Housework

A man from the council rang. He's my new 'support worker' and he's coming on Thursday to do my 'House Planning Interview'. This means I have to tidy up.

In the old days, every six months, I was required to go down to the HPU (homeless person's unit), sit in an open cubicle infront of perspex glass and say "no, my circumstances haven't changed, no I won't take the private rental option, yes, I'll keep bidding...."

These days they come to my flat.

My flat is a privately owned ex council flat. The landlady has an agreement with a housing association and Camden council sublets it from them. There's no point of reference for me when there's a problem. It can be a pain in the arse.

Still, he's coming Thursday. Must tidy up. Before now, council officials have stepped over the threshold of my home and told me I could be evicted for the mess. The housing association has issued similar threats. The landlady raises an eyebrow whenever she comes and my two female neighbours took it upon themselves to make separate judgemental attacks.

"What kind of example are you setting your son?" crowed the stigmum of two. We're no longer friends. Not that we were, friends that is. I bumped into her one night in the lift, discovered she was a fellow stigmum and invited her in for a drink. I invited her to carry on insulting me too (I was quite surprised given she didn't know me), but my friend Steve was with me and told her to leave, so she did. I asked the other neighbour if she wanted to hit me (because she has a record and she does know me) but she didn't because beneath the horror of her childhood experiences I know she's a very nice girl (with an immaculate flat).

Well meaning mates say they are worried about me. Worried that the material chaos is symbolic of the lack of value I place on my own life; indicative of my lack of self worth. "It's like your housing situation is taking over your life," says Chus. Well, ok, yes, I guess you could say so.

I've always been messy. Ask my mum. Ask lovely Mr Hayes at Shit School. Oh you can't, he got stolen away with multiple sclerosis long ago.

People can say what they will. On my wall I've stuck an old newspaper headline:
"Good news for messy people: tidiness is bad for you." (Sunday Times Feb 18th 2007)
We'll see if new support worker cracks a smile on Thursday.

Still, I should make an effort. I hate tidying. It's an abhorrent, repetitive, boring, never completed job. I shall dig out my Diana Ross CD. She kept me company when I worked on the luxury motor yachts; the endless hours cleaning and ironing when on crews mess duty.
My baby love will sing to me while I scrub scrub scrub scrub scrub scrub scrub scrub scrub the whole day through.

Although my son will be elated to have a patch of carpet to play on, tidying won't help my argument with the council that the flat's too small. They'll think the space is adequate for both our lives if it looks too neat. Perhaps I should leave the carnage after all. In terms of banging heads (or feather dusters) with the council, for me tidying up is a no win situation.
I should stop, in the name of life, before they leave us here
Start, in the name of life, before they chuck us out of here
I'll think it o o ver......