Brutal attack on a village in central Mali on Saturday by armed men, wearing traditional Dogon hunter’s clothing, killing more than 130 people.
Gunmen surrounded the village at dawn before attacking, with guns and machetes, members of the Fulani ethnic community who are accused of having ties to jihadists.
Witnesses also say that nearly all the huts in the village were burned down in what is being described as a massacre.
I can’t comprehend this world we live in where such atrocities take place. Is it really so impossible to live in peace? Thoughts and prayers, as always to the victims and their families.
A group of men chased a teenage boy through the streets of west London on Friday night, after getting out of a vehicle near Syon Park, Isleworth. When they caught up with the 17-year-old they stabbed him and he later died at the scene despite police giving first aid at the scene.
This is a couple of miles away from where I live. This is getting scarily closer all the time. It seems that our police need to get a grip back on the streets before its too late. In which case the police need more resources and greater powers. My prayers go out to the victim’s family and I hope they catch those bastards soon.
I’ve now completed six weeks at my new job, I can’t believe how quickly the time has gone by. The workload is intense, non-stop but I haven’t been so happy in years. After four horrendous jobs, of not sleeping, and feeling on edge all the time I am now sleeping eight hours at a time and so relaxed and happy that it is having a positive affect on all areas of my life.
On the way home from work on Friday on my motorbike a scumbag on a scooter swerved towards me with his foot out, in an attempt to kick me off. I was able to swerve and got away unscathed.
Payday, meant I could splurge on getting my, long overdue, hair highlighted. Looking good!
A lovely weekend, including, mum and dad time, me time, writing oh and the necessary evil of housework!
Still working on the edits of book five in the Children from the Streets series. It’s rather scary how easily I’ve jumped inside the head of a psychopath. A tiny taster from when Paolo was eight years old, he was walking to the shops with his friend:
My foot inched out and caught the front of his, sending him flying. He landed face down in the dried, baked earth which hadn’t seen water for a while. I rushed to his side, apologised, you know all the things a friend would do and he blamed himself for his clumsiness. I accepted this version readily. A stone had grazed his face, leaving a gouge mark, his hands were scratched and his clothing torn but despite my solicitous attentions and insistence that we head back to the house, the greedy little boy wanted sweets and a taste of his destiny which wouldn’t be so sweet.