Monday, 9 January 2012

A dream's reality just beyond reach

How do I write this without getting bogged in detail? My dream of yonder night, where I was pregnant in some kind of execution quad and two Asian people appeared before me.

Saturday..I take my son to Kung Fu. The centre is near Papier Mache Towers where I used to live. I decide that I will go there as my doctor sent a letter there - tell the new occupants of the flat to forward any post that comes in (there is more to this but that's what I mean about getting bogged down)

I pop into the my old Hairdresser first to wish SuperMario a happy new year and settle down with a cup of coffee. I read page 15 of Thursday's Daily Express - ooh the day I wrote to the Chancellor - Somalians claiming £2000 a week in rent. The trotted line of people living in luxury flats hardworking people can't afford. No balance in the article about the need for more social housing.

Pick up my son, go to Papier Mache Towers. New occupants aren't in but the neighbours - the couple who got the flat I bid on and didn't get - are there. Flip, just this little story is too massive actually... I give you bones ok?

She tells me she was two years waiting. "Refuse temporary". I refused temporary too..I didn't get a flat. She, her husband and child viewed SEVEN flats. In the same time frame, I viewed NONE. I wish her and her family well though, and I leave.


My dream! In 2010, I mentioned this family in my CNJ article. One of two shortlisted that day. How 500 points after 2 years when my son and I were 350 after 7?

If, if if if if if, they agree to give me the breakdown of their points, a lawyer might take my case for discrimination. Take my case that the system is flawed, unfair.

Oh my heart!

I recall the film documentary maker who bumped into me on Friday morning. I turned down the chance to be in a programme later aired as "Pramface" but he took down my number again anyway.

What if if if if.

Wow. With this couple's help, I can take on the local council and with the documentary maker's input, we turn the story into a national one, which it is, and keep social housing high in the political eye.

I feel sick with desire, feel sick with hope.

I drop my son off at a party. I go back to the Hairdresser, tear out the Daily Express article. Go back to the couple at Papier Mache Towers.

The mother invites me in. I speak slowly to be understood, and she does, she does understand. "Don't be frightened I say, you won't lose your home." "Council no happy," she says. "I will protect you," I answer.

She says her husband is at work, he makes the decisions. "Talk to him," I say. "You don't have to decide now. I will go to the law centre, get advice. You know, I don't plan these things. Three days ago a lawyer's card fell out of a box when I was cleaning and I throw it away! Please help me, please. You will be helping everyone."

Later I got really depressed. Really, Really Down. Don't think that they won't help, don't think that they won't help they won't help they won't help don't think they won't help they will help they will help

I didn't help myself though..well I did..helped myself to Al Cohol but that isn't exactly what sees us through

Is it?

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