"Have u seen the front page of the Guardian." A text from my support worker at 8.45 am this morning.
In that early morning fog I was scared something had happened to my son. I switched on my computer, accessed the paper's website. In a way, I guess it has.
Cameron: no more council homes for life
Lifetime tenancies to be replaced by short-term contracts based on need.
It makes grim reading. If I manage to get a council flat for my son, he will face another eviction if I earn a little too much. We will be sent back to the private sector, where there are caps on housing benefit never mind short term leases. A cyclical life time of poverty will be the hallmark of his childhood with me. The hallmark for thousands upon thousands of families.
Dave says the deficit is a "moral issue" and when the economy recovers, money will not be pumped back into our public services, the fire service being the one mentioned in the article.
I left a comment on the website:
I thought, oh how foolishly, that Cameron had a real opportunity to heal this country. I wrote to him, I wrote to clegg, I got down on my knees. I've received my answer. My country will break and bleed beneath me. The people will scream but will they be heard?
It's like he's got a metal rod and hit me behind the legs and now he's going to finish me off by whacking it on my back.
Not just me.....
I believed in you Dave just like I did the Foca
Wednesday, 4 August 2010
Courting Al Cohol
At a picnic on Hampstead Heath yesterday I said to my friend's sister as she poured me a mojito:
"I'm not drowning my sorrows, I'm surfing on them!"
It's fair to say I got completely wrecked....
"I'm not drowning my sorrows, I'm surfing on them!"
It's fair to say I got completely wrecked....
The School of Doris
"Do you want to come to a rave?" Trojan Pete asked me on Saturday night as I was just finishing my beer ready to head home.
"Ah, thanks," I said. "But that's not really my scene."
"Only for a drink, I like talking to you, I want to talk to you some more."
I smiled as I said: "I should really be getting home. I want to go to Church in the morning and don't really want to miss it."
"Are you religious?" he asked, looking at me with a shocked expression.
"Well, more spiritual really. The Church I'm going to does Latin masses sung by a choir. It's very beautiful, like a free concert."
"That sounds good," he says. "I was bought up religious but I didn't do my confirmation or nothing so I don't go to church."
"I was bought up religious and I rejected it when I was 17. I tussled with God, tried to become an athiest, couldn't do it, found spirituality in my mid 20's. I've reconciled myself with it all now. I've started going back to the church of my childhood but in my head I'm a member of the School of Doris."
"The what?"
"The School of Doris. You know, que sera sera?"
"Oh yeah!" His eyes light up. "I know Doris Day. I love her!"
"Do you?!" Quite surprised I was!
"Yeah, she's like early reggae!"
"Is she? I never knew that! But yes, School of Doris. I'm not a leader, only a member because I find positive thinking so difficult!"
It's why I pray. A prayer is a positive affirmation. It's why I believe in Angels, because Angels are light and good. I believe in God and Jesus and Mary too, and all the saints. You don't have to believe in any of what I do to be a member of the School of Doris. That's the beauty of it.
I went with him to The Grand Union. They were playing rock and roll and rockabilly. I drank coca cola in a bottle through a straw and pretended I had my Pink Ladies jacket on. I danced and danced until I could dance no more.
Then Trojan Pete walked me to the end of my road and we parted company. He'd asked me for my number but I'm not in the right space for any of that. I think he understood.
"Ah, thanks," I said. "But that's not really my scene."
"Only for a drink, I like talking to you, I want to talk to you some more."
I smiled as I said: "I should really be getting home. I want to go to Church in the morning and don't really want to miss it."
"Are you religious?" he asked, looking at me with a shocked expression.
"Well, more spiritual really. The Church I'm going to does Latin masses sung by a choir. It's very beautiful, like a free concert."
"That sounds good," he says. "I was bought up religious but I didn't do my confirmation or nothing so I don't go to church."
"I was bought up religious and I rejected it when I was 17. I tussled with God, tried to become an athiest, couldn't do it, found spirituality in my mid 20's. I've reconciled myself with it all now. I've started going back to the church of my childhood but in my head I'm a member of the School of Doris."
"The what?"
"The School of Doris. You know, que sera sera?"
"Oh yeah!" His eyes light up. "I know Doris Day. I love her!"
"Do you?!" Quite surprised I was!
"Yeah, she's like early reggae!"
"Is she? I never knew that! But yes, School of Doris. I'm not a leader, only a member because I find positive thinking so difficult!"
It's why I pray. A prayer is a positive affirmation. It's why I believe in Angels, because Angels are light and good. I believe in God and Jesus and Mary too, and all the saints. You don't have to believe in any of what I do to be a member of the School of Doris. That's the beauty of it.
I went with him to The Grand Union. They were playing rock and roll and rockabilly. I drank coca cola in a bottle through a straw and pretended I had my Pink Ladies jacket on. I danced and danced until I could dance no more.
Then Trojan Pete walked me to the end of my road and we parted company. He'd asked me for my number but I'm not in the right space for any of that. I think he understood.
The Estimators
A Ska/Rockabilly band called the Estimators was playing at The Oxford on Saturday night.
I wanted to go. I know two dads in the band and I wanted to support them. On Saturday morning I had no friends.
I can go to gigs on my own, I can go pretty much anywhere on my own. It usually doesn't bother me. However, on Saturday morning, trooping off to The Oxford with no companion in tow, filled me with dread.
The Estimators have quite a following you see. They have quite a following of people I know to say hi to. Nice people. I didn't want these nice people to think I had no friends. Aaaargh, what to do?
My phone rang. It was Issy. She'd invited me to Birmingham for the weekend and I'd declined. Turns out she decided not to go too. She was still in London! "Wanna come with me to a gig?!"
She was going to see comedy with her flatmate, she said. She'd try and make it. Oh I was happy! I texted Annie, because if Issy wasn't in Brum, neither was she. She said she'd try but she was dog sitting and also felt like shite.
I hoped I hoped I hoped!!
Through the letter box comes a large envelope with the Foca's handwritting on it. I ignored it. I ignored it for as long as I could, then told myself not to be silly, I'd only ask myself what it contained all weekend anyway. May as well get it over with.
A booklet on parenting plans and putting your children first. Patronising bastard.
A court order to appear at Brighton County Courts on August 17th. I saw his signature. It stung my eyes, it burnt my fingers, I crammed everything back in the envelope and shoved it under a cushion on the sofa.
Bastard. Bastard.
The Estimators. What kind of company would I be for anyone anyway. I should go. What the hell, what the hell.
I see the drummer outside the pub when I get there at 9pm. Thank goodness I haven't missed it! I was going to text his wife this morning, I tell him, ask if it was ok to go along with her because I had no friends. He said he'd seen my article in the CNJ well done but didn't like the ending; I should've written I was at my wits end.
I see his wife, Glam Mum, and tell her I was going to text her. She was with her 'new' family. I say 'new' because she didn't know she had 30 cousins from Tipperary in Ireland until a few months before. She'd never known her father and a whole denied part of her life came to her through facebook.
Lovely, funny people, I chatted to them for a long time, before Issy turned up with her flatmate, the band started upstairs and an evening dancing to glorious trumpets and saxs', drums and bass ensued!!
You know a really wonderful thing about that Saturday?
Where one Irish man wounded my soul, a whole community of others embraced it.
I thank the World for many things, I thanked the World for that.
I wanted to go. I know two dads in the band and I wanted to support them. On Saturday morning I had no friends.
I can go to gigs on my own, I can go pretty much anywhere on my own. It usually doesn't bother me. However, on Saturday morning, trooping off to The Oxford with no companion in tow, filled me with dread.
The Estimators have quite a following you see. They have quite a following of people I know to say hi to. Nice people. I didn't want these nice people to think I had no friends. Aaaargh, what to do?
My phone rang. It was Issy. She'd invited me to Birmingham for the weekend and I'd declined. Turns out she decided not to go too. She was still in London! "Wanna come with me to a gig?!"
She was going to see comedy with her flatmate, she said. She'd try and make it. Oh I was happy! I texted Annie, because if Issy wasn't in Brum, neither was she. She said she'd try but she was dog sitting and also felt like shite.
I hoped I hoped I hoped!!
Through the letter box comes a large envelope with the Foca's handwritting on it. I ignored it. I ignored it for as long as I could, then told myself not to be silly, I'd only ask myself what it contained all weekend anyway. May as well get it over with.
A booklet on parenting plans and putting your children first. Patronising bastard.
A court order to appear at Brighton County Courts on August 17th. I saw his signature. It stung my eyes, it burnt my fingers, I crammed everything back in the envelope and shoved it under a cushion on the sofa.
Bastard. Bastard.
The Estimators. What kind of company would I be for anyone anyway. I should go. What the hell, what the hell.
I see the drummer outside the pub when I get there at 9pm. Thank goodness I haven't missed it! I was going to text his wife this morning, I tell him, ask if it was ok to go along with her because I had no friends. He said he'd seen my article in the CNJ well done but didn't like the ending; I should've written I was at my wits end.
I see his wife, Glam Mum, and tell her I was going to text her. She was with her 'new' family. I say 'new' because she didn't know she had 30 cousins from Tipperary in Ireland until a few months before. She'd never known her father and a whole denied part of her life came to her through facebook.
Lovely, funny people, I chatted to them for a long time, before Issy turned up with her flatmate, the band started upstairs and an evening dancing to glorious trumpets and saxs', drums and bass ensued!!
You know a really wonderful thing about that Saturday?
Where one Irish man wounded my soul, a whole community of others embraced it.
I thank the World for many things, I thanked the World for that.
Tuesday, 3 August 2010
Sleeping in my son's bed
I miss my son.
I can handle my nightmares when he's with me.
I can't at the moment, so terrifying watching metal structures collapse on top of me.
I've taken to sleeping in his bed
to feel closer to him
Last night I kept seeing his face appear in front of me
So I said a prayer every time it did so.
I love you my baby.
I can handle my nightmares when he's with me.
I can't at the moment, so terrifying watching metal structures collapse on top of me.
I've taken to sleeping in his bed
to feel closer to him
Last night I kept seeing his face appear in front of me
So I said a prayer every time it did so.
I love you my baby.
Social worker to the rescue
She called last week saying she wanted to come round on Monday, yesterday. I'd told her that I might not be in, or I might be hungover (for I'd planned to get totally fucked hadn't I?)
Yesterday morning I hoped she would call as I put 14 green bottles into a bag for recycling.
"I'm so glad you've called," I said, when she did around midday. "Did you know my son's father was going to issue me with a court order? Your name is on it."
She said she'd be round in about an hour, and she was.
I told her I was angry with her the last time she came. I had to be honest. She had called me again because the New Support Worker had got in touch with her.
We talked. Or rather, I talked. She listened and listened and commented where comments needed to be made.
My past, whoosh, poured infront of her.
I showed her the court order and said I wouldn't be attending. Not now, I couldn't. Not ever, I didn't want to. She said I wasn't "emotionally strong enough to deal with it at the moment" and I wanted to hug her.
She said I needed to get advice from a lawyer, find out just what he could do with the parental responsibility order. Could he bring my son home late without my consent? "He's done that before," I said, "without it." "Find out," she said.
I showed her my two articles from the Ham & High and Camden New Journal. She said it would make the council nervous. I read to her draft letters I'd written to Dobbie, the photocopy of the letter to David Cameron.
I tried to make her understand how important all this was to me. She understood.
"Please can you put us forward to the exceptions panel?" I asked.
"Social workers don't have a strong relationship with the housing division," she said, or something like that.
"You would be the fourth person. Three others have tried and failed. If I meet Cameron, I'm going to ask him to do that too. Tell him I won't tell anyone if he does."
She said she needed to know my mental health history. Could she have my permission to talk to my doctor?
"I haven't seen my doctor in months", I told her. "She tells me to "think positively", think about other things and well, I'm obsessed, I can't." She told me not to worry about that.
She said she'd see what she could do for me and my son. I said that was all I could ask of her.
She is a lovely woman. Not only because she's going to try and help us, but because she didn't judge my mess, she said the flat was too small for us. She recognised the bond that exists between myself and my son and looking around at all his pictures on all my walls, suggested Art Therapy for him.
That would be perfect for him, my little boy, who struggles with the pain of separated parents but rarely lets it show.
Social worker? Thank you.
Yesterday morning I hoped she would call as I put 14 green bottles into a bag for recycling.
"I'm so glad you've called," I said, when she did around midday. "Did you know my son's father was going to issue me with a court order? Your name is on it."
She said she'd be round in about an hour, and she was.
I told her I was angry with her the last time she came. I had to be honest. She had called me again because the New Support Worker had got in touch with her.
We talked. Or rather, I talked. She listened and listened and commented where comments needed to be made.
My past, whoosh, poured infront of her.
I showed her the court order and said I wouldn't be attending. Not now, I couldn't. Not ever, I didn't want to. She said I wasn't "emotionally strong enough to deal with it at the moment" and I wanted to hug her.
She said I needed to get advice from a lawyer, find out just what he could do with the parental responsibility order. Could he bring my son home late without my consent? "He's done that before," I said, "without it." "Find out," she said.
I showed her my two articles from the Ham & High and Camden New Journal. She said it would make the council nervous. I read to her draft letters I'd written to Dobbie, the photocopy of the letter to David Cameron.
I tried to make her understand how important all this was to me. She understood.
"Please can you put us forward to the exceptions panel?" I asked.
"Social workers don't have a strong relationship with the housing division," she said, or something like that.
"You would be the fourth person. Three others have tried and failed. If I meet Cameron, I'm going to ask him to do that too. Tell him I won't tell anyone if he does."
She said she needed to know my mental health history. Could she have my permission to talk to my doctor?
"I haven't seen my doctor in months", I told her. "She tells me to "think positively", think about other things and well, I'm obsessed, I can't." She told me not to worry about that.
She said she'd see what she could do for me and my son. I said that was all I could ask of her.
She is a lovely woman. Not only because she's going to try and help us, but because she didn't judge my mess, she said the flat was too small for us. She recognised the bond that exists between myself and my son and looking around at all his pictures on all my walls, suggested Art Therapy for him.
That would be perfect for him, my little boy, who struggles with the pain of separated parents but rarely lets it show.
Social worker? Thank you.
Text to Foca on his birthday
Sending me a court
order [foca] while
[our son] and i await a
bailiffs order is pure
cruelty. Paper or no
paper, action like
that is you failing as
a father. Send my
love to [our son]
I didn't send this next bit because I've got a crappy little mobile, not an i-phone:
I see your true colours
shining through
I see your true colours
It's why I don't love you
So do be afraid
to let them show
Your true colours
aren't beautiful
like a rainbow
(Cyndi Lauper featuring Stigmum)
I found the original with lyrics on Youtube and Stiggers and I have been singing it to one another. Neither of us must lose hope.
Here they are for you, incase you need telling too:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wS53zuf_X10&feature=related
order [foca] while
[our son] and i await a
bailiffs order is pure
cruelty. Paper or no
paper, action like
that is you failing as
a father. Send my
love to [our son]
I didn't send this next bit because I've got a crappy little mobile, not an i-phone:
I see your true colours
shining through
I see your true colours
It's why I don't love you
So do be afraid
to let them show
Your true colours
aren't beautiful
like a rainbow
(Cyndi Lauper featuring Stigmum)
I found the original with lyrics on Youtube and Stiggers and I have been singing it to one another. Neither of us must lose hope.
Here they are for you, incase you need telling too:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wS53zuf_X10&feature=related
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