Had a crap day on Sunday, flung back into a space in which I couldn’t quite believe that LB died [he died?] the way he did. I think about him pretty much every waking moment but the way in which he died is (necessarily) pushed to the margins most of the time.

Later this afternoon I’ve got a call ‘booked’ with the Sloven Board Chair, Simon Waugh, to discuss the answers he eventually sent in response to our questions around Sloven actions to LB’s death. These answers pretty much say nothing. Other than ‘Er, it wasn’t us guv’ or ‘It was the non clinical staff’.

I don’t want to talk to him. Like I don’t want to chase up the Central Southern NHS Commissioning Support Unit to ask why 6 months of records were missing from my access to record request last week. Like I don’t want to lug a case full of beyond ridiculously Sloven redacted text to an information specialist*. Like I don’t want to read document after document detailing unspeakable ‘provision’ in Oxfordshire with a forensic eye*. Like I don’t want to wait years for any accountability or justice for something that was just off the scale of fucking wrong and we all know it.

I don’t understand (and this is what dominated Sunday) how a young, isolated (in spite of having a full on loving family) person, who was fit and healthy, could die a preventable and beyond imaginable death. By anyone’s standards. In a publicly funded organisation. A heavily staffed apparently specialist NHS unit. [Just add whatever into this space. There are no words. Nothing we can grasp, real, imagined or otherwise. Just a situation of horror and utter despair.]

Katharine Chrome (the wonderful Who by fire blogger and one of the legendary band of forensic shite analysts), tweeted earlier that an old post of mine that re-surfaced at the weekend reminded her of the time when this blog was about fun and photies. Blimey. Yep. It was. And a celebration of quirky family life.

Constantly snapping pics is one of the many things that has stopped for me. Like having a bath. Smiling at strangers. Reading a daily newspaper. Being wildly optimistic. Feeling content or relaxed. The rippling consequences of experiencing such a catastrophic event (and the full weight of a bullying NHS Trust for over a year now).

I hope that the fun and photies will return at some point. #justiceforLB has been a breath of fresh air really. A complete tonic in the face of such shite. If this astonishing, unprecedented, collective force of dedicated, committed, loving, full on, spontaneous, irreverent, thoughtful, creative, artistic, informed, hilarious, energetic, dogged, expert, generous, completely voluntary, skilful, diverse, different and rule breaking embracing gaggle of awesomeness, can’t generate meaningful change, then it really is time to give up.

So, here’s to this afternoon. The next stop on the Sloven slow train of prevarication and dirty tricks. And a cheeky number suggested by Matthew Smith.

  *There has been some legendary, behind the scenes work, examining what appears once these hefty stones are lifted.