WAITing
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Late afternoon streets
Always got my camera on me these days. And our local neighbourhood is reliably interesting. A mate said recently she’s going to sneakily follow me round; she can’t believe the things like the cat on the dashboard are real. Today the London bus stop was quiet, a guy was scaling the wall of Waitrose, and the sky was spectacular.
Corpuschristi Dogs
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Choice and autonomy my arse
At the moment our lives are becoming increasingly [hahahaha] complicated as LB has become very anxious and distressed. We’re in a big old hot pot, dealing with support and services underpinned [big fanfare] by the gov’s personalisation agenda. Key principles; Choice and autonomy.
Well this sounds like the baby. Choice and autonomy.. lovely, lovely, lovely. Let’s have a little looky at how this is shaping up eight weeks on;
Social Services. After a complete meltdown that resulted in LB out of school for a couple of weeks, the Care Manager acted instantly to organise a wedge of emergency direct payments for us to buy care. Good. We can choose what type of emergency support we want. Unfortunately, the kind of people who may be willing and able to hang out with a 6ft tall, young man who may, or may not become aggressive, are not that much in supply (and hugely in demand). So in practice, not so good. The alternative is the Respite Centre with the snooker table. Complete fail. CM also offered to organise a round table meeting. Good. And, after a particularly alarming incident (Episode A), has given me an emergency number to call. Good. Unfortunately, if we call that number we are opening a window for LB to potentially be sectioned. ‘Mmm. Well I’m sure they will do what’s best for him in that situation‘…I hear you think. Not really. ‘What’s best for him’ relies on what’s best for him being available. Not a mental health unit over a hundred miles away in Norwich where two of his class mates have spent months. There is no in-county support for young learning disabled people. That is a complete fail.
Health. The GP instantly prescribed anti-depressants over the phone without hesistation. Good (in the sense he took our concerns seriously, not that LB is now on more medication). After LB mumbled something about suicide near some professional type person, he was whizzled into a same day appointment with a psychiatrist. Good. (Well a bit weird that the concerns we have are largely ignored but one word gets instant attention). The psychiatrist asking LB if he felt suicidal was a complete fail. Never, ever put ideas into that boy’s head like that. She then, after a telephone appointment 6 weeks later, discharged him. Not so good. ‘Why are you discharging him?????’ I asked, seconds after I’d told her about Episode A. ‘He was referred to me because of the concern about suicide, now that is no longer a concern, the psychologist will help him to manage his anxiety.’ Not so good [and given our experience with psychologists over the years (star charts anyone?) suspect this detour will be a complete fail].
So what are we left with? Money to pay for care. No care to buy. And no one doing anything to help LB become less anxious.
Choice and autonomy? Feels a teeny bit flaky to me. Can we have some action?
Wharfe and Westfield
Went to Imperial Wharfe today for the first* steering group meeting of the British Sociological Association (BSA) Disability Study Group. The BSA have a meeting room right next to the London Overland Rail (another first for me). I got there a bit early and wandered around to take some photos. But there were no people. The Wharfe was deserted. It was odd and eerie. Just an enormously renovated space of emptiness. And “no” signs (skating, running, cycling, paddling, ball games, people).
Luckily the bus stop home is next to Westfield. I could have a people wallow on my way back.
Wonderous. As usual.
*Still astonished there hasn’t been a group up to now.
Colour streets…
…and movement. In Hythe Bridge Street. On the way back from another meeting in Jericho.
Bit of a departure for me. Colour pics. Not sure what I think about them, being a black and white kinda gal, but good to mix it up.
Private public spaces
Had an interesting discussion with a mate on Facebook last week around the ethics of taking photos of people in public places and putting ’em on a blog. She said that she wouldn’t like it if a photo of her was posted online and discussed without her knowing.
What is ‘public’ and what is ‘private’ is a chewy philosophical area. And I’m always struck by the ‘private’ activities people do in ‘public’ spaces (see below). To be honest, I was surprised and pleased to find out there are no rules about permission/consent (unless you want to use the photos for commercial purposes – slight qualifications outlined here). Basically you can crack on happily.
This is so unlike academic research which is subjected to such scrutiny by ethics committees that it can be unproductively constraining, frustrating and time consuming. But going back to the Facebook discussion, just because there are no rules about this, should I photograph and post images of people without consent?
Well I’ve decided to set my own ethical standards in addition to those outlined in the above link;
- If someone wants their photo removed from this blog, I’ll remove it straightaway.
- If I’ve photographed someone and they would like a copy, I’ll email a high res version or send a print.
Job done. (As long as a train is considered a public space…)
Waiting for the train
Cheeky little number tableau at Oxford station today…
The outing
Today was a funny day. I went to Bristol to meet two women I’d ‘met’ through Twitter, Alexa and Kate, to visit a social enterprise scheme called Props. It was hilarious meeting people through Twitter. Eh, who? What? Where?
I chuckled as I walked through the ticket barrier at Bristol Temple Meads, wondering whether I’d actually meet them. Especially as I had in mind we were meeting at Bristol Parkway which is so much smaller. But there they were. Freezing and big smiles. Kind of recognisable through avatars and the odd tweeted photo.
By the time we were sort of (but not really) lost looking for the Props base somewhere in Bristol, I felt I’d known them both for years. We laughed. And connected tweet snippets from past months with shortcuts forged by the experience of having less than straightforward kids. Loveliness.
But the outing was about Props. And Dave and his crew delivered. Big time. Basically it’s a space for disabled young people to learn, work and flourish. As part of the community with a strong commercial focus. We hung out with Matthew and Jethro. Matthew was hugely impressive. He worked his socks off in an understated way. Making drinks, tidying up, keeping an eye on Jethro’s work, and demonstrating a sophisticated engagement with the tasks involved in print room work. Jethro added the comedic dimension to the visit, with hilarious one-liners and an easy engagement with everyone that I would love a dose of. They both shone.
And made us some great t-shirts.
Wowsers, I hear you say. Social services must be chucking money at this organisation.
Of course they ain’t.
The London bus stop
The London bus stop, Headington. A regular gathering space for all sorts of people. Today this man who looked straight out of an old black and white British film.
mydaftlife 