And so this is Christmas, or so we are told.

Another year older, and I feel so fucking old.

Christmas, or the season of peace on earth, goodwill to all men, is here again. walking through London yo meet people wearing Santa hats and sparkly things and it feels nearly nice. In reality there is still the seething resentment to be had because you've got a better job/more money/a better wife/a nicer car than me.

I've been coming to London for over 30 years now, indeed I served my time as a resident of the Capital for some 5 years and in that time what has changed? Well, I'm in the minority now, with most Londoners being non-white (what does that even mean?) and Christianity on the run and heading for the heterosexual hills (no girls allowed(if the Church hates homosexuality, why won't they let women in?)) and battening down the hatches.

The fact that the term non-white has been used is in itself massively racist. Is there an alternative non-black/non-brown/non-yellow/non-off white, kinda creamy? This country has the genetic equivalent of a multi-fruit and veg smoothie, with most European races in there along with some fringe elements of those Asian types who made it into the shopping malls of Europe. So Britain has been non-indiginous for a long time, but we seem to think that being brown/black/other colours are also available still marks one out as a possible outsider. But I know some brown/black people who have been here a lot longer than some of the new white invaders; Polish, Slovak,Other Whites. 2nd and 3rd generation Jamaicans, Africans, Indians and so on must be feeliing a bit confused, surely.

So far I've only seen Daily Fail type headlines warning us of the impending Middle-European invasion but nothing on-going. I suppose even middle-class white folk need to use plumbers sometimes.

At least I didn't hit you!

This title will resonate with a wide range of people, and not in a good way. It's a phrase used by people who seem to feel that drunbken abuse, huilitation, psychological terrorism, bullying or a plain lack of respect can be mitigated by the fact they never gave you a bloody nose, or worse. Sticks and stone may break my bones but a healthy diet and some healthcare will allow these to heal, whereas words might have a lasting psychological effect that may be all most impossible to cure. So what's worse, a punch or a nasty name? Well, neither, really. If you love someone don't be rotten to them.

Sadly, for some, the title doesn't apply and we did get hit. Physical abuse is often accompanied by the head variety and is often in the headlines; news, Twitter campaigns, FB pages and so on. Almost exclusively dealing with violence towards women. Children have floated to the top of the league lately with the appalling revelations regarding one James Savile and his penchant for taking advantage of children in his orbit. All this is good (the highlighting and discussion, obviously). There is still a dark corner that rarely gets discussed though.

I'm 6' 1", kept reasonably fit, done several martial arts and am more than ready to stand up for myself and others. Usually. But a skinny 5' 10" lass ruined my life by regularly getting drunk and verbally and physically abusing me. We had a young Son and I was adamant we would give him a 2 parent home, I was also scared about his well being as she would be massively unstable when drunk, drugged or a combination of both. I put up with this for 12 years until, aged 14, our Son, witnessing another Christmas meltdown, looked at me and said 'I don't know how you put up with this, if it was I'd have left ages ago'. So we sat down and had a conversation and I left her. Telephone calls at inappropriate times, filled with vitriol followed and my self esteem, already low, continued to suffer.

He grew up and left home, she took up with a guy with similar habits and now she's watching her liver disintegrate and, aged 44, is looking at not reaching 50.

I have no idea why I didn't just knock her out, maybe because it's fundamentally wrong to hit anyone who isn't actually threatening your life, maybe because of an old fashioned idea that you shouldn't hit women, itself inherently sexist (she was so small I was also scared I'd kill her).

Away from her for over 7 years and, at last, I'm getting some of the old, happy-go-lucky me back. It's taken time and the love of a good woman but it's there. I'd give people advice, but people gave me advice too and my own sense of stubbornness made me want to do things 'my way'.

But.

You don't have to stay, you don't have to put up with it. It can be better.