Ten storeys for the 94 year old

I walk down the stairs this morning as both lifts are out and I encounter my 70 year old neighbour a couple of floors down helping her 94 year old mother down the steps. They are taking it very slowly, obviously, but then my neighbour says "It's easier on the way down. Going up is harder." Fear of personal issues is immediately replaced with fury that this shouldn't be happening to these pensioners.

I offer to help but we're going to be late for school again ("Just let me finish this lego car mummy.") but they understand and thank me anyway. An ambulance is waiting at the bottom to take great granny to hospital for a routine checkup.

On the way back I run into the lift engineer. "Are you going to fix both?"
"Well we're going to do the small one for now, get that running."
"Great but people need the big one too."
"There are too many problems with that one."
"Like what?"
"There's flooding, water runs into it, don't you hear it splashing around when you're in it?"
"You can do something though."
"It's not our problem, it's Camden's. We've been asking them for five years to sort it out and they don't do anything."
"Can't you do anything?"
He shrugs his shoulders and swings his head in that gesture that says 'where do I start?'
"I'll try later."
"Thanks, thanks alot."

A little way up the block I pass dad carrying his three year old daughter.
"It's a joke, isn't it?" I say.
"Kids apparantly. Yesterday. They were down at the bottom messing around with them. Someone called the security services, you know, and they called the police and they came in a van."
"Was this last night?"
"No, yesterday morning when I came back from dropping her off at nursery. They were all there."

My turn to swing my head. As time goes on I'm speechless.

Hannah and Tim are being evicted

Hannah and Tim are in the same situation as me. In a temporary flat where the lease agreement between the housing association and the Council will expire next year.
I saw Hannah on Sunday at the Alma Street Festival and she told me they were being evicted, that they've had a court order through. I don't understand and will have to talk to her more.

I don't understand because this flat I'm in was sold two years ago. One couple came to view it and said if they bought it, I would have to leave. The council assured me that while there was an lease agreement between the housing association and the flat, my tenancy would be secure and that tenancy (and security) would expire in 2010.

I was lucky, the people who did buy it, bought it with me and my son in it. So you see, I had assurances so I don't understand how this is happening to Hannah and Tim (again.... they were evicted by their last landlords hence the situation they are in now).

I told them to get a lawyer. I didn't know what else to suggest. A lawyer didn't help me but here is an eviction order. They must be able to get help.

The council has told them they will go back into a hostel or into temporary accommodation in Haringey. Haringey? Their son's are all settled at their school in Kentish Town.

Lives are simply overturned with no thought for the children. Do you think it's right? Do you?

You need an alibi as though you're up for murder

Just over a week ago I waited at home for Tommy the housing officer's visit and he never turned up. On Friday I received his letter which I replied to yesterday (by email, not phoning on this one)

His letter said: " I am very sorry you were unable to keep the appointment made for me to visit you to carry out a routine inspection of your property on Friday 26 June2009."

I emailed: "I've received your letter where you say 'I am very sorry you were unable to keep the appointment made for me to visit you to carry out a routine inspection of your property on Friday 26 June 2009.
"Tommy, I was there. [The housing association] had sent a gas inspector for that morning and I also had [Matt the mental health worker] come and see me. He left just after 12.30 and can verify that I was there the whole time.
"It is you who didn't keep the appointment. I am reluctant to sit in my flat for a no-show this Friday.
"Also, please in the future, do not imply that the fault is mine, that I am the one who doesn't keep the appointment. It is also what the council has done in the past and it's very unpleasant.
"I shall hear from you soon
"Regards
"Sue"

It BUGS me no end particularly as I like Tommy. I don't want to have to write emails like that to him. The council no-shows were a support worker two years ago just before I got ex support worker. Aaargh. In this bucket you need an alibi as though you're up on a murder charge. Nothing is ever their fault.

£1.1 million enough to fix the lifts?

The lift's been out of action for ages now. I saw the widow from upstairs who recently bought a bed but has had to cancel its delivery twice. In the smaller lift on the way to school my son and I managed to cram in with the Kosovan mum, her two boys and her baby in the buggy.
All our boys were late. Kosovan mum had waited 10 minutes for the lift. (That wasn't our excuse today... oh you know what it's like: "What do you mean you haven't got your trainers on? We have to leave! NOW!"

Yes, so they are selling the council flats to pay for the refurbishment of existing properties. Here at Papier Mache Towers we've been told that nothing can be done about the lifts as the parts are so old they are irreplacable. So install new ones! No cash for that? What do you mean?

Off I go to auction

I went to the public auction of Camden's council houses and flats today as I've been thinking of bidding for one.

One of the six properties up for grabs to private developers was a six bedroom house near my son's school. Location perfect as it wouldn't interrupt his education but we don't need six bedrooms. What a political point that would make though. Can you imagine? The council says it doesn't have any large properties for big families and there I am having just bought one.

Just prior to going I went to the local press and asked a journalist I'd met before where it was happening, at what time and also what I planned to do.

"You're not planning to use the press to do this are you?" and I told him "there's a part of me that doesn't want the press there at all."

The auction was taking place in Piccadilly in the Bafta building. Things are never as you imagine. I imagined a room full of men, slick property developers (though where I got that image I do not know). I walked in and along one table were all print outs of the 'lots' for sale. I looked for Roderick Road. Lot 12. I had plenty of time before picking my son up from school.

Men and women of all descriptions milled around. Of course this wasn't just the sale of council flats, there were all those repossessed properties, whose previous owners were no doubt gutted they couldn't buy back their homes at a bargain price.

I got chatting to two private developers and asked them what they thought about the council auctioning off its properties. "If people want to buy it they should be able to buy it," he said. "It's no different from the Right to Buy."

"Yes it is!" I said. "Right to buy is symbolic of a secure tenancy for people. What do you think of these sales given that there are 1000's of people on the waiting list needing these homes?"
"Haven't thought about it to be honest," said his pal.

There was free tea and coffee but I was already zinging from the espressos I'd drank as I'd thought and thought and thought again whether what I planned to do was the right thing to do.

The bidding began. One bearded man with the hammer and two either side of him who would field the bids.

The first council flat up for grabs was a one bedroom garden flat. "Lot 3". Up the bidding rose, £150,000 and soon to £176,000. "Are we all done?" said the auctioneer. "Is there any better than £207,000?" It seemed so, the hammer went down at £209,000.

Lot 9 was the next Camden property, a six bedroom place with a garden and cellar. "We're opening the bidding at £500,000, £500,000..." It was like watching a game of ping pong, two people pitted against one another, then as one said "no" another bidder would pop up and keep the game going. 910,920, up up up, I looked to my left where I couldn't see the bidder then back to my right where he was tall with silver hair. He stopped at £1,000,000. The flat went to a couple for £1.1 million.

I approached them afterwards and congratulated them on their successful bid. I asked them what they'd do with it to which they replied they'd develop it for the rental market. They said they weren't allowed to live in it - a condition of the sale. I didn't know they weren't allowed to live in it themselves. It's so the council can put the likes of me in there afterwards under its Private Rental Scheme. A sweet deal for these developers and private landlords. The state will pay the mortgage and give them a little extra for taking us in the first place.

When I asked what they thought of what the council was doing, the woman said "no comment". I asked if they agreed with the council continuing to auction flats with the vast numbers on the waiting list and must have pricked the man's conscience as he said "I didn't know, I've never done this before. The council got a good price, they made £200,000 more than they would on the private market." And that makes it ok does it? I didn't say that though. That's the argument I should have with Nail'er.

Lot 12 was the one I'd had my eye on. I thought it was a six bedroom house but the auctioneer said: "This one's been kitted out as a hostel." My instincts went all over the place. I couldn't bid for this. I would be saying it's perfectly alright to have children living in hostels. I was tempted to raise my hand, see what that felt like, but the bidding was progressing so much slower than Grenille Road that I was quite afraid it would stop with me when I didn't want it.

"£690, a very cheap house, any advance on £690?" It went for £725,000 in the end. A 'middle class' woman got up from a seat saying "I wish I had money, a bargain that one," to which the younger man who'd been standing beside me said "It would've got more if it were empty."

I kept thinking they've just sold a hostel when yesterday St Mungo's released research that street homelessness has risen by 15% in London.

I am tempted to go back and bid for one. I will do as the journalist suggested and get some advice first. When I do it, I will invite the local press. Earlier when I was waiting for him to come downstairs with information about the auctions a song popped into my head.

"I'm just a soul whose intentions are good, oh Lord, please don't let me be misunderstood (Nina Simone)

I smiled to myself. Is that my song for this? It won't be easy. I will have to be incredibly brave and incredibly strong because the auctioneers will want me led away like a nutter. If I don't win the lottery then I have to do this. And if I do this, I have to make the point for everyone else.

Interview with Camden's Chief Superintendent of Police

As part of our research on safeguarding children, Ceci, Pete and I interviewed Camden's Chief Superintendent of Police on Friday.
What a nice man!
I was quite taken aback if truth be told. I thought he'd be up his own bottom. But no! He was laid back, dressed in his civvies not uniform, incredibly friendly, open and attentive.
The interview was meant to last 45 minutes but he let it carry on for well over an hour.
In my notebook I did write out an entire diatribe of what I'd post on this blog but as I like to write short posts I'll recount some of what he said over the course of this week.
One thing he said though was that people don't trust the police so I simply had to ask him "does the police trust people?"
He asked for an example and I gave the easiest at hand, the G20 demos. Well yes, compared to the Iranian police you are more gentle but.......
He admitted it was difficult, "people don't have 'criminal' tattoed on their foreheads."
Yes, my point, trusssssssssssssssssssst.
Like I said, I liked him, nice man. Do I trust him? He asked us that. I said "it depends where I am." In the interview I did and well, we were council volunteers asking about safeguarding children weren't we, though I'd like to imagine he's always that candid.

Toilet Etiquette

In a bar, off Alma Street, at the Alma Street Festival.

"Is this the queue?" I ask, and four people nod in the affirmative,
"For the loo?" (you know, just to make sure...)
"Yes," comes the reply and more affirmative nodding
"I'm after you?" I ask the woman before me.

"There's something in that," she says. "I could use that.. is this the queue, for the loo..."

" am I after you?" I counter in a jokey fashion.

"Yes, yes...is this the queue,...for the loo... after you..."

I laugh, as you do, when you're waiting for the loo, and think nothing of it. She disappears and another woman appears and says "Is this the queue for the loo?" and I say "Yes, and am I after you now?" I ask the man who was before the woman who was before me before.

He looks around him, as though looking for the woman, who has disappeared, and says "yeah."

Then just before it's my turn the woman comes back and I say to the girl who came after me "I'm after her," and to the woman "after you."

Then the woman says to someone near her "I went to write it down. I might use that in a song somehow."

And I'm like "Oh, you sing? What's your stage name?"

And she says "I don't have a stage name, I use my real name, Dawn Penn."

"Oh you're Dawn Penn who we're waiting to see!!!"

No no nooooo, you don't love me and I know now.....

Eh. you say you'll credit me if you use it?

Her set was incredible at the Alma Street festival. She transcended all the problems with the speakers and sounds.

My son, who'd been agog at the front watching Rough Science perform their fantastic rock, then restless listening to hip hop, was again swept up and stilled by the sound of her voice.

No no no, you don't love me
is a great track
by a great woman
who I met
in a queue
for the loo