Tag Archives: life

The tiny woman with the chair

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I’ve written before about our neighbourhood in terms of the colourful characters. And posted photos*. One person I haven’t mentioned before is the tiny woman with the chair. Now she, more than Chicken Bone man reading his extreme porn in the Cafe Bonjour, disrupts social space for me. Not in a negative way. But in a “Wow! This is so unusual!” way.

I first saw her about a year ago, when she was sitting on the other side of the road, on a small, white chair, facing a row of parked cars. Bundled up in a thick coat, she was sat back from the curb, leaning forward, unmoving, staring intently ahead. People walked past her, but she remained seemingly focused and undistracted. Was she doing a traffic survey? Or some other functional task? It didn’t seem like it. She just sat.

She was still there later, when I went to the shops.

“Eeek.. ” I wondered, “Should I say hello on my way past?” But she had such a stillness, it seemed intrusive. She was sitting so privately, publicly. A few weeks later, I saw her again, in a different street. Same chair, same stillness. I mentioned her to Richy.

“Oh yeah,” he said. “I saw her sitting on the edge of the roundabout on the ring road the other day. Funny.”

Until today, I’ve seen her a few times. Always sitting. In random places. Well random to me, that is. Today was different. Today she was walking up our road. Very slowly, with the chair in one hand. Heading somewhere.

So why am I writing about a tiny woman with a chair?

Because she is breaching social rules in a way that makes visible the rigidity (and possibly the tyranny) of those rules. She is doing something that is so unusual, and yet shouldn’t be. Bit like LB being an unlikely ethnographer of the normal, she is doing nothing remotely wrong. It’s public space, after all. And people sit on their own chairs in other public spaces, in parks or lay-by’s, queuing for the New Year sales or for the launch of new games or gadgets.

Carrying around a chair and hanging out in different parts of the neighbourhood is strangely remarkable. But I wonder why more people don’t do it?

* A mate of mine recently suggested I staged these photos…I didn’t.

Jobcentreplus (or what the fucketty-fuck?)

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Well. Where to start with this baby? First, I am going to try not to swear (other than repeating any swears that happened during reported naturally occurring talk. Second, this story follows on from The Atos Questionnaire, so if you ain’t familiar with that sad and sorry tale, click here.

So LB is now in receipt of Employment and Support Allowance (despite a news blackout that he was actually entitled to it).

All good in the end then? Well maybe. If he actually received it.

Today I dredged deep (after a lovely, lovely day at an autism conference in London yesterday) and found the energy? resources? reserves? strength? I don’t know what I found really, just something (which is remarkable after about 14 years of consistently shite support/sevices) and called Jobcentreplus to ask why, after the initial back payment of three months, LB hadn’t received a bean.

“Hello,” said JCP blokey, “I need to speak to LB to go through some security questions first.”
“Mmm.. not being funny, but unless you want to ask some Darth Vader and the Death Star Canteen type security questions, you’re probably better off asking me.”
“I need to speak to LB. He is in receipt of the allowance.”
“He won’t be able to answer your questions. He has severe learning difficulties.”
“Ah.. Oh yes, I see now. I should have asked these questions in a different order, then I would have known. Then I could have avoided that embarrassing question.”
“Yeah.”
“So, let me try and work out what’s  happened here then. Oh yes, there is a stop on the account because the sick note provided is dated from 16 November to 16 February. You need to go to the GP and get a medical certificate to cover the period from 16 February.”
“Er, we originally provided an indefinite medical certificate in February and we were asked to get a second one covering November to February. We sent that ages ago.”

Let’s take a moment here to reflect on what I’ve just written.

  1. LB is given an indefinite sick note by the GP. What is an indefinite sick note?
  2. Despite having an ‘indefinite’ sick note, the GP had to produce a second sick note to cover the three months before the original sick note. Backdating an ‘indefinite’ sick note? What does that mean?
  3. [1] and [2] had to happen despite 14 plus years of medical, health and social care reports detailing in painfully minute detail, LB’s ‘deficits and shortcomings’ (in official eyes).
  4. Despite [1] and [2] (and even without [3]) we then get a 20 odd page Atos questionnaire to complete to provide evidence of the efficacy of the ‘indefinite’ sick note.

Well, the swear constraints can fuck right off. This system is beyond shite. And horrendous to experience.

So, back to JCP blokey.

“Oh, I see what’s happened. When they got the second medical certificate, they entered that, and overlooked the original certificate. That’s here but they’ve only entered the November to February dates. That’s why there’s a block on the account.”
“Oh.”
“Mmmm. I need to sort this out.”
“Bloody hell.”
“Well yes, I’d have probably said something similar myself in your shoes.”
“Bloody hell.”
“I’ll email them straightaway to sort this out. It will only take about 3 hours to change it. The account should then be unblocked.”
“When you say them, who do you mean?”
“Oh, the benefits people. That’s who has to sort this out. I’m just a contact person on the helpline.”
“Thank you. Goodbye.”

What else is there to say really?

Yenworthy and Simon Mayo

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“Mum.”
“Yes?”
“Mum, am I going to Yenworthy, Mum?”
“Yes, LB.”
“Mum, I love Yenworthy Mum.”
“I know, LB. Do you know how I know?”
“Because I’ve told you 25,000 times, Mum.”
“Yes, LB.”
“Mum, when am I going to Yenworthy, Mum?”
“In June sometime.”
“Mum, am I going on Monday, Mum?”
“No, not this Monday. But a Monday in June.”
“Mum, when is June, Mum?”
“In about two months time. We’ve got April and then…”
“…March, Mum.”
“No, then May, then June.”
“Mum, I hate Simon Mayo, Mum.”
“I know you do.”
“Mum, I think he should get sacked, Mum. He’s so boring, Mum.”
“Mmm.. Where would he work if he got the sack?”
“In Tesco’s Mum. On the checkout Mum.”
“Hehehe.”
“Mum?”
“Yes, LB?”
“Mum, do you like Simon Mayo, Mum?”
“He’s OK. A bit boring sometimes.”
“Mum?”
“Yes, LB.”
“I love Yenworthy, Mum.”

 

Hazard Alley

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LB went on a school trip to Hazard Alley today. A purpose built safety centre in Milton Keynes for ‘experiencing hazardous scenarios in safety’.

In his diary, his teacher had written “LB was on fire, answering all the questions.” Attaboy! Being known as ‘Health and Safety Sarasiobhan’ around here, this was a trip after my own heart. Risk reduction knowledge.

“How was Hazard Alley, LB?”
“Good Mum. It was good Mum.”
“What did you do there?”
“Looked at hazards, Mum.”
“Cool.. What sort of hazards?”
“Like roads, Mum. Roads are dangerous.”
“Ok. And what else?”
“Lorries, Mum. Lorries are dangerous.”
“Why?”
“Because they run you over, Mum.”
“And anything else?”
“Petrol stations, Mum. Petrol stations are dangerous.”
“That’s right. What about in the house? What hazards are there in the home?”
“Dunno, Mum.”
“Try and remember.. What is dangerous in the home?”
“Cookers, Mum. And fires. House fires, Mum. And everything, Mum. The home is full of hazards*, Mum.”
“That’s right. Hey, Vicki said you answered questions. What questions did you answer?”
“It’s very dangerous, Mum.”
“Oh. What was the question?”
“How dangerous is it, Mum?”
“….. What did you learn then, about avoiding danger?”
“Don’t go down dark alleys, Mum.”

*Yep, you’re right matey… spot on.

Heavy haulage

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“Mum?”
“Yes?”
“Mum, do you like heavy haulage, Mum?”
“Yep.”
“Mum, is heavy haulage roadworthy, Mum?”
“Yep.”
“Have they checked the oil, Mum?”
“Yep.”
“Have they checked the tyre pressure, Mum?”
“Yep.”
“Have they checked the bunks are bolted in, Mum?”
“Yep.”
“Have they checked the engine, Mum?”
“Yep.”
“Mum?”
“Yes?”
“Mum, do you like heavy haulage, Mum?”
“Yep.”
“Mum, is heavy haulage roadworthy, Mum?”
“Yep.”
“Have they checked the oil, Mum?”
“Yep.”
“Have they checked the tyre pressure, Mum?”
“Yep.”
“Have they….

……

The homework

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LB came back from school with homework today. A questionnaire to fill in about sleep. Homework hasn’t really featured much in his life.

“I hate homework, Mum. I’m not doing it.”
“You’ve got to do it.”
“No. I’m not doing it, Mum. I’M.NOT.DOING.IT.MUM.”
“Don’t be silly, you’ve got to do it.”
“Why Mum? Why Mum? I HATE HOMEWORK MUM!!!”
“Stop shouting. Why do you hate it?”
“I HATE IT.”
“Why?”
“BECAUSE… I HATE IT. I don’t have to fill it in, Mum. I’m not doing it. I don’t want to FILL IT IN!”
“Pack it in. Tom has to do homework and he doesn’t like it. Why don’t you think you have to do it?”
“BECAUSE I’VE DONE A LOT OF HOMEWORK, MUM. ALL THE TIME. My life has been spent doing homework. All my life! I hate it. I hate it AND I’m not doing it.”
“You don’t do a lot of homework, matey. You’ve got to do it. It’s good for you.”
“Why’s it good for me, Mum?”
“It helps you to learn more.”
“I already know more, Mum. I’m not doing it, Mum.”
“Ok, tell me what you know…”
“Sleep’s good for you, Mum.”
“……”
“Anyway, homework’s boring. It’s depressing actually [makes crying noise]. It’s depressing, Mum. I’m NOT doing it, Mum. I hate it….I’M NOT DOING IT. THAT’S ALL.”

Silence.

“Can I do it now, Mum? Get it over with, Mum?”

The anti-vegetarian cookery class

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Where to begin with this one?  First no names, probably. So…I went to a vegetarian cookery class on Saturday with mate, Gina (pseudonym). Two previous classes had been fun, hands on, chatty with nosh and a glass of wine at the end. All good. We thought.

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Bunking off (a first)

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LB was off for a lot of last week with a nasty cold.  This week, he came down for breakfast on Tuesday complaining of a stomach ache.  I told him to eat his breakfast and see how he felt. “Got a bad stomach, Mum,” he groaned.  After a bit more questioning, he stuck to his story and though he ate his breakfast, he held his tummy throughout groaning realistically.

“Ok, back off to bed,” I said, “I’ll call the taxi and let ’em know.”

He disappeared, I called the taxi and went to make a cup of tea.

I turned round to find him sitting in front of the laptop.

“Whatthehellareyoudoing??????”

“I’m better now Mum.”