Quite speechless when I read this on the times online website this evening. A mother formerly married to a fat cat financier has been denied access to her three children for three years for allegedly turning her kids against their father (a social worker noted them making 'serious allegations' about the father's treatment of them when they were in their mother's care), she apparently treats them in an infantile way (hugging her three year old...) is 'indulgent' (not strict enough when seeing them for an hour a week) and was jailed two years ago for breaching a court order by approaching her eldest (9 years old) in the street and telling him she loved him.
A psychiatrist who assessed her case said the mother 'loved her children' but had harmed their development by trying to be always 'available' to them. Doesn't a child need that? To know that someone is always 'available' for them. Her children are being raised by a nanny, so daddy certainly isn't always 'available'. He's clearly very busy trying to find different things to nail mummy with.
Two text messages she sent her ex each resulted in a one-week jail sentence (in a separate article the journalist says a month. A day would be a travesty) One said: "Why are you doing this to my kids? I will do whatever you say." The other said she was 'sorry' and offered to look after the children for free instead of him employing a nanny. The judge said they were 'harrassing or pestering'. Jail? You run over a child in the street you don't get jail, but for a text message or two to your ex about your children you do?
If her ex is happy to see that happen he can't love his children at all. We're told he's applied to have her jailed again for posting a video about the case on YouTube.
According to the article, a judge conceded all the children had a "constant wish" to see their mother but another judge said she should have no contact with the boys for two years in order to "give them a break".
I wouldn't be surprised if this debacle is destroying the children. I wonder what the nanny says to them to placate them. After all, someone's got to be 'available' to them. Or no? Better to leave them out in the cold?
The whole thing beggars belief
Sunday, 10 May 2009
Online Dating
I've posted my details on a free dating site.
I haven't uploaded a photo, I've said all I want to do is email, I haven't responded to two messages that have since popped into my inbox.
I'm not looking for a 'mate' so why have I done this?
I'm an old hand at online dating. I've done it on and off for years. I was afraid of men after the Foca left, couldn't even look at them, so it was good therapy for me.
"Why are you on here if you don't want to meet anyone?" asked one.
"Why not?" I replied. I'd reply to every message I received back then, regardless of who it was from.
The beauty of online dating for me was that I was cyberdumped constantly. I was cyberdumped all the time! Rejection didn't matter in cyberspace. I didn't know who they were and they didn't know me. Sometimes it was quite gutting but you get over it remarkably quickly.
This medium for meeting people separated the wheat from the chaff.
Many were put off by my child.
If this didn't deter them I told them I was on benefits.
If they accepted this I told them I was on the homeless register.
If this didn't bother them then I would meet them.
The most enlightening thing to come out of it all was that who I was attracted to didn't tally at all with who was attracted to me.
I sent messages to countless handsome photographs and witty profiles. Only a handful ever responded always saying my child would render the relationship too difficult. Ho hum.
I did meet quite alot of men in the end. I was always slightly disappointed when I clapped eyes on them because they looked nothing like their photos, but they never were when they saw me, which was a boost to say the least.
"Can I see you again?" asked the illustrator.
"Are you asking me or the table?"
I enjoyed long email friendships with men who were often as wary as me. I had a couple of really quite intense cybercrushes. One man said he wanted to meet someone 'slim and attractive' and I'd sent him a message asking "What will you do if you fall for a woman who grows fat on your love?" He was a bee keeper. He'd been stung by a mother. He'd grown very fond of the children and missed them a great deal when the relationship ended. We'd chat for hours on Instant Messenger, way into the night. I eventually suggested meeting for coffee and didn't hear from him for months until one day he popped up on facebook. "I was afraid," he said. He's happy with a childless woman now.
You can get to know yourself on these things. You can start believing in people again. I learnt to become less shallow. I was becoming jaded though. It was time to call it a day.
So I don't know why I've re subscribed to a new site. I am not interested in meeting any of the men there.
Perhaps it's a form of resistance. I'll take myself off.
I haven't uploaded a photo, I've said all I want to do is email, I haven't responded to two messages that have since popped into my inbox.
I'm not looking for a 'mate' so why have I done this?
I'm an old hand at online dating. I've done it on and off for years. I was afraid of men after the Foca left, couldn't even look at them, so it was good therapy for me.
"Why are you on here if you don't want to meet anyone?" asked one.
"Why not?" I replied. I'd reply to every message I received back then, regardless of who it was from.
The beauty of online dating for me was that I was cyberdumped constantly. I was cyberdumped all the time! Rejection didn't matter in cyberspace. I didn't know who they were and they didn't know me. Sometimes it was quite gutting but you get over it remarkably quickly.
This medium for meeting people separated the wheat from the chaff.
Many were put off by my child.
If this didn't deter them I told them I was on benefits.
If they accepted this I told them I was on the homeless register.
If this didn't bother them then I would meet them.
The most enlightening thing to come out of it all was that who I was attracted to didn't tally at all with who was attracted to me.
I sent messages to countless handsome photographs and witty profiles. Only a handful ever responded always saying my child would render the relationship too difficult. Ho hum.
I did meet quite alot of men in the end. I was always slightly disappointed when I clapped eyes on them because they looked nothing like their photos, but they never were when they saw me, which was a boost to say the least.
"Can I see you again?" asked the illustrator.
"Are you asking me or the table?"
I enjoyed long email friendships with men who were often as wary as me. I had a couple of really quite intense cybercrushes. One man said he wanted to meet someone 'slim and attractive' and I'd sent him a message asking "What will you do if you fall for a woman who grows fat on your love?" He was a bee keeper. He'd been stung by a mother. He'd grown very fond of the children and missed them a great deal when the relationship ended. We'd chat for hours on Instant Messenger, way into the night. I eventually suggested meeting for coffee and didn't hear from him for months until one day he popped up on facebook. "I was afraid," he said. He's happy with a childless woman now.
You can get to know yourself on these things. You can start believing in people again. I learnt to become less shallow. I was becoming jaded though. It was time to call it a day.
So I don't know why I've re subscribed to a new site. I am not interested in meeting any of the men there.
Perhaps it's a form of resistance. I'll take myself off.
When hearts are lonely hunters
Something happened between Shit School Acquaintance and I when I went to Barcelona last month. Something so indefinable that I shan't trouble you with definitions.
All I'll say is that it wasn't what I expected, it wasn't what I wanted. As I'd said to friends before I went: "Foca went to that school. What? I didn't shag the boys in the 6th form so I could start to shag them now? No way."
As we said goodbye at the airport, I told him, with my head upon his shoulder: "We should end it here. You live here, I live there, you want to live here, I want to live there, let's just remember it as something positive."
Two weeks ago he flew to London. "I'm coming to see you," he said.
When I saw him off at Victoria I said, with my head upon his shoulder: "This has to end here. The space is good now but it won't always be."
He's been asking me to visit him in Barcelona ever since. "I can't afford to," I say. "And even if I could, I have priorities here."
Yesterday he emailed me. "Come to Barcelona, I'll pay your flight."
A risk is a risk is a risk.
My heart is not lonely, it lives with the most beautiful soul on the planet.
My heart is vast though, do I free it from its shackles?
All I'll say is that it wasn't what I expected, it wasn't what I wanted. As I'd said to friends before I went: "Foca went to that school. What? I didn't shag the boys in the 6th form so I could start to shag them now? No way."
As we said goodbye at the airport, I told him, with my head upon his shoulder: "We should end it here. You live here, I live there, you want to live here, I want to live there, let's just remember it as something positive."
Two weeks ago he flew to London. "I'm coming to see you," he said.
When I saw him off at Victoria I said, with my head upon his shoulder: "This has to end here. The space is good now but it won't always be."
He's been asking me to visit him in Barcelona ever since. "I can't afford to," I say. "And even if I could, I have priorities here."
Yesterday he emailed me. "Come to Barcelona, I'll pay your flight."
A risk is a risk is a risk.
My heart is not lonely, it lives with the most beautiful soul on the planet.
My heart is vast though, do I free it from its shackles?
Friday, 8 May 2009
You win some you lose some
The Camden New Journal didn't take my article. Oh well, you win you lose. Only I haven't really lost. The losers are the homeless people on whose behalf I was trying to write.
I shall not give up, no I won't. I know that I'm a talentless writer but I'm working on these skills. I even bought the Telegraph today, mostly so I could read about MP's expenses but also to see if I could pitch a little something to them.
I usually call that paper the Torygraph but do feel all those Tory supporters should know what the Lib Dems and Tories are doing here in Camden. The Tory supporters ought to know that their taxes are going towards keeping me in poverty, me and half the borough.
I need to do my research.
I want to find out how many unemployed people there are in Britain at the moment and compare that to the number of people claiming housing benefit.
Then I've got to write about it, in a talented way......
I shall not give up, no I won't. I know that I'm a talentless writer but I'm working on these skills. I even bought the Telegraph today, mostly so I could read about MP's expenses but also to see if I could pitch a little something to them.
I usually call that paper the Torygraph but do feel all those Tory supporters should know what the Lib Dems and Tories are doing here in Camden. The Tory supporters ought to know that their taxes are going towards keeping me in poverty, me and half the borough.
I need to do my research.
I want to find out how many unemployed people there are in Britain at the moment and compare that to the number of people claiming housing benefit.
Then I've got to write about it, in a talented way......
Why are you giving flats to high fliers?
I've emailed my local councillor, who happens to be a Tory, to ask why the Lib Dem/Conservative coalition here in Camden is earmarking 500 council properties for 'high flyers' to rent.
Totally against the Private Rental Scheme, I've nonetheless asked him if I can apply to rent one of the earmarked flats.
Response should be interesting, if I get one....
Totally against the Private Rental Scheme, I've nonetheless asked him if I can apply to rent one of the earmarked flats.
Response should be interesting, if I get one....
Fieldwork results
It was good to be reunited with my participatory appraisal training mates yesterday. When the facilitators asked how I was, I took the opening lines of Fascinating Aida's I Like Me song.
"I'm feeling dejected, downcast and depressed," I said, not looking or sounding particularly dejected, downcast or depressed. "Oh housing, didn't get the flat I bid on," I explained in response to their query. One told me I looked great. "Makeup!" I smiled, but I didn't burst into song.
Dee was there! Billie couldn't make it as she's volunteering at a school. Fifi (I hope she doesn't mind me calling her Fifi...) came over and sat beside me. She has three children, one of whom is doing her gcse's, though you wouldn't guess it as Fifi doesn't look a day over 21.
We gathered to talk about our fieldwork results and to organise ourselves into teams to go and interview 'stake holders' - the executives working for the police, social services, nhs etc.
What we discovered about the communities we spoke to is that hardly anyone has heard about, or knows anything about safeguarding services. There's a lack of awareness about where to go for information and difficulties in accessing information. There is also a deep mistrust of some service providers.
We are now going to talk to these service providers, though not front line staff, and ask them why people can't access information or services and how they can improve on this.
I don't care who I interview but the facilitators thought it would be best if I wasn't part of the team talking to the managing director of 'Housing and Adult Social Care'. They are quite right as there is a need for me to be impartial, not reach over a desk and lamp the person if they claim to be helping people. I can always make enquiries of my own....
I'm in a team with Dee and Billie again. I told Dee not to get the giggles and set me off. I do love those two women. They have been friends so long they bounce off eachother in very funny ways.
After these interviews have been collated a report will be written up. I have asked if I can help with this and the facilitators have said yes! Whoopee for me!
As for Fascinating Aida's song, it's SO good!!
The beginning goes like this:
I was feeling dejected, downcast and depressed
The world was my clam shell, I'd run out of zest,
All alone with no-one to caaaaaaaaaaaaare.
The people I worked with were all
self obsessed
And beneath the facade you'd never have guessed
I was poised on the brink of despair
Then out of the blue
It all fell into place
The answer was staring me
right
in
the
face (ping ping on the piano)
I like me!
I like the me that I see when I brushing my teeth in the morning
I like me
I find we always agree
It's the others who set out from yawning
Who is the sweetest, completest companion by far?
Moi!
Who do I long to be with more than justement en peu?
Je!
And on it goes, fantastically! Go to their website (www.fascinatingaida.co.uk), listen to the whole thing and others, go to a show! I so want to go to their show!
"I'm feeling dejected, downcast and depressed," I said, not looking or sounding particularly dejected, downcast or depressed. "Oh housing, didn't get the flat I bid on," I explained in response to their query. One told me I looked great. "Makeup!" I smiled, but I didn't burst into song.
Dee was there! Billie couldn't make it as she's volunteering at a school. Fifi (I hope she doesn't mind me calling her Fifi...) came over and sat beside me. She has three children, one of whom is doing her gcse's, though you wouldn't guess it as Fifi doesn't look a day over 21.
We gathered to talk about our fieldwork results and to organise ourselves into teams to go and interview 'stake holders' - the executives working for the police, social services, nhs etc.
What we discovered about the communities we spoke to is that hardly anyone has heard about, or knows anything about safeguarding services. There's a lack of awareness about where to go for information and difficulties in accessing information. There is also a deep mistrust of some service providers.
We are now going to talk to these service providers, though not front line staff, and ask them why people can't access information or services and how they can improve on this.
I don't care who I interview but the facilitators thought it would be best if I wasn't part of the team talking to the managing director of 'Housing and Adult Social Care'. They are quite right as there is a need for me to be impartial, not reach over a desk and lamp the person if they claim to be helping people. I can always make enquiries of my own....
I'm in a team with Dee and Billie again. I told Dee not to get the giggles and set me off. I do love those two women. They have been friends so long they bounce off eachother in very funny ways.
After these interviews have been collated a report will be written up. I have asked if I can help with this and the facilitators have said yes! Whoopee for me!
As for Fascinating Aida's song, it's SO good!!
The beginning goes like this:
I was feeling dejected, downcast and depressed
The world was my clam shell, I'd run out of zest,
All alone with no-one to caaaaaaaaaaaaare.
The people I worked with were all
self obsessed
And beneath the facade you'd never have guessed
I was poised on the brink of despair
Then out of the blue
It all fell into place
The answer was staring me
right
in
the
face (ping ping on the piano)
I like me!
I like the me that I see when I brushing my teeth in the morning
I like me
I find we always agree
It's the others who set out from yawning
Who is the sweetest, completest companion by far?
Moi!
Who do I long to be with more than justement en peu?
Je!
And on it goes, fantastically! Go to their website (www.fascinatingaida.co.uk), listen to the whole thing and others, go to a show! I so want to go to their show!
Wednesday, 6 May 2009
The dreams come crashing down....
It's Wednesday afternoon, the phone hasn't rung, I haven't got the flat.
That's how it happens. You get a call in the morning and told you are on the shortlist. You are then invited to view the flat the following morning together with the others who have been shortlisted. You look around and then tell the supervisor whether you want it or not. If you're lucky enough to be first, there are people behind you so don't dither too long. If you're second pray the first won't accept it. If you're sixth congratulations for turning up in the first place. Unless of course it's a shit property in which case you might get it. The flat I bid on being viewed tomorrow is a Good one.
A garden flat; they come round once in a blue moon so there must have been a blue moon last week behind the evening clouds. I think it's a street property. I didn't pay attention because I was thinking about the garden for my bike (and yes of course my son to play in, grow things in, invite friends round for a Knights of the Realm game with swords made of sticks and me to lie and sky gaze in, grateful at last that that the waiting is over, the fearing where we'll end up is over).
A street property though, what with them being auctioned off, they only come round once in a blue with purple spots moon. In which case incredibly dense clouds last week.
I did try. I emailed needs and access woman twice. I spoke to ex support worker. I never go to this much effort for the 'large estates'.
To feel better I imagine there's damp on the walls and doors hanging off hinges but I honestly couldn't give a flying fairy cake. It's got two bedrooms, a garden, not far from my Kentish Town pals, a short cycle to my son's school (to think, no more carrying him on the back!). The rent is £100, not as cheap as it used to be but this shoe box has increased to £250. A week, yes I'm talking a week. I could have been moving next week to a new life! (Yes, it's that quick in many cases. Be ready to move people, ready to move)
What's the point of dreaming? What is the point?
Years ago, in Japan, the girls asked me what kind of man I saw myself with. They groaned when I said I didn't see myself with one. But then I told them what I could see.
I was sitting at a table, facing a garden, writing on a computer. It was a sunny day, the grass glistened in my view. There were toys lying on the floor behind me but no presence of a child. No presence of a man. It felt peaceful.
My friends told me I was 'mad'. Now I have a child it makes sense; my son's with his dad and I haven't tidied up his lego because I'm busy writing something. It's what I'm doing now while my son's in after school club. The flat's a tip and I'll lose hope just as soon as I've written this.
When I was newly pregnant I dreamt that I would lose my job, my home, my partner. If negative dreams can manifest themselves, why not the positive ones. Why not hey?
It's dangerous to dream down here which is why alot of people I've met in my situation have stopped. They know what it's like.
That's how it happens. You get a call in the morning and told you are on the shortlist. You are then invited to view the flat the following morning together with the others who have been shortlisted. You look around and then tell the supervisor whether you want it or not. If you're lucky enough to be first, there are people behind you so don't dither too long. If you're second pray the first won't accept it. If you're sixth congratulations for turning up in the first place. Unless of course it's a shit property in which case you might get it. The flat I bid on being viewed tomorrow is a Good one.
A garden flat; they come round once in a blue moon so there must have been a blue moon last week behind the evening clouds. I think it's a street property. I didn't pay attention because I was thinking about the garden for my bike (and yes of course my son to play in, grow things in, invite friends round for a Knights of the Realm game with swords made of sticks and me to lie and sky gaze in, grateful at last that that the waiting is over, the fearing where we'll end up is over).
A street property though, what with them being auctioned off, they only come round once in a blue with purple spots moon. In which case incredibly dense clouds last week.
I did try. I emailed needs and access woman twice. I spoke to ex support worker. I never go to this much effort for the 'large estates'.
To feel better I imagine there's damp on the walls and doors hanging off hinges but I honestly couldn't give a flying fairy cake. It's got two bedrooms, a garden, not far from my Kentish Town pals, a short cycle to my son's school (to think, no more carrying him on the back!). The rent is £100, not as cheap as it used to be but this shoe box has increased to £250. A week, yes I'm talking a week. I could have been moving next week to a new life! (Yes, it's that quick in many cases. Be ready to move people, ready to move)
What's the point of dreaming? What is the point?
Years ago, in Japan, the girls asked me what kind of man I saw myself with. They groaned when I said I didn't see myself with one. But then I told them what I could see.
I was sitting at a table, facing a garden, writing on a computer. It was a sunny day, the grass glistened in my view. There were toys lying on the floor behind me but no presence of a child. No presence of a man. It felt peaceful.
My friends told me I was 'mad'. Now I have a child it makes sense; my son's with his dad and I haven't tidied up his lego because I'm busy writing something. It's what I'm doing now while my son's in after school club. The flat's a tip and I'll lose hope just as soon as I've written this.
When I was newly pregnant I dreamt that I would lose my job, my home, my partner. If negative dreams can manifest themselves, why not the positive ones. Why not hey?
It's dangerous to dream down here which is why alot of people I've met in my situation have stopped. They know what it's like.
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