I've bid on a flat I don't see in my dreams this week. Second floor of a block, one single, one double room, £119 a week, half an hour, not five minutes, from my son's school.
Needn't worry. I won't get it.
Talking to my old support worker, everyone in the council have read my guardian piece. They've said I can bid like everyone else.
They don't care about the issues raised in the CNJ, where I say the system is leaving me and my son behind, with a fact to back that up.
That the Ham and High published a piece by me chasing money for the borough. They couldn't give a shit.
Do they want to make an example of me? Are they looking forward to the article saying I've failed? It means nothing to them these 9 to 5ers.
Watching One Flew Over The Cuckoos Nest last night. A tragic comedy of a man (Jack Nicholson) entering a mental asylum hoping it will get him off workduty at the 'farm' where he's an inmate. He rallies all the patients together to take on Miss Ratched, a nurse who doesn't have her patients interests at heart.
Is Allocations my Nurse Ratched? She has the power to use her discretion. She answers to others but can put a word in on my son's behalf.
I've said before. She doesn't want to. It's really beginning to upset me now.
Breathe, breathe, breathe...
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