Move on down the bus


Rich made up this song when LB was younger.

“No standing upstairs,
Hold on tight there please,
Move on down the bus,
Move on down the bus”

It had a pretty irritating tune but made the dude chuckle every time (and believe me, there were a lot of times).

It sprung into my mind this morning when I read the Chief Executive (of the Oxfordshire Clinical Commissioning Group) report for the board meeting tomorrow.

Wowsers. From one Chief Exec to another. A collective move along now. Move on down the bus. Nothing to see here.

Well you can stop that bus right now. Because we have quite a few questions for Ian Wilson CBE, his team and the local authority. And we ain’t going away until we get some answers.

Lovely bus picture by Millie age 6 in year 2 is part of #107Days.. there is a bus picture album on our JusticeforLB facebook page if you want to add your own picture.

4 thoughts on “Move on down the bus

  1. More horrible news in the papers today about abuse of a vulnerable person in hospital by those paid to care for him. Shameful. Thinking in terms of ”If this was my son-daughter needs to be part of the culture” in social care-hospital-education and everywhere. Decency, kindness, empathy-that sort of thing–how hard can it be?.

    Sara is a mum who is facing Mother’s Day this Sunday without her beloved son. Was her pain avoidable-ie was the death of her child avoidable? Answers really are needed and empathy-however painful-is essential. It’s hard to put yourself in the shoes of someone who has experienced such a profound loss but it’s harder for the person who has to wear those shoes every sinle day- and tragic for the young man who lost his life.

    • For any mother to lose a child at any age in any circumstances is terrible. For Sara to have to live with this particular set of circumstances is something that the rest of us can only contemplate with horror.

      My daughter had a form of uncontrolled epilepsy that constantly put her life at risk – but the worst of my fears was handing her, in staus epilepticus, to a doctor who might decide she wasn’t worth the trouble of saving. It never happened; I was fairly often reassured that it never would. The fear doesn’t go away though, does it?

  2. Pingback: A social media affair | mydaftlife

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