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Image (1)                                                                                     Dustbins and psychopaths…

 

Hi R,

Remind me to never go to a sushi restaurant with you. I think you are meant to put the food in whole, definitely no knives and forks allowed. I did take Mum once, to one of those bars where the dishes go round and round on a conveyor belt and you have to pick off the ones you want. It didn’t work very well as a mother/daughter bonding experience. She found perching on a high stool to be uncomfortable. And she doesn’t eat raw fish (which I didn’t know when I took her.)

My trip up North was okay thanks. Mainly I was just really proud of myself for driving that far! We went to Nottingham first. My SatNav did well in getting us to Nottingham, not so well at finding the right road (it is a really rubbish SatNav. It only takes the first four digits of a postcode, so directs you to almost the right place and then abandons you. You drive into a large industrial estate full of mass murderers and it helpfully chants, “You have reached your destination.“)

Son 2 had to take over and direct me to his road. I then used his loo – much to Son 1’s disgust (it only had single ply paper. Shocking) before we set off to Leeds.

Leeds was stressful. Son 1 was very good and kept me calm. Our conversation went along the lines of:
Me: “The road is splitting and I don’t know which lane we want. Aaargh, we’re going onto a motorway. We’re heading for York. York! I don’t know what to do.”
Son: “It’s okay Mum, Leeds and York are the same place really, they’re just different bits of the same town. Just keep going and I’ll tell you where to go.
And try to breathe.
And don’t clench the wheel so tightly, you’ll get cramp.”

Anyhow, we made it unscathed. (York is about 25 miles from Leeds, in case you didn’t know.) I managed the journey home on my own. The boys are good to me actually. As long as I don’t ask anything too unreasonable of them – like not leaving socks in the lounge, then they are very kind to me.

They are tougher on Husband (must be a male thing.) When they were home they commented on his car, which I do not think has ever been washed. Ever. We are surrounded by lanes full of mud, most of which now covers his car. One of them remarked, “Hey, like what you’ve done with the car Dad.” The other one asked why he had spent quite so long choosing the colour when he bought it, as all you can see is mud.

I think you are right about the fears of publishing a book. It is all so scary. I keep being reassured by hearing that books like The Martian and John Grisham’s first book were initially self-published because no one wanted to take a risk on them. Counting Stars is all ready now, so I am going to put that on Kindle as soon as it’s been edited. My book, Hidden Faces, should be published later this year. I am now busy researching for my next novel.

As I’ve mentioned previously, it will be called Joanna and is about a serial killer (well, it’s a bit more complicated than that, is more about making choices in life.) Anyway, I have been reading lots of studies about psychopathy. Did you know that most psychopaths are NOT killers? That actually the traits of psychopathy (being focussed, unemotional, charming, risk takers) enable them to often be successful politicians, CEOs of major companies, work in the media. It sort of makes sense when you think about it. If you are in the army and have to send boys off to fight, it wouldn’t do if you broke down in tears every time they were killed.

There was one really interesting study. A neuro scientist was studying MRIs of convicted killers, trying to find a physical trait of psychopathy (which he did.) The following week, he was doing research on Alzheimers, looking at MRIs to see if there was a link that could be used for early detection. He needed a control, so was comparing them to MRIs of his family. They were all anonymous. He noticed that one MRI strongly showed the same things that the psychopath’s had, so he checked the code, in case it had got muddled up with his previous work. He found that it was his own MRI. When he mentioned it to colleagues, they told him that he did display many of the traits of a psychopath!

Psychopathy is a spectrum, a bit like autism (though that seems to be the only similarity.) There is a list of traits, devised by someone called Hare. I have been busy checking people. Am pretty sure the dustbin men in Surrey are all psychopaths (they never move their truck to let people pass.) And the women in a nearby post-office show clear psychopathic traits (are always delighted to send you away because you’ve brought the wrong forms.) Will let you know if I discover any in the family……

Take care,
Love, Anne x

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My sister’s letter can be found at :
http://ruthdalyauthor.blogspot.co.uk/2016/01/writer-problems-sushi-and-rats.html

Thank you for reading.

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