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Estelle suffered from gestational diabetes, she never grew out of it.

Her father was also a diabetic, and in the end died of complication brought on by the disease. It is possible that Estelle wanted to die the same way. I don't know.

But over the years at the diabetic clinic, she was warned what would happen if she did not keep it under control; lose her feet and or legs, go blind, have a stroke and die.

And what I could not understand is, if she did not want to live for herself, or me, then at least she would want to live for Matthew. In the end, killing herself through diabetes leaving Matthew alone at the age of 16 was the most selfish act I have ever seen or heard, far outstripping what Mum or Andrea could have thought of doing.

As you can tell from my previous post, our marriage went south, and as she sold our possessions, we grew further apart, I wasn't allowed to go back home until she moved out, then one weekend I went back to rescue my stuff to find the house filthy, shitty handprints where Matthew's bed used to be, the kitchen just covered in sticky coffee stains.

I had to pay several hundred pounds for the quarter to be cleaned, as I did not have time.

I last saw and spoke to Matthew on his birthday in May 2000. Estelle died a couple of years later, I found out from my bank manager who decided to close our joint bank accounts "under the circumstances". What circumstances? Ah.

"From the The Wiltshire Gazette and Herald, first published Thursday 22nd Dec 2005.

The Rev Thomas Woodhouse officiated at the funeral of Estelle Hadingham, 46, of Wootton Bassett, at Kingsdown Crematorium on Monday. Despite an illness which deprived her of both legs and her sight, she retained her sense of humour, enjoyed a joke, and always had a ready smile. Her son Matthew, who had been her carer since childhood, described her as "the best mum in the world".

Fr Thomas recalled that Estelle was born in Leeds, and was the eldest child in a family of three. "With her sisters Lorraine and Annette she enjoyed a happy childhood, and on leaving school worked in retail and then in tailoring," he said. She had a good social life and an interest in fashion in those carefree early years.

Estelle suffered a double blow with the onset of her own illness and the early death of her father when he was only 45. But she proved to be a fighter, met adversity with great courage and resilience, and never complained.

Mrs Hadingham had the additional trauma of two failed marriages. She came to live in Wiltshire on her second husband's posting to RAF Lyneham. Since settling in Wootton Bassett some five years ago, she coped well with a wheelchair and enjoyed the companionship of her cat, Polly.

Fr Thomas paid tribute to Matthew for the devoted care which he provided for his mother. "They have been an inseparable team, and he has looked after his mother since he was ten. Estelle was determined not to go into a home, but to be there for Matthew, and they lived for each other," he said.

"She was so proud of Matthew, and her death leaves a tremendous hole. As we commend Estelle to God, our prayers are for Matthew, as he puts together the rest of his life, drawing on friendship and family and the example given by Estelle."

The congregation sang the hymn, Lord of the Dance, which reflected Mrs Hadingham's indomitable spirit. Matthew said: "Everyone loved her, everywhere she went, and she was the strongest person I know. She told me that she was not scared of dying, and I was with her when she passed away peacefully, after five months in hospital. She will be sadly missed by all who knew her."

All through 2000, I worked hard trying to get through my promotion course. It involved degree level maths, engineering science, engineering to a greater tolerance, and a greater in depth knowledge of the trade. There were regular exams and tests, and all the while I was dealing with the divorce. It wasn't easy, but the course meant I had little time for thinking about anything else.

We also had Rolfie to deal with, a guy who had a breakdown early in the course, would get very drunk whilst on medication and fall asleep in his wardrobe. It was scary stuff for a while until he was returned to unit (RTUd), and we could deal with our own shit.

There came a point in the late summer when it became clear we were going to graduate, so we could decide where we would like posting, and for me it was likely to be my last posting. I chose Coltishall near Norwich, which is what I got. The same day I bought a season ticket for the upcoming season.

I was very happy.

A few if us passed all modules of the course before we left, meaning our pay rise would kick in almost straight away after we finished.

There came one September morning when we all cleared, and we drove off camp tooting the horns of our cars in triumph, contrary to station orders, my friends and I posted to all corners of the country, and for me with my divorce now final, a life of being single.

Coltishall was one of the last remaining Battle of Britain bases still open. It was situated (as it is now closed) north of Norwich near to Wroxham, and if I wanted I could commute from my Mother's if I wanted.

I arrived and went to the armoury to "arrive", whne I put my Mum's address as my next of kin, Gaz, the duty sergeant asked which team I supported. Norwich of course. So did he, and another Corporal there, Ian. During the week they were by betters, but come the weekend we used to meet up in the city before and after games for beers and laffs.

I was back working in the bomb dump, over the other side of the airfield, and for the most part, that is where I would spend the next four and a half years.

I got a room in the block, then after a year, got a room in a block of flats outside the family club where senior junior racks were allowed a degree of independence, cooking for ourselves.

So, each day I would drive over the far side of the airfield, do a days work, play uckers or cards, engage in barrack room humour, then at five drive back to make dinner, drink wine and engage with people on this internet thing.

It seemed a wonderful existence, and I was happy as anything, working away during the week and following Norwich home and away at weekends.

Then in January 2003, I was called into the Flight Sergeant's office to tell me we were going to war, and I should go to stores to collect my kitting.

Next day we took part in a training day to learn how to cook compo using a hexi-burner and patrolling techniques, all high pressure stuff as we could be shipping out the next day. This was Gulf War II, and looked very real indeed. I did dodge the cocktail of drugs that they wanted us all to take, and in the end, as we were a Jaguar station, and only able to carry few weapons, we did not end up deploying, anywhere.

73 days we were on no notice to move, meaning we had to have our bags packed and able to board a flight in 6 hours. I had to get a new passport as mine was about to expire, so best go to war with a new passport!

The war faded like a bad dream, and one day we were told we had been stood down. We had not gone as Turkey would not let NATO use their bases, this as they had their own designs on the Kurdish areas. This is global politics, we were just happy to return to a normal life.

However, I had trusted my future to my then sergeant who told me he would make sure I got the right assessments to allow me to get promoted. Nick lied.

18 months later when I asked for a career brief, I found his marks had killed my career, and in September 2005 I would be out. He never had the balls to tell me what I had done wrong, just said I never did the work required. Well, fuck him, thanks to that i have the life I have now, but all that was in front of me..

It did mean I had 18 months to prepare to leave, get my head round it and get the tenant out of the house in Oulton Broad so I could live there in my final year of service.

Once Debbie left the house, I furnished the house in one go, kitted out the kitchen, and had my own house, 50 yards from where my Dad grew up, inbetween the post office and paper shop.

I used the money from my Grandmother's estate to buy a new car, and commuted back and forth to the base each day, getting back home to be a civilian in training.