I cannot say what love is. I can say what love is not. It’s not about violently assaulting the woman you claim to love. You may remember me blogging some months ago about my ex-room-mate from university days. He was convicted of murder in 1991, and was released in 2003, having served a life sentence in various English prisons.
I even appeared on local TV news in 1991 and a documentary in 2004 to provide a character reference along the lines of:
He seemed a likeable bloke, quite charming and charismatic.
After his sentence he moved back to New Zealand, working as a personal trainer and then as a baker. (He had been studying Classics at university.)
Last night I found out he had this month been convicted of violently assaulting his current girlfriend, expressing little or no remorse.
My feelings? Stunned. I was expecting him after all these years to have calmed down, having learnt his lesson in prison and after fifteen years’ life back in normal society.
He can’t control his anger.
Horse feathers. He won’t control his anger.
Murderers in English prisons attend courses to address their underlying issues such as anger management. They aren’t released until the psychologist consider them no longer to be a threat to society. It looks to me like he managed to hoodwink the psychologists.
Maybe this prison sentence will make him stop and think. There again. Maybe not.
Have a loving day, won’t you!