This is definitely summer. It is scorching hot out there. I have never missed the sea breeze so much.
Going to get a little bit of sea breeze when Steve and I head for the coast at the end of August for Jiva and Munkt0n's wedding. We're really looking forward to that, with extra added squee because the first time we met in real life was when we went to their engagement bash.
That'll just be a weekender though, as Steve can't book any time off work at present. But, Pip and I have been looking into the idea of car hire (Pip took his car off the road after I left town) to enable me to have a proper week's holiday and see everyone. The idea is that Steve could take me part of the way, and hand me and my suitcase over to Pip at a halfway services station. We're thinking probably September would be best, once the kids are back at school. Littlun will be doing half-days, so we'll be able to Do Stuff for half a day without all the local facilities being overrun by Bigger Kids, and then I can rest properly while he's at school.
Until I get some seafront, though, my life has been made that bit more comfortable by work having invested in an air-conditioning unit. The room was getting really quite unbearably hot, what with the combination of (1) thousands of CD cases, flat-pack corrugated cardboard boxes, and other packing materials, also known as insulation; (2) a single barred window which only opens a few inches; (3) a computer on the go the whole time; and (4) up to three adults constantly moving around the room doing work which, while it could not be described as physically demanding, works up considerably more of a sweat than sitting around typing. I don't care that my carbon footprint probably makes the baby Jesus cry. It was getting hard to breathe in there!
And now, I think, I will get my eye-mask out of the fridge, and go upstairs to lie very very still in the hope that sleep will come.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Things are going well
It's been a great week.
First of all, those persistent Unbloggables that have been filling up large parts of my headspace are now mostly resolved, and I wish I could explain better, but it's Someone Else's Business really.
Secondly, Steve's been paid, and while we're not buying a house/going on holiday/planning a wedding/bathing in Cristal just yet, the light at the end of the tunnel has proved to be sunshine rather than the oncoming train we feared. We have finally been able to make some headway on long-overdue essential expenses as well as a couple of little treats.
So thirdly, I finally have the Panda Silk I have been lusting after since Christmas. I wasn't going to get it yet - at £6.45 per 50g ball it's expensive and technically there are more important things we should be spending money on - but Steve knew I was after it, so when he knew he'd been paid, he got on the phone to Anna at Web of Wool and arranged with her that he would pay for four balls of Panda Silk, for me to choose the colours I wanted when I came in for knitting group. And lo, for Mary did SQUEEE quite a lot before choosing two balls of blue-ey "denim tones" which I think will become socks, and two balls of green-ey "fern tones" which might become a shawl - I'm feeling brave enough to make a careful attempt at lace knitting and I've found an allegedly simple pattern.
Fourthly, and still in the knitting theme, I have finished the knitting for my jumper. I plan to start sewing it up as soon as I've been able to run Bloop around a bit, which I can't do just yet because it's still a bit antisocially early for a Sunday morning.
Fifthly, although you just know I'm going to lose count soon... Remember Georgette the Courgette? Well, she grew and grew and grew some more until she was festooned with very definitely identifiable yellow courgette fruits. And at this point things went runny, because although 101 people have offered 101 recipes for courgette, my kitchen skills for things like safely peeling and chopping and dealing with hot pans and so on are HIGHLY limited, and Steve is suspicious of vegetables in general, and in particular, vegetables that don't even have the courtesy to be green (tomatoes are apparently excused on the basis of being a core component of ketchup).
Not wanting the courgettes to go to waste, I asked our next-door neighbour if she wanted them and invited her to help herself at any time. She seemed very pleased about this, and I was happy too because I like it when I feel like I live in a community, next thing I knew, she offered to put some into a lasagne for us! Which she did, and Steve and I ate it last night with some nice ciabatta bread, and it was delicious and we ate every bit.
uh...
Nextly, I've had the paperwork for my DLA appeal through. This means I've seen the GP's report (short but supportive) and feel confident that yes, the DWP have ignored vast chunks of evidence and the appeal has a good chance.
There is a slight question-mark over getting to the appeal though. It's in a large building (too large for walking, I'd need to be pushed in the wheelchair) in Birmingham (which is too far away for a taxi and community transport has to be pre-booked which wouldn't work for the way home as I don't know how long it will take). I'm not sure, but I really doubt that my representative from the Welfare Rights place is also going to be able to drive me there and back, not to mention sit with me, push the wheelchair, and be a shoulder to cry on if it all goes horribly wrong. Even if she could, it's not her job. Steve should be able to take me and if he can, it's all good, but we have this horror that he might not be able to - you only get 14 days notice of the Appeal date which might not be enough for him to get a day off work - and we don't know if we could find anyone else to help. So on Monday I'm calling the Welfare Rights organisation to see if they have any ideas. They must have experienced this before. Still, at least that'll be an end of it one way or another. Which is a Good Thing.
And Finally, it looks like we might be getting some help from Social Services. No word yet on what you might call Daily help, but apparently as Steve is my sole carer, we're eligible for an emergency scheme whereby if he's suddenly hospitalised or something, an emergency carer will come and "live-in" with me to fulfil his role for up to 72 hours until something more sustainable, such as a short stay in a residential home or additional visiting care, can be arranged. Certain amount of paperwork, but isn't there always.
First of all, those persistent Unbloggables that have been filling up large parts of my headspace are now mostly resolved, and I wish I could explain better, but it's Someone Else's Business really.
Secondly, Steve's been paid, and while we're not buying a house/going on holiday/planning a wedding/bathing in Cristal just yet, the light at the end of the tunnel has proved to be sunshine rather than the oncoming train we feared. We have finally been able to make some headway on long-overdue essential expenses as well as a couple of little treats.
So thirdly, I finally have the Panda Silk I have been lusting after since Christmas. I wasn't going to get it yet - at £6.45 per 50g ball it's expensive and technically there are more important things we should be spending money on - but Steve knew I was after it, so when he knew he'd been paid, he got on the phone to Anna at Web of Wool and arranged with her that he would pay for four balls of Panda Silk, for me to choose the colours I wanted when I came in for knitting group. And lo, for Mary did SQUEEE quite a lot before choosing two balls of blue-ey "denim tones" which I think will become socks, and two balls of green-ey "fern tones" which might become a shawl - I'm feeling brave enough to make a careful attempt at lace knitting and I've found an allegedly simple pattern.
Fourthly, and still in the knitting theme, I have finished the knitting for my jumper. I plan to start sewing it up as soon as I've been able to run Bloop around a bit, which I can't do just yet because it's still a bit antisocially early for a Sunday morning.
Fifthly, although you just know I'm going to lose count soon... Remember Georgette the Courgette? Well, she grew and grew and grew some more until she was festooned with very definitely identifiable yellow courgette fruits. And at this point things went runny, because although 101 people have offered 101 recipes for courgette, my kitchen skills for things like safely peeling and chopping and dealing with hot pans and so on are HIGHLY limited, and Steve is suspicious of vegetables in general, and in particular, vegetables that don't even have the courtesy to be green (tomatoes are apparently excused on the basis of being a core component of ketchup).
Not wanting the courgettes to go to waste, I asked our next-door neighbour if she wanted them and invited her to help herself at any time. She seemed very pleased about this, and I was happy too because I like it when I feel like I live in a community, next thing I knew, she offered to put some into a lasagne for us! Which she did, and Steve and I ate it last night with some nice ciabatta bread, and it was delicious and we ate every bit.
uh...
Nextly, I've had the paperwork for my DLA appeal through. This means I've seen the GP's report (short but supportive) and feel confident that yes, the DWP have ignored vast chunks of evidence and the appeal has a good chance.
There is a slight question-mark over getting to the appeal though. It's in a large building (too large for walking, I'd need to be pushed in the wheelchair) in Birmingham (which is too far away for a taxi and community transport has to be pre-booked which wouldn't work for the way home as I don't know how long it will take). I'm not sure, but I really doubt that my representative from the Welfare Rights place is also going to be able to drive me there and back, not to mention sit with me, push the wheelchair, and be a shoulder to cry on if it all goes horribly wrong. Even if she could, it's not her job. Steve should be able to take me and if he can, it's all good, but we have this horror that he might not be able to - you only get 14 days notice of the Appeal date which might not be enough for him to get a day off work - and we don't know if we could find anyone else to help. So on Monday I'm calling the Welfare Rights organisation to see if they have any ideas. They must have experienced this before. Still, at least that'll be an end of it one way or another. Which is a Good Thing.
And Finally, it looks like we might be getting some help from Social Services. No word yet on what you might call Daily help, but apparently as Steve is my sole carer, we're eligible for an emergency scheme whereby if he's suddenly hospitalised or something, an emergency carer will come and "live-in" with me to fulfil his role for up to 72 hours until something more sustainable, such as a short stay in a residential home or additional visiting care, can be arranged. Certain amount of paperwork, but isn't there always.
Tuesday, July 08, 2008
Bloggers 1, MP 0
Two weeks on from the latest episode of the Remploy saga. Several thousand people have read that post, mostly thanks to links from prominent bloggers including Wat Tyler and NHS Blog Doctor.
As well as writing about the issue on my blog, I contacted my MP via the incredibly useful and informative They Work For You website. And the ball rolled...
The result of writing to my MP so far has been a pale yellow letter which arrived this morning, three lines thanking me for my correspondence and telling me that the matter is being raised with a "ministerial colleague" at DWP.
The result of blogging, however... the "Quality Matters" team at Remploy have seen my blog. They then did enough detective work to find my email address (not difficult given the amount of information they hold about me, but slightly more complicated than just clicking an 'email me' link) and sent me a nice email telling me that they are taking it seriously and starting an investigation. The investigation will be led by "a senior manager" from outside the department with whom the issues originated. They've given a timescale and provided me with a Service Level Agreement. They also replied immediately to my request that I be contacted by letter or email rather than by telephone. Even despite my usually high levels of cynicism, I'm feeling quite hopeful that the issue will be noted and taken seriously and maybe even avoided in future.
I also found out this morning that my MP is actually (sort of) connected to the DWP. He's one of the MPs who appears in this BBC News story which does a sterling job of confusing suspected or "potential" fraud, and overpayments due to cockups by the DWP, with actual Criminal Benefit Fraud as wilfully and successfully perpetrated by Very Bad People. Sigh.
As well as writing about the issue on my blog, I contacted my MP via the incredibly useful and informative They Work For You website. And the ball rolled...
The result of writing to my MP so far has been a pale yellow letter which arrived this morning, three lines thanking me for my correspondence and telling me that the matter is being raised with a "ministerial colleague" at DWP.
The result of blogging, however... the "Quality Matters" team at Remploy have seen my blog. They then did enough detective work to find my email address (not difficult given the amount of information they hold about me, but slightly more complicated than just clicking an 'email me' link) and sent me a nice email telling me that they are taking it seriously and starting an investigation. The investigation will be led by "a senior manager" from outside the department with whom the issues originated. They've given a timescale and provided me with a Service Level Agreement. They also replied immediately to my request that I be contacted by letter or email rather than by telephone. Even despite my usually high levels of cynicism, I'm feeling quite hopeful that the issue will be noted and taken seriously and maybe even avoided in future.
I also found out this morning that my MP is actually (sort of) connected to the DWP. He's one of the MPs who appears in this BBC News story which does a sterling job of confusing suspected or "potential" fraud, and overpayments due to cockups by the DWP, with actual Criminal Benefit Fraud as wilfully and successfully perpetrated by Very Bad People. Sigh.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
The Top Seekrit Project
It being several days since the recipient of the Top Seekrit Project recipificated it, I can now reveal that the Project was, in fact, this hairband.
The "pattern", such as it is, was very simple (Anna at Web Of Wool helped me figure it out).
Cast on 130 sts of 4ply yarn on 3.25mm needles.
6 rows stockinette, ending with a purl row.
Work fold line: (k2tog, yfwd) to end of row.
13 rows stockinette, ending with a purl row.
Work another fold line, (k2tog, yfwd) to end of row.
6 rows stockinette, ending with a knit row.
Cast off, embroider flowers, fold the fold lines, press, then sew the long seam along the underside of the hairband, and join the ends together.
Does anyone else find it kind of... deflating, when a month's work is condensed into seven short sentences?
I wrapped it up and sent it to my mother to look after until my sister's birthday last week. On the day itself, I phoned my sister and sung Happy Birthday at her. But she hadn't opened her presents yet (in fact I don't think she was out of bed) so I don't know if she liked it or not. Certainly she hasn't phoned, emailed, written or even texted to say thank-you... although she did text Steve to thank him for the happy-birthday text message he sent her... but then, some of you know her in Real Life. It could be that she didn't like the hairband, it could just be her being forgetful/thoughtless/rude, or it could be that I've managed to somehow upset her even from 200 miles away. Who knows.
This morning we had the first Jehovah's Witnesses since I've lived here. I opened the door and there were two women saying "hello, lovely to meet you!" and then actually trying to step up into the house. When I physically blocked them and asked who they were, they spotted that I was leaning on a walking stick. I've never seen such a look of... well, I don't know what it was. Pity? Revulsion? All remarks from that point on were addressed to the stick. Maybe they thought I was going to hit them with it. Maybe I should have done. Still, it does feel a lot more like I live here every time something like this happens. And that's nice.
Life is very steady at the moment. After the turbulence of the last twelve months or so (the benefit crap, the moving house, the new job, Christmas, the financial crisis, the further benefit crap, and any amount of nonblog Aaarg) we seem to have entered this nice, calm bay of serenity. Things are still far from perfect - money is still tight, I'm having a rough time with the illness and there's a list of things which need doing as long as my arm - but that's life. At least at the moment, everything critical is taken care of. I feel happier, more relaxed, and more fulfilled than I have done in quite some time. I think living with Steve has the curious dual benefit of being very sensible, but also very enjoyable. There are so many elements of our life together that make me disproportionately happy. One thing that gives me particular pleasure is making his lunches for him to take to work. Haute cuisine, it is not. It's basically a sandwich and a bit of fruit and some biscuits or similar. But it enables me to repay a little bit of 'looking after', and it's a simple thing, within my capabilities, that I know is appreciated, and that makes me feel good. I know it's a silly thing to blog about, but at the moment, I'm so contented, possibly more than I ever have been, and I want to kind of put that in my mental photo album to remember in the future.
The "pattern", such as it is, was very simple (Anna at Web Of Wool helped me figure it out).
Cast on 130 sts of 4ply yarn on 3.25mm needles.
6 rows stockinette, ending with a purl row.
Work fold line: (k2tog, yfwd) to end of row.
13 rows stockinette, ending with a purl row.
Work another fold line, (k2tog, yfwd) to end of row.
6 rows stockinette, ending with a knit row.
Cast off, embroider flowers, fold the fold lines, press, then sew the long seam along the underside of the hairband, and join the ends together.
Does anyone else find it kind of... deflating, when a month's work is condensed into seven short sentences?
I wrapped it up and sent it to my mother to look after until my sister's birthday last week. On the day itself, I phoned my sister and sung Happy Birthday at her. But she hadn't opened her presents yet (in fact I don't think she was out of bed) so I don't know if she liked it or not. Certainly she hasn't phoned, emailed, written or even texted to say thank-you... although she did text Steve to thank him for the happy-birthday text message he sent her... but then, some of you know her in Real Life. It could be that she didn't like the hairband, it could just be her being forgetful/thoughtless/rude, or it could be that I've managed to somehow upset her even from 200 miles away. Who knows.
This morning we had the first Jehovah's Witnesses since I've lived here. I opened the door and there were two women saying "hello, lovely to meet you!" and then actually trying to step up into the house. When I physically blocked them and asked who they were, they spotted that I was leaning on a walking stick. I've never seen such a look of... well, I don't know what it was. Pity? Revulsion? All remarks from that point on were addressed to the stick. Maybe they thought I was going to hit them with it. Maybe I should have done. Still, it does feel a lot more like I live here every time something like this happens. And that's nice.
Life is very steady at the moment. After the turbulence of the last twelve months or so (the benefit crap, the moving house, the new job, Christmas, the financial crisis, the further benefit crap, and any amount of nonblog Aaarg) we seem to have entered this nice, calm bay of serenity. Things are still far from perfect - money is still tight, I'm having a rough time with the illness and there's a list of things which need doing as long as my arm - but that's life. At least at the moment, everything critical is taken care of. I feel happier, more relaxed, and more fulfilled than I have done in quite some time. I think living with Steve has the curious dual benefit of being very sensible, but also very enjoyable. There are so many elements of our life together that make me disproportionately happy. One thing that gives me particular pleasure is making his lunches for him to take to work. Haute cuisine, it is not. It's basically a sandwich and a bit of fruit and some biscuits or similar. But it enables me to repay a little bit of 'looking after', and it's a simple thing, within my capabilities, that I know is appreciated, and that makes me feel good. I know it's a silly thing to blog about, but at the moment, I'm so contented, possibly more than I ever have been, and I want to kind of put that in my mental photo album to remember in the future.
Saturday, June 21, 2008
Naughty Remploy
The other day, I got a letter from Remploy. Here's a direct quote, with my flags in brackets:
"To enable us to validate your employment status (1) we require further evidence of your registration and job start. Therefore, we are writing to ask you to sign the enclosed documentation (2)(3) and provide us with a copy of [list of documents such as my work contract, payslips, etc]....
... We understand the inconvenience this gives you and to address this, we will give you with a £50.00 giro (sic) on receipt of this pack/evidence." (4)
To take these flags one at a time:
(1) Validate my employment status? Why? With whom? What for? The only people who need to know about my employment status are the DWP (who know), the Inland Revenue (who know), and me and my employer (who definitely know). My work is valid, my tax is valid, my NI is valid, what other validation could I possibly need? And why have they dressed it up in officialspeak to make it sound like it's something important and necessary while conveying no useful information?
(2) The "enclosed documentation" consists only of the signature pages of several forms. I have the parts of the forms which say "I confirm the above information is correct" (a couple also specify that I understand that the information I give may be checked by the DWP) but I have no idea what the above information may or may not consist of. In other words, there is no opportunity for me to actually read what they are telling me to sign. What?!? How can a company whose raison d'etre is dealing with "vulnerable adults" possibly get away with encouraging people to sign things they have not read?
(3) The dates which have already been written into these signature pages are all "27/10/07". The Jobcentre DEA didn't even begin to refer me to Remploy until our sole meeting which was 3 days after that date - and Remploy didn't contact me until early December, by which time I was happily employed. In other words, they are encouraging me to falsify evidence which, if it is checked with the DWP, will be proven false. With my signature on it.
(4) Is it just me who thinks that £50 is rather a lot of recompense for the "inconvenience" of four signatures and a few bits of paper? Even if I had to hire someone to do it for me and sent it by courier, it wouldn't cost me anything like that. Given the extreme dodginess of the false dates and the not-enclosed documentation, one might even go so far as to consider the possibility (*avoids lawsuit*) that this may, by some people, be considered tantamount to a bribe for falsifying documentation...
With all this in mind, I decided to call Remploy to find out what the hell they thought they were playing at. After a short time, the woman whose name was on the letter phoned me back (woman? Yes. I should probably point out that to the best of my knowledge the male Remploy employee who was trying to help me find a way around the hours/NI problem a few weeks ago was not involved in this at all).
First she told me to just sign the boxes indicated and pop it all in the prepaid envelope and she'd take care of the rest, nothing to worry about, and then I'd get my £50.
I told her I understood that much, but before I started signing things, I wanted to know what it was that I was actually signing. She said they were just doing some admin for their own purposes, it's nothing I need to worry about, I just need to sign the forms, and they'll give me £50.
I asked why I was being asked to sign documents I had not been given to read, she said she was just trying to save on postage costs (they're offering £50 per person and they're worried about an extra 50p postage?!). By this time she was getting really annoyed with how awkward I was being and told me that if I was going to insist on being sent the full documents then she could do that, but really, there's no need, it's nothing I need to worry about, I just have to sign the forms and then they'll give me £50.
I told her that the dates were false. She tried to explain that they had to backdate things. I told her that her false dates could be easily proven false by the DWPs own records as they predated my original referral, and that I wasn't going to sign false documentation. At this point she changed tack to "okay, fine, don't sign the forms then. Just put them through a shredder and forget about it." I find it interesting that she specified that if I wasn't going to return the paperwork, I should destroy it. Maybe, despite her incredible lack of understanding of acceptable (never mind best) practice, she's really hot on data protection... or maybe she doesn't want me to show it to anyone. Oops.
She didn't seem to get that this sort of thing just wasn't on, or why I didn't want to participate, or why I felt organisations like Remploy should really know better.
£50 is a LOT of money to me (half a week's wages! more than a week's food!) and it really is quite difficult to effectively turn down free money. I suspect there will be others who have been sent this kind of letter who've decided that £50 is £50, and cheerfully signed away.
I don't want to have missed out for nothing. I have to do something with this, "alert the proper authorities" or similar, but I don't know where to start or who the proper authorities might be. Remploy, so far as I can ascertain, is government-owned and government-funded, and I don't know who they answer to or how to complain. I did ask about their internal complaints procedure and was told that a complaint would come straight back to that department to resolve - in other words, it wouldn't go any higher up the ladder and no one would be held accountable for bad practice.
I know I'm asking this a lot lately, but what would YOU do?
"To enable us to validate your employment status (1) we require further evidence of your registration and job start. Therefore, we are writing to ask you to sign the enclosed documentation (2)(3) and provide us with a copy of [list of documents such as my work contract, payslips, etc]....
... We understand the inconvenience this gives you and to address this, we will give you with a £50.00 giro (sic) on receipt of this pack/evidence." (4)
To take these flags one at a time:
(1) Validate my employment status? Why? With whom? What for? The only people who need to know about my employment status are the DWP (who know), the Inland Revenue (who know), and me and my employer (who definitely know). My work is valid, my tax is valid, my NI is valid, what other validation could I possibly need? And why have they dressed it up in officialspeak to make it sound like it's something important and necessary while conveying no useful information?
(2) The "enclosed documentation" consists only of the signature pages of several forms. I have the parts of the forms which say "I confirm the above information is correct" (a couple also specify that I understand that the information I give may be checked by the DWP) but I have no idea what the above information may or may not consist of. In other words, there is no opportunity for me to actually read what they are telling me to sign. What?!? How can a company whose raison d'etre is dealing with "vulnerable adults" possibly get away with encouraging people to sign things they have not read?
(3) The dates which have already been written into these signature pages are all "27/10/07". The Jobcentre DEA didn't even begin to refer me to Remploy until our sole meeting which was 3 days after that date - and Remploy didn't contact me until early December, by which time I was happily employed. In other words, they are encouraging me to falsify evidence which, if it is checked with the DWP, will be proven false. With my signature on it.
(4) Is it just me who thinks that £50 is rather a lot of recompense for the "inconvenience" of four signatures and a few bits of paper? Even if I had to hire someone to do it for me and sent it by courier, it wouldn't cost me anything like that. Given the extreme dodginess of the false dates and the not-enclosed documentation, one might even go so far as to consider the possibility (*avoids lawsuit*) that this may, by some people, be considered tantamount to a bribe for falsifying documentation...
With all this in mind, I decided to call Remploy to find out what the hell they thought they were playing at. After a short time, the woman whose name was on the letter phoned me back (woman? Yes. I should probably point out that to the best of my knowledge the male Remploy employee who was trying to help me find a way around the hours/NI problem a few weeks ago was not involved in this at all).
First she told me to just sign the boxes indicated and pop it all in the prepaid envelope and she'd take care of the rest, nothing to worry about, and then I'd get my £50.
I told her I understood that much, but before I started signing things, I wanted to know what it was that I was actually signing. She said they were just doing some admin for their own purposes, it's nothing I need to worry about, I just need to sign the forms, and they'll give me £50.
I asked why I was being asked to sign documents I had not been given to read, she said she was just trying to save on postage costs (they're offering £50 per person and they're worried about an extra 50p postage?!). By this time she was getting really annoyed with how awkward I was being and told me that if I was going to insist on being sent the full documents then she could do that, but really, there's no need, it's nothing I need to worry about, I just have to sign the forms and then they'll give me £50.
I told her that the dates were false. She tried to explain that they had to backdate things. I told her that her false dates could be easily proven false by the DWPs own records as they predated my original referral, and that I wasn't going to sign false documentation. At this point she changed tack to "okay, fine, don't sign the forms then. Just put them through a shredder and forget about it." I find it interesting that she specified that if I wasn't going to return the paperwork, I should destroy it. Maybe, despite her incredible lack of understanding of acceptable (never mind best) practice, she's really hot on data protection... or maybe she doesn't want me to show it to anyone. Oops.
She didn't seem to get that this sort of thing just wasn't on, or why I didn't want to participate, or why I felt organisations like Remploy should really know better.
£50 is a LOT of money to me (half a week's wages! more than a week's food!) and it really is quite difficult to effectively turn down free money. I suspect there will be others who have been sent this kind of letter who've decided that £50 is £50, and cheerfully signed away.
I don't want to have missed out for nothing. I have to do something with this, "alert the proper authorities" or similar, but I don't know where to start or who the proper authorities might be. Remploy, so far as I can ascertain, is government-owned and government-funded, and I don't know who they answer to or how to complain. I did ask about their internal complaints procedure and was told that a complaint would come straight back to that department to resolve - in other words, it wouldn't go any higher up the ladder and no one would be held accountable for bad practice.
I know I'm asking this a lot lately, but what would YOU do?
Friday, June 20, 2008
Wahoo!
Remember the ongoing saga of the Tax Credits problems?
Today I checked my bank statement, as you do, and saw that on 9th June, a payment of just under £20 was made straight into my account with the reference "Working Tax Credit".
PANIC! I don't want Tax Credits! I don't want to be entangled with them at all! I have an ongoing dispute with them! Why are they putting money into my account with no explanation?!?
Straight on the phone to a chap called Bob, who had a dig through my file and found a letter, dated 3rd June, which has been sent to me, but hasn't arrived here yet. So he read out the relevant bits to me.
An overpayment was made to me in the tax year April 2004 to April 2005.
This Inland Revenue intended to recover this overpayment by reducing my Tax Credits payments during the tax year April 2005 to April 2006.
I spoilt this plan by getting sick and eventually losing my job in June 2005. So that is why, in July 2005, I got a bill for over £500, consisting of the original overpayment, minus the £20 they had already recovered by reducing the payments I'd received between April 2005 and June 2005.
Communications since then have been variations on a rather repetitive theme of:
"Give us money!"
"I don't have that much money. And even if I did, I'm not convinced I owe it to you."
"Oh. Okay. (pause) Give us money!"
However, the letter I haven't received yet apparently says that the Appeals and Complaints bunch have reviewed my case and decided that the overpayment was due to "official error" and as such has been written off. This means that the money they "recovered" between April and June 2005 was in fact my money, so I can have it back. That's what the mystery payment into my bank account was about.
I'm so relieved. I was going to blog about something very very naughty which Remploy have done, but this is so much better. I hated the idea of being in debt, I hated the idea that I had somehow incurred debt without knowing I was doing it, and the letters demanding repayment and threatening legal action were really, really upsetting. But it's all over now, and I don't have to deal with them again.
I would say I'll try not to spend all of my almost-£20 at once, but thinking about it, I've probably spent more than that in phone calls and postage and photocopying and so on during the three-year course of this dispute. Definitely worth it to not have a £500 debt over my head, though.
Today I checked my bank statement, as you do, and saw that on 9th June, a payment of just under £20 was made straight into my account with the reference "Working Tax Credit".
PANIC! I don't want Tax Credits! I don't want to be entangled with them at all! I have an ongoing dispute with them! Why are they putting money into my account with no explanation?!?
Straight on the phone to a chap called Bob, who had a dig through my file and found a letter, dated 3rd June, which has been sent to me, but hasn't arrived here yet. So he read out the relevant bits to me.
An overpayment was made to me in the tax year April 2004 to April 2005.
This Inland Revenue intended to recover this overpayment by reducing my Tax Credits payments during the tax year April 2005 to April 2006.
I spoilt this plan by getting sick and eventually losing my job in June 2005. So that is why, in July 2005, I got a bill for over £500, consisting of the original overpayment, minus the £20 they had already recovered by reducing the payments I'd received between April 2005 and June 2005.
Communications since then have been variations on a rather repetitive theme of:
"Give us money!"
"I don't have that much money. And even if I did, I'm not convinced I owe it to you."
"Oh. Okay. (pause) Give us money!"
However, the letter I haven't received yet apparently says that the Appeals and Complaints bunch have reviewed my case and decided that the overpayment was due to "official error" and as such has been written off. This means that the money they "recovered" between April and June 2005 was in fact my money, so I can have it back. That's what the mystery payment into my bank account was about.
I'm so relieved. I was going to blog about something very very naughty which Remploy have done, but this is so much better. I hated the idea of being in debt, I hated the idea that I had somehow incurred debt without knowing I was doing it, and the letters demanding repayment and threatening legal action were really, really upsetting. But it's all over now, and I don't have to deal with them again.
I would say I'll try not to spend all of my almost-£20 at once, but thinking about it, I've probably spent more than that in phone calls and postage and photocopying and so on during the three-year course of this dispute. Definitely worth it to not have a £500 debt over my head, though.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Mind the gap
So, over the last few months there's been a bit of a dip in my health, and work isn't getting any easier. Okay, so work isn't meant to be easy - if it was, they wouldn't have to pay people to do it. But this isn't "work knackers me out so much I can't go clubbing," this is more "work knackers me out so much that half the time it's hit-and-miss whether I can manage to have a shower, even with assistance," and that's really taking things too far. Of my daily "spoons", I'm prepared to hand most of them over for work, but I do need a few left for attending to my essential personal care needs, my bits and bobs of housework, my relationship with Steve, my friends and family, and - dare I suggest it? - a little bit of leisure activity beyond lying in bed sporadically knitting or poking at a laptop computer in between waves of pain. And I really should keep a couple of spoons in reserve for emergencies (like unconscious boyfriends, or mornings at the CAB).
For the last few months, I've been spending spoons I don't have, and reclaiming them by using my annual leave for days off work to recover. That's not sustainable. For starters, I don't have that many days of annual leave, and besides, that's not what annual leave is for. My boss, who is very nice, encourages me to take time off sick if I need it and I have taken some sick days, but I don't want to screw over him, the company, or my own sickness record, by taking a paid sick-day every week. But by pushing my limits like this, I am damaging my health in the long and short term. This cannot continue.
Solution: reduce my regular paid hours, for reasons of ill-health - work four short days a week rather than five. My boss is amenable to the idea; however, now there is a new issue. Since I am on a very low hourly rate, dropping this many hours will mean I no longer earn enough to be paying National Insurance.
National Insurance is very important. If you haven't paid enough National Insurance contributions ("the stamp"), you can't get benefits such as Incapacity Benefit or a state pension. When you have a long-term health condition, it's important to keep this safety net in place. If you are unable to work and claiming Incapacity Benefit, your stamp is paid. If I asked my doctor to sign me off as sick, and I stopped work altogether, I would automatically go back onto the rate of Incapacity Benefit which I was on before I started work. My stamp would then be paid and I would be financially "safe".
But I don't want to stop work altogether, and my doctor agrees that I don't need to stop work altogether. I just can't safely continue working this many hours without damaging my health. I fall into a kind of No-Man's-Land. I looked into voluntary National Insurance contributions, but at £8.10 a week that's out of the question - my earnings would be reduced to below-benefits-level because of working less hours, deducting another £8.10 a week on top of that just makes the whole thing silly. Who should I call to help figure this out? Roll call!
My boss continually assured me that as soon as I knew what I needed from them by way of adjustments, he would get it sorted out for me.
My doctor said she didn't know what the rules were - her specialist field is medicine, not employment, tax or welfare - but she assured me that she would support me with whatever I needed and offered that if necessary she would write me a very specific sicknote detailing that while I needed to work reduced hours, it would be detrimental for me to stop work entirely.
The Incapacity Benefit helpline took a while to understand that I didn't want to stop work completely and then told me they would get back to me with an answer (they never did). They also recommended I call the Disability Employment Adviser (DEA) at my local Jobcentre.
The local Jobcentre DEA, who we've met before, didn't even attempt to help me find a solution when she finally deigned to call me back, but gave me an earful about how "Incapacity Benefit is not a lifestyle choice just because you feel like working less." Happily this is the level of supportiveness and understanding that I have learned to expect from her, so after a few minutes I gave up on my efforts to explain that this wasn't about "choice" or about how many hours I "felt like doing", nor about an effort to "boost my income with benefits", and just let it go.
The local Jobcentre Incapacity advisor said much the same.
"You can work less hours and make voluntary NI contributions."
"But if I work less hours, I will have less money, and not be able to afford NI contributions."
"You can claim Tax Credits if you are poor."
"No, you can't claim Tax Credits if you work less than 16 hours a week."
"oh yes... well, your partner can claim Tax Credits on the basis that he has a low income and a dependent with a long-term health problem."
"My partner's a contractor, we'd have to fill in a new set of forms every week. Besides, it's not that we're poor as a household. It's that I want to pay my own way. I want independence, not to have to rely on him for handouts."
"Benefits isn't independence. Work is independence."
"But I'll be better off on Incapacity Benefit."
"I never said that..."
The CAB told me to contact the doctor, the IB helpline and the DEA at the local Jobcentre. When I said "done that" they were pretty much out of ideas and that I probably had no option but to give up work entirely. I told them I was waiting for a call back from Remploy. They said that was my best bet, then. Oh good.
The bloke from Remploy suggested that if I got back onto Incapacity Benefit, then I would be allowed to do Permitted Work. People doing Permitted Work keep their IB, and can work up to 16 hours and keep up to £88 of their earnings each week. But except in special cases, this is only for six months (after which you either go to full-time, or stop work completely).
I asked if there was a route that was more 'sustaining employment' than 'starting employment'. He told me that New Deal for Disabled People (NDDP) is being phased out and replaced by something called Pathways to Work. Pathways to Work have been active in my local area for about a month via a private company called Working Links. According to my Remploy chap, the staff at Working Links are fairly new to the game (obviously, since they've only been here for a month) and they took over a week to get an answer to him regarding my situation. The answer was that eligibility for help from Pathways to Work is dependent on having been on Incapacity Benefit for the previous 13 weeks. Which I haven't been. I've been working. So I can't have any help, unless I'm prepared to spend a quarter of a year being completely unemployed again and then hope that I can get my job back.
That's not helpful.
The biggest help so far has come from my boss and the company accountant. We've worked out the minimum number of hours I need to work to retain my NI contributions and that is how many hours I will be working as of this week. We've had to tweak a bit, basically from now on I will only be going in four days a week (giving me Wednesdays to recuperate as well as Saturdays and Sundays), but working an extra half-hour on those days. We'll have to see how well it goes. It's still more hours than my doctor and I think I really should be doing but at this stage it's better than completely giving up work.
Here's my options.
Option one: work 17.5 hours a week. National Insurance contributions paid. Take-home pay of about £88 a week, after tax, NI, transport costs etc. Working more hours than my doctor thinks I should. Precious few 'spoons' left.
Option two: work 12 hours a week. Take-home pay of about £57 a week after voluntary NI and transport costs. About the right number of hours work for my current state of health, and enough spoons left over to attend to basic daily needs (eg mountain-climbing: no, grocery shopping: yes).
Edit: I have been informed in the comments that voluntary NI counts towards one's pension, but is not counted for an Incapacity Benefit claim.
Option three: stop work and go back on IB. National Insurance contributions paid. Take-home pay of about £85 a week. All of my time and spoons to myself. However, no colleagues to chat to, no work goals to accomplish, no acceptable answer to the question "so, what do you do for a living?" and precious little self-respect.
What would you do?
For the last few months, I've been spending spoons I don't have, and reclaiming them by using my annual leave for days off work to recover. That's not sustainable. For starters, I don't have that many days of annual leave, and besides, that's not what annual leave is for. My boss, who is very nice, encourages me to take time off sick if I need it and I have taken some sick days, but I don't want to screw over him, the company, or my own sickness record, by taking a paid sick-day every week. But by pushing my limits like this, I am damaging my health in the long and short term. This cannot continue.
Solution: reduce my regular paid hours, for reasons of ill-health - work four short days a week rather than five. My boss is amenable to the idea; however, now there is a new issue. Since I am on a very low hourly rate, dropping this many hours will mean I no longer earn enough to be paying National Insurance.
National Insurance is very important. If you haven't paid enough National Insurance contributions ("the stamp"), you can't get benefits such as Incapacity Benefit or a state pension. When you have a long-term health condition, it's important to keep this safety net in place. If you are unable to work and claiming Incapacity Benefit, your stamp is paid. If I asked my doctor to sign me off as sick, and I stopped work altogether, I would automatically go back onto the rate of Incapacity Benefit which I was on before I started work. My stamp would then be paid and I would be financially "safe".
But I don't want to stop work altogether, and my doctor agrees that I don't need to stop work altogether. I just can't safely continue working this many hours without damaging my health. I fall into a kind of No-Man's-Land. I looked into voluntary National Insurance contributions, but at £8.10 a week that's out of the question - my earnings would be reduced to below-benefits-level because of working less hours, deducting another £8.10 a week on top of that just makes the whole thing silly. Who should I call to help figure this out? Roll call!
My boss continually assured me that as soon as I knew what I needed from them by way of adjustments, he would get it sorted out for me.
My doctor said she didn't know what the rules were - her specialist field is medicine, not employment, tax or welfare - but she assured me that she would support me with whatever I needed and offered that if necessary she would write me a very specific sicknote detailing that while I needed to work reduced hours, it would be detrimental for me to stop work entirely.
The Incapacity Benefit helpline took a while to understand that I didn't want to stop work completely and then told me they would get back to me with an answer (they never did). They also recommended I call the Disability Employment Adviser (DEA) at my local Jobcentre.
The local Jobcentre DEA, who we've met before, didn't even attempt to help me find a solution when she finally deigned to call me back, but gave me an earful about how "Incapacity Benefit is not a lifestyle choice just because you feel like working less." Happily this is the level of supportiveness and understanding that I have learned to expect from her, so after a few minutes I gave up on my efforts to explain that this wasn't about "choice" or about how many hours I "felt like doing", nor about an effort to "boost my income with benefits", and just let it go.
The local Jobcentre Incapacity advisor said much the same.
"You can work less hours and make voluntary NI contributions."
"But if I work less hours, I will have less money, and not be able to afford NI contributions."
"You can claim Tax Credits if you are poor."
"No, you can't claim Tax Credits if you work less than 16 hours a week."
"oh yes... well, your partner can claim Tax Credits on the basis that he has a low income and a dependent with a long-term health problem."
"My partner's a contractor, we'd have to fill in a new set of forms every week. Besides, it's not that we're poor as a household. It's that I want to pay my own way. I want independence, not to have to rely on him for handouts."
"Benefits isn't independence. Work is independence."
"But I'll be better off on Incapacity Benefit."
"I never said that..."
The CAB told me to contact the doctor, the IB helpline and the DEA at the local Jobcentre. When I said "done that" they were pretty much out of ideas and that I probably had no option but to give up work entirely. I told them I was waiting for a call back from Remploy. They said that was my best bet, then. Oh good.
The bloke from Remploy suggested that if I got back onto Incapacity Benefit, then I would be allowed to do Permitted Work. People doing Permitted Work keep their IB, and can work up to 16 hours and keep up to £88 of their earnings each week. But except in special cases, this is only for six months (after which you either go to full-time, or stop work completely).
I asked if there was a route that was more 'sustaining employment' than 'starting employment'. He told me that New Deal for Disabled People (NDDP) is being phased out and replaced by something called Pathways to Work. Pathways to Work have been active in my local area for about a month via a private company called Working Links. According to my Remploy chap, the staff at Working Links are fairly new to the game (obviously, since they've only been here for a month) and they took over a week to get an answer to him regarding my situation. The answer was that eligibility for help from Pathways to Work is dependent on having been on Incapacity Benefit for the previous 13 weeks. Which I haven't been. I've been working. So I can't have any help, unless I'm prepared to spend a quarter of a year being completely unemployed again and then hope that I can get my job back.
That's not helpful.
The biggest help so far has come from my boss and the company accountant. We've worked out the minimum number of hours I need to work to retain my NI contributions and that is how many hours I will be working as of this week. We've had to tweak a bit, basically from now on I will only be going in four days a week (giving me Wednesdays to recuperate as well as Saturdays and Sundays), but working an extra half-hour on those days. We'll have to see how well it goes. It's still more hours than my doctor and I think I really should be doing but at this stage it's better than completely giving up work.
Here's my options.
Option one: work 17.5 hours a week. National Insurance contributions paid. Take-home pay of about £88 a week, after tax, NI, transport costs etc. Working more hours than my doctor thinks I should. Precious few 'spoons' left.
Option two: work 12 hours a week. Take-home pay of about £57 a week after voluntary NI and transport costs. About the right number of hours work for my current state of health, and enough spoons left over to attend to basic daily needs (eg mountain-climbing: no, grocery shopping: yes).
Edit: I have been informed in the comments that voluntary NI counts towards one's pension, but is not counted for an Incapacity Benefit claim.
Option three: stop work and go back on IB. National Insurance contributions paid. Take-home pay of about £85 a week. All of my time and spoons to myself. However, no colleagues to chat to, no work goals to accomplish, no acceptable answer to the question "so, what do you do for a living?" and precious little self-respect.
What would you do?
Monday, June 09, 2008
Happy
If I said that, health-wise, I was feeling worse than usual, and the paperwork/benefits stuff was still a massive steaming pile of ongoing poo, but in terms of contentement with life, I was feeling really quite good... would you know what I meant?
So, I'm not too well, which is part of why I haven't been blogging. But it's been a gorgeous weekend. I've spent most of it in the living room with the patio door open, knitting and listening to the tweeting birdies and so on. Very relaxing.
Georgette the Courgette is doing well. If you clicky this linky you will see that she has been happily installed in a grow-bag of composty goodness, with two little strawberry plants (as yet un-named) to keep her company.
And on Sunday evening, Steve and I got in the car to meet Jiva and Munkt0n at some motorway services on their way back from Alton Towers. Which was nice... sitting outside on a bench with Steve, having a cuppa, and then friends turned up and we spent the evening chatting and relaxing. Jiva gave me some spare yarny from her stash which was unexpected and nice. It really is very tempting to spend a couple of hours on Ravelry trying to find some patterns for it, but I have promised myself that I will not fill up the house with half-finished items, so I will have to finish either the jumper or the socks first.
And finally, a quick mention for Tom Scott aka Mad Cap'n Tom, who has won his student union presidency as a pirate, upsetting any number of people in the process. Mwahahahaha.
So, I'm not too well, which is part of why I haven't been blogging. But it's been a gorgeous weekend. I've spent most of it in the living room with the patio door open, knitting and listening to the tweeting birdies and so on. Very relaxing.
Georgette the Courgette is doing well. If you clicky this linky you will see that she has been happily installed in a grow-bag of composty goodness, with two little strawberry plants (as yet un-named) to keep her company.
And on Sunday evening, Steve and I got in the car to meet Jiva and Munkt0n at some motorway services on their way back from Alton Towers. Which was nice... sitting outside on a bench with Steve, having a cuppa, and then friends turned up and we spent the evening chatting and relaxing. Jiva gave me some spare yarny from her stash which was unexpected and nice. It really is very tempting to spend a couple of hours on Ravelry trying to find some patterns for it, but I have promised myself that I will not fill up the house with half-finished items, so I will have to finish either the jumper or the socks first.
And finally, a quick mention for Tom Scott aka Mad Cap'n Tom, who has won his student union presidency as a pirate, upsetting any number of people in the process. Mwahahahaha.
Monday, June 02, 2008
Almost a jumper
Today is, I feel, a day for starting with the positive. So here is a picture of my work-in-progress jumper which, you will note, only needs Sleeve #2 and a little bit of sewing to make it an Actual Garment. I have made a start on Sleeve #2 and hopefully I will have it finished in a month or so. Definitely before the end of the year.
This morning we went to see a welfare advisor about the DLA appeal. I had to do a lot of signatures in the space of about ten minutes. Some were for paperwork to be sent to DWP and others were to confirm that I am allowing CAB to retain my information and whatnot. Serious hand-ache by the end of it - you could probably arrange the paperwork into the order I signed it just by how legible my autograph is on each piece. As I understand things, the advisor we saw today won't actually deal with my appeal. His role was more to advise us on whether we should appeal and how to go about it. But he's starting the appeal process for us and he's referring my case to another organisation, whose acronym I have forgotten, and someone from there will contact us to arrange to come to see us to go over things in depth. It all seems rather convoluted but at least the ball is rolling now.
Also on the positive, once that referral comes through we should be working with a named advisor on the basis of appointments. The CAB do their best, but they're over-stretched and under-staffed (almost entirely by volunteers) so you can't make an appointment - you have to turn up and wait, often several hours. If you're not prepared to wait, the theory goes, then your problems aren't that desperate. It's as fair as it can be, although I do feel sorry for people who wait patiently for a couple of hours but then leave before they get seen because they have to pick up their kids or get to work or whatnot. Today Steve and I were waiting just over two and a half hours, or, to put it another way, we'd arrived at the exact time the centre opened but we hadn't been queuing outside the door. Appointments will be much easier, not to mention less exhausting.
That said, despite the length of the wait, it wasn't so bad this time round. Rather than being held at the CAB proper in the town centre, it was a specific "Benefits and Debt Clinic" being held at a community centre which houses a hundred and one other things including a little subsidised cafe (you know the ones, lots of fruit and fairtrade stuff, no chocolate, crisps or fizzypop). So our two and a half hour wait took place while we were comfortably seated and enjoying a cuppa.
Georgette the Courgette is doing well. We have spent £1.49 on a bag of compost and now we're just wondering whether we have to find a container to put it in or if we can just use it like a grow-bag - to phrase it another way, will she need more depth or more width in her new home?
This morning we went to see a welfare advisor about the DLA appeal. I had to do a lot of signatures in the space of about ten minutes. Some were for paperwork to be sent to DWP and others were to confirm that I am allowing CAB to retain my information and whatnot. Serious hand-ache by the end of it - you could probably arrange the paperwork into the order I signed it just by how legible my autograph is on each piece. As I understand things, the advisor we saw today won't actually deal with my appeal. His role was more to advise us on whether we should appeal and how to go about it. But he's starting the appeal process for us and he's referring my case to another organisation, whose acronym I have forgotten, and someone from there will contact us to arrange to come to see us to go over things in depth. It all seems rather convoluted but at least the ball is rolling now.
Also on the positive, once that referral comes through we should be working with a named advisor on the basis of appointments. The CAB do their best, but they're over-stretched and under-staffed (almost entirely by volunteers) so you can't make an appointment - you have to turn up and wait, often several hours. If you're not prepared to wait, the theory goes, then your problems aren't that desperate. It's as fair as it can be, although I do feel sorry for people who wait patiently for a couple of hours but then leave before they get seen because they have to pick up their kids or get to work or whatnot. Today Steve and I were waiting just over two and a half hours, or, to put it another way, we'd arrived at the exact time the centre opened but we hadn't been queuing outside the door. Appointments will be much easier, not to mention less exhausting.
That said, despite the length of the wait, it wasn't so bad this time round. Rather than being held at the CAB proper in the town centre, it was a specific "Benefits and Debt Clinic" being held at a community centre which houses a hundred and one other things including a little subsidised cafe (you know the ones, lots of fruit and fairtrade stuff, no chocolate, crisps or fizzypop). So our two and a half hour wait took place while we were comfortably seated and enjoying a cuppa.
Georgette the Courgette is doing well. We have spent £1.49 on a bag of compost and now we're just wondering whether we have to find a container to put it in or if we can just use it like a grow-bag - to phrase it another way, will she need more depth or more width in her new home?
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Crudnuggets
Turned down for DLA again.
40-odd pages of my answers to their questions, plus "supporting evidence" in the form of a specialist's report, two pages of prescriptions, five statements from different people who know me in various capacities, contact details for the people I get practical help from, a statement from my last Incapacity review from one of the DWP's own 'healthcare professionals' agreeing that (to put it in layman's terms) I'm pretty disabled and not likely to improve in the forseeable future... on top of which, my GP is supporting my claim. How much more could they possibly want or need?
Co-worker#1 is convinced that it's an administrative error of some kind - that they've lost some of the paperwork, or that there was a big stack of applications in a tray marked 'for rejection' and mine went in there by mistake.
Suggestions from other people have included that the Decision Maker looked at my massive bundle'o'papers and said something along the lines of Stuff This For A Game Of Soldiers, I Want To Be Home By 5pm; or that the daunting-ness of an Appeal is being used to discourage claimants.
I have no idea, and neither does Steve. We are going to Appeal. If nothing else, the outline of reasons given is a complete contradiction of the evidence which I and everybody else signed off as being true. For example, the letter states I am "not at risk of falling". Almost every piece of evidence that was submitted explains in plain language that faints, falls and stumbles are a several-times-a-day feature of my condition and that I regularly injure myself in the process.
Then again, the comments relating to my condition weren't the only items of fiction in that letter. The very last sentence was a beautiful example. In serious, bold font, it told me "The enclosed leaflet contains important information you should read now." Was there an enclosed leaflet? No. Were the nice helpline people surprised when I phoned and said "I have no leaflet"? No. They're sending a copy of the leaflet out to me.
*sigh*
Steve and I have spent a while on the Benefits and Work website and have downloaded a wonderful 16-page pdf about DLA Appeals, full of simple step-by-step information about what happens at each stage. The Appeals process still looks daunting, but at least now it's a known quantity of daunt.
We phoned the CAB (the CAB here is only physically open three part-days a week) who have referred us to a drop-in 'Benefits and Debt Advice Clinic' at a local health centre on Monday.
***
In other, much much much more positive news - Steve has passed his final CCNP exam with flying colours (a perfect 100% in all but one section where he only got 87% which is still significantly above the pass-mark) so hopefully the general situation will improve soon.
40-odd pages of my answers to their questions, plus "supporting evidence" in the form of a specialist's report, two pages of prescriptions, five statements from different people who know me in various capacities, contact details for the people I get practical help from, a statement from my last Incapacity review from one of the DWP's own 'healthcare professionals' agreeing that (to put it in layman's terms) I'm pretty disabled and not likely to improve in the forseeable future... on top of which, my GP is supporting my claim. How much more could they possibly want or need?
Co-worker#1 is convinced that it's an administrative error of some kind - that they've lost some of the paperwork, or that there was a big stack of applications in a tray marked 'for rejection' and mine went in there by mistake.
Suggestions from other people have included that the Decision Maker looked at my massive bundle'o'papers and said something along the lines of Stuff This For A Game Of Soldiers, I Want To Be Home By 5pm; or that the daunting-ness of an Appeal is being used to discourage claimants.
I have no idea, and neither does Steve. We are going to Appeal. If nothing else, the outline of reasons given is a complete contradiction of the evidence which I and everybody else signed off as being true. For example, the letter states I am "not at risk of falling". Almost every piece of evidence that was submitted explains in plain language that faints, falls and stumbles are a several-times-a-day feature of my condition and that I regularly injure myself in the process.
Then again, the comments relating to my condition weren't the only items of fiction in that letter. The very last sentence was a beautiful example. In serious, bold font, it told me "The enclosed leaflet contains important information you should read now." Was there an enclosed leaflet? No. Were the nice helpline people surprised when I phoned and said "I have no leaflet"? No. They're sending a copy of the leaflet out to me.
*sigh*
Steve and I have spent a while on the Benefits and Work website and have downloaded a wonderful 16-page pdf about DLA Appeals, full of simple step-by-step information about what happens at each stage. The Appeals process still looks daunting, but at least now it's a known quantity of daunt.
We phoned the CAB (the CAB here is only physically open three part-days a week) who have referred us to a drop-in 'Benefits and Debt Advice Clinic' at a local health centre on Monday.
***
In other, much much much more positive news - Steve has passed his final CCNP exam with flying colours (a perfect 100% in all but one section where he only got 87% which is still significantly above the pass-mark) so hopefully the general situation will improve soon.
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
A green thing
Ladies and gentlemen, meet Georgette the Courgette. Georgette has been given to me by my lovely friend Mandy of the Tuesday knitters. As you will see from this post, Mandy is quite the gardener.
I am not.
I wasn't sure how to respond last night when I was offered a courgette plant. In retrospect, I should have come out with something slightly less blunt than my chosen "what am I supposed to do with this, apart from kill it?" Apparently it's really easy, all I have to do is "pot it on" (wtf?) and "feed it" (bbq?) and when it produces edible fruit, cook it and eat it (lol). The offer turned into insistence and next thing I knew, Steve was driving me home with this plant on my lap.
I really am more Margo than Barbara. Even if I had the physical capacity to dig a garden, I'd still be lacking the inclination. I will do my best with Georgette (the internet has already indicated that courgettes are also known as Zucchini, and that they are amongst the easiest vegetables to cultivate, which is promising) but I suggest that no one holds their breath for an invite to share home-grown dinner with me any time soon.
I am not.
I wasn't sure how to respond last night when I was offered a courgette plant. In retrospect, I should have come out with something slightly less blunt than my chosen "what am I supposed to do with this, apart from kill it?" Apparently it's really easy, all I have to do is "pot it on" (wtf?) and "feed it" (bbq?) and when it produces edible fruit, cook it and eat it (lol). The offer turned into insistence and next thing I knew, Steve was driving me home with this plant on my lap.
I really am more Margo than Barbara. Even if I had the physical capacity to dig a garden, I'd still be lacking the inclination. I will do my best with Georgette (the internet has already indicated that courgettes are also known as Zucchini, and that they are amongst the easiest vegetables to cultivate, which is promising) but I suggest that no one holds their breath for an invite to share home-grown dinner with me any time soon.
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Still preferable to Eurovision
Steve gave me a scare yesterday evening.
It started off gently, as these things do. Late in the afternoon, he got a headache, and decided that the sensible thing to do would be to scoff half a packet of biscuits and a paracetamol tablet. He hates taking any kind of medication and only does it when there's no alternative, but it seemed to help a bit, and after a while we started thinking about dinner. We decided that fishfingers held about the right level of challenge for the evening and turned on the oven to preheat.
Steve started on the washing-up, but then he started feeling worse again and went for a lie-down. No problem, I do that all the time. So I took over the washing up, a little bit at a time like I do. About half an hour later I had finished. The oven having preheated, I decided I was feeling well enough to manage to heat up some fishfingers without close supervision, so I called up the stairs to see how many he wanted.
No response.
So I clambered up a few stairs and shouted again. And again. No response. That's quite unusual. Certainly unusual enough for me to think it worthwhile crawling the rest of the way up the stairs to investigate. I found Steve in bed, sound asleep. Aww, bless. I sat on the bed next to him and tried to wake him up.
"Steeeeeeviiiieeee....."
No response.
"Steve, wake up, it's dinnertime."
No response.
"Steve?" gentle shaking "I just want to know how many fishfingers you want."
No response.
Rather more enthusiastic shaking "Steve, wake up, stop pissing about, this isn't funny."
No response.
So I tried a few more things. The only things that got any kind of physical or audible reaction were very loud noises, vigorous shaking, and pinching him - and even then, it wasn't words, his eyes flickered but didn't open, he didn't try to pull away, he just flinched and grunted. I could not wake him up.
Now don't get me wrong, Steve is the sort of man who has deep affection for his duvet. It's practically impossible to get him out of bed and up and dressed unless there's something concrete that he has to do, like go to work or catch a train. But it's fairly easy to wake him up and he goes from asleep to responsive and brain-functioning really quickly.
Knowing how much he detests doctors and hospitals, I tried another tactic. I shook his shoulder until I got another grunt out of him and then told him loud and clear "If you don't wake up, I'm going to call 999."
No response.
Crap. This really wasn't just a love of the duvet. Something was wrong, and to do nothing and assume he'd wake up in a little while would be tantamount to negligence. But, on the other hand, he was breathing quite normally and wasn't turning funny colours, no blood, no limbs missing, no trauma, and he wasn't totally out-cold-unconscious, so was 999 appropriate?
My first thought was to call the GP, but quite apart from the fact that it was Saturday evening, Steve doesn't have a GP. Heigh-ho, NHS Direct it would have to be.
After 15 minutes on the phone to NHS Direct, giving all relevant details, and prodding and shaking and shouting at Steve as instructed (and still getting no response), the nurse put it to me that this was not normal and that she would like to put me through to a 999 operator in order to send an ambulance so that Steve could be checked over.
I come out with some stupid comments sometimes. But, "I'm sure he'll come round in a minute," after trying to rouse him for close on half an hour, has to be in the top twenty at least. She put me through.
Ambulance Control already had a certain amount of information from NHS Direct, so I just had to confirm my address and stuff. At that point, apropos of nothing, Steve moved. I told the 999 guy this, but he said that even if Steve properly woke up, he needed to be checked out anyway, and that in the meantime, I should stay with Steve, make sure he kept breathing, help him if he vomited and so on.
"No problem," said Mary.
"OK," said 999 guy. "The ambulance is on the way (I'd heard they weren't allowed to say that). Shut away any pets, open the front door of the house, and wave down the ambulance when it gets to you."
"No problem," said Mary. "Thank you. Goodbye."
As I hung up, I realised that it was in fact physically impossible to stay with Steve, in the bedroom upstairs, and also open the front door, which (and I realise this is rather unoriginal) is downstairs. Added to which, it takes me over a minute to get myself up or down a flight of stairs at the best of times. And I hadn't thought to mention this to anyone.
Just to make things even better, at this point Steve stirred again, sat upright, went horribly pale, and fell back down onto the bed again. Well, mostly onto.
Swearing may have occurred. I got him settled, although still not awake, then slid down the stairs to unlock and prop open the door. Then I sat four steps up the stairs, so that I would be able to hear any movement from Steve upstairs or an ambulance outside.
The ambulance arrived a couple of minutes later. I lurched forwards to greet it... as Mr Dazed and Confused staggered out of the bedroom to find out what was going on (well, that's what he says he meant, this being the first part of the proceedings that he has any recollection of. At the time it came out as more "wstfgl?"). He reached the bottom of the stairs at about the same time as the ambulance people. Half an hour of no responses to anything I said or did and then seconds before help arrives, he's up and about. I though only toddlers were supposed to do that?
Poor Steve then got his finger stabbed and a light shone in his eyes and cold things stuck to his chest while he was still barely awake and wondering why there were loud people in green outfits in his house. I think he'd have preferred a cup of coffee. Still, he was steadily waking up more and more, so I was happy about that. I think given a choice between feeling like a wally, and rushing to A&E with an unconscious boyfriend, I'll opt for 'wally' every time.
Eventually, the ambulance people decided that he didn't need to go to hospital but that he should see his GP (ahem) and probably see about getting painkillers that aren't paracetamol-based. I don't believe Steve has any intention of doing anything so sensible, but it was a relief to be able to re-set the evening from 'hospital?' back to the original plan of 'fishfingers'.
He's fine, though. There are two ways of telling.
Firstly, he won't stop teasing me, big meanie that he is. :(
Secondly, the ambulance people left behind the finger-stabbity-clicky thing. It's meant to be single-use. It's not any more. Engineers...
It started off gently, as these things do. Late in the afternoon, he got a headache, and decided that the sensible thing to do would be to scoff half a packet of biscuits and a paracetamol tablet. He hates taking any kind of medication and only does it when there's no alternative, but it seemed to help a bit, and after a while we started thinking about dinner. We decided that fishfingers held about the right level of challenge for the evening and turned on the oven to preheat.
Steve started on the washing-up, but then he started feeling worse again and went for a lie-down. No problem, I do that all the time. So I took over the washing up, a little bit at a time like I do. About half an hour later I had finished. The oven having preheated, I decided I was feeling well enough to manage to heat up some fishfingers without close supervision, so I called up the stairs to see how many he wanted.
No response.
So I clambered up a few stairs and shouted again. And again. No response. That's quite unusual. Certainly unusual enough for me to think it worthwhile crawling the rest of the way up the stairs to investigate. I found Steve in bed, sound asleep. Aww, bless. I sat on the bed next to him and tried to wake him up.
"Steeeeeeviiiieeee....."
No response.
"Steve, wake up, it's dinnertime."
No response.
"Steve?" gentle shaking "I just want to know how many fishfingers you want."
No response.
Rather more enthusiastic shaking "Steve, wake up, stop pissing about, this isn't funny."
No response.
So I tried a few more things. The only things that got any kind of physical or audible reaction were very loud noises, vigorous shaking, and pinching him - and even then, it wasn't words, his eyes flickered but didn't open, he didn't try to pull away, he just flinched and grunted. I could not wake him up.
Now don't get me wrong, Steve is the sort of man who has deep affection for his duvet. It's practically impossible to get him out of bed and up and dressed unless there's something concrete that he has to do, like go to work or catch a train. But it's fairly easy to wake him up and he goes from asleep to responsive and brain-functioning really quickly.
Knowing how much he detests doctors and hospitals, I tried another tactic. I shook his shoulder until I got another grunt out of him and then told him loud and clear "If you don't wake up, I'm going to call 999."
No response.
Crap. This really wasn't just a love of the duvet. Something was wrong, and to do nothing and assume he'd wake up in a little while would be tantamount to negligence. But, on the other hand, he was breathing quite normally and wasn't turning funny colours, no blood, no limbs missing, no trauma, and he wasn't totally out-cold-unconscious, so was 999 appropriate?
My first thought was to call the GP, but quite apart from the fact that it was Saturday evening, Steve doesn't have a GP. Heigh-ho, NHS Direct it would have to be.
After 15 minutes on the phone to NHS Direct, giving all relevant details, and prodding and shaking and shouting at Steve as instructed (and still getting no response), the nurse put it to me that this was not normal and that she would like to put me through to a 999 operator in order to send an ambulance so that Steve could be checked over.
I come out with some stupid comments sometimes. But, "I'm sure he'll come round in a minute," after trying to rouse him for close on half an hour, has to be in the top twenty at least. She put me through.
Ambulance Control already had a certain amount of information from NHS Direct, so I just had to confirm my address and stuff. At that point, apropos of nothing, Steve moved. I told the 999 guy this, but he said that even if Steve properly woke up, he needed to be checked out anyway, and that in the meantime, I should stay with Steve, make sure he kept breathing, help him if he vomited and so on.
"No problem," said Mary.
"OK," said 999 guy. "The ambulance is on the way (I'd heard they weren't allowed to say that). Shut away any pets, open the front door of the house, and wave down the ambulance when it gets to you."
"No problem," said Mary. "Thank you. Goodbye."
As I hung up, I realised that it was in fact physically impossible to stay with Steve, in the bedroom upstairs, and also open the front door, which (and I realise this is rather unoriginal) is downstairs. Added to which, it takes me over a minute to get myself up or down a flight of stairs at the best of times. And I hadn't thought to mention this to anyone.
Just to make things even better, at this point Steve stirred again, sat upright, went horribly pale, and fell back down onto the bed again. Well, mostly onto.
Swearing may have occurred. I got him settled, although still not awake, then slid down the stairs to unlock and prop open the door. Then I sat four steps up the stairs, so that I would be able to hear any movement from Steve upstairs or an ambulance outside.
The ambulance arrived a couple of minutes later. I lurched forwards to greet it... as Mr Dazed and Confused staggered out of the bedroom to find out what was going on (well, that's what he says he meant, this being the first part of the proceedings that he has any recollection of. At the time it came out as more "wstfgl?"). He reached the bottom of the stairs at about the same time as the ambulance people. Half an hour of no responses to anything I said or did and then seconds before help arrives, he's up and about. I though only toddlers were supposed to do that?
Poor Steve then got his finger stabbed and a light shone in his eyes and cold things stuck to his chest while he was still barely awake and wondering why there were loud people in green outfits in his house. I think he'd have preferred a cup of coffee. Still, he was steadily waking up more and more, so I was happy about that. I think given a choice between feeling like a wally, and rushing to A&E with an unconscious boyfriend, I'll opt for 'wally' every time.
Eventually, the ambulance people decided that he didn't need to go to hospital but that he should see his GP (ahem) and probably see about getting painkillers that aren't paracetamol-based. I don't believe Steve has any intention of doing anything so sensible, but it was a relief to be able to re-set the evening from 'hospital?' back to the original plan of 'fishfingers'.
He's fine, though. There are two ways of telling.
Firstly, he won't stop teasing me, big meanie that he is. :(
Secondly, the ambulance people left behind the finger-stabbity-clicky thing. It's meant to be single-use. It's not any more. Engineers...
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Finished Object: Birthday socks
Hooray, hooray, what a wonderful day, for I have finished my Birthday Socks!
Actually I finished them a few days ago, but what with the miserable weather and everything going on, I didn't get round to photographing them. And what with the miserable Unbloggables going on, I didn't get round to blogging about socks, because really, I have too many things in my life to care about this month which is kind of making knitting accomplishments fade into the back files of my brain. And you can see how bright these socks are - that's some serious fading.
If there's something I'm supposed to be doing for you (writing or making or calling or fixing or whatever) and I haven't done it or I'm late with it, I'm honestly sorry. Odds are I haven't forgotten (Clare and Anne in particular, you are on the Whiteboard of Memory and I will get to it) but a reminder never hurts.
I have also finished and photographed the Top Seekrit Project. I will publish the pictures and the pattern (such as it is) in about a month, when the recipient has recipificated it. Suffice to say I am happy with it, and having a bit of an Umm-Ah about whether I should make another one for myself.
Actually I finished them a few days ago, but what with the miserable weather and everything going on, I didn't get round to photographing them. And what with the miserable Unbloggables going on, I didn't get round to blogging about socks, because really, I have too many things in my life to care about this month which is kind of making knitting accomplishments fade into the back files of my brain. And you can see how bright these socks are - that's some serious fading.
If there's something I'm supposed to be doing for you (writing or making or calling or fixing or whatever) and I haven't done it or I'm late with it, I'm honestly sorry. Odds are I haven't forgotten (Clare and Anne in particular, you are on the Whiteboard of Memory and I will get to it) but a reminder never hurts.
I have also finished and photographed the Top Seekrit Project. I will publish the pictures and the pattern (such as it is) in about a month, when the recipient has recipificated it. Suffice to say I am happy with it, and having a bit of an Umm-Ah about whether I should make another one for myself.
Saturday, May 17, 2008
Careers Advice
My teachers at school had high hopes for me ten years ago, when I finished my compulsory schooling and looked down the barrel of sixth-form. I wasn't a genius or anything, but I was a good all-rounder who was generally in the top five of the class in any given subject, with the exceptions of PE and Design Tech. It was even in the reference my form tutor wrote me - "Mary will be spoilt for choice of which A-levels to take."
If you'd told those teachers that in ten years time I would be scraping almost-minimum wage doing a trained-chimp job where I wear trainers to work, they probably would have looked very confused and checked that you were talking about the same Mary.
But, none of them would have been able to give you much of an idea what I would be doing. I was and am reasonably good at all sorts of things, but nothing has ever stood out enough to indicate a specific career of any kind.
At the moment, I am happy as a CD dispatcher. Some of the most important factors for me working are: that I have a flexible and open-minded employer; that my colleagues are sensible and understanding about my particular needs; and that it will not cause death and destruction if I am suddenly crumple up with a migraine (for instance, I should never be an air traffic controller).
In my current job, I have all of that and more. My boss and co-workers are supportive without being patronising, and if for whatever reason I can't work, then the worst that happens is a customer has to wait an extra day for a CD, which to my knowledge, is not the sort of thing that the fate of the free world depends on. We even have a good selection of drinks and biscuits provided in the office kitchen cupboard. That's the sort of perk that isn't to be taken lightly. Some of the most highly-paid career-people I know are jealous of me, as they feed their 20ps into the vending machines in the corridors of their corporate workplaces to obtain a styrofoam cup of alleged tea.
That said, no one should be surprised that I have no desire to be a CD dispatcher for the next ten years. No matter how lovely the people or the workplace might be, the job itself is tiring*, boring, low-paid, unchallenging, and probably not the best use of those all-rounder skills. Furthermore, since I have no interest in classical music, I have no promotion prospects within my current firm.
But, like my teachers ten years ago, I have absolutely no idea what I should be doing. My tragic realisation that, once I got past the age of 18, no one would give a monkey's about the school qualifications I worked so hard for, has not helped.
Some things I won't be doing no matter what. I'm not going to be an astronaut or a doctor or a lawyer or a rally driver or CEO at Microsoft. It's just not on the cards.
There's the stuff I used to do, "helping disabled and disadvantaged people into training and employment"... I was reasonably good at it and I did enjoy it, but these days I think it would be a little bit too close to the bone. I would flinch at having to deal with the Department of Work and Pensions in my work life and my personal life. In fact, this acquired mindset where I regard the DWP as "to be avoided at all costs", probably prevents me from doing most of the sort of social-care kind of work that would, how can I put this, make my Mother proud.
I can think of a hundred new things I could try (given support as appropriate) but most of them, such as being a teacher or a hairdresser or an accountant, would require me to spend a year or more getting qualified first. That isn't a problem. I'd be quite happy to spend a year or so at college, if I had a goal in sight. But I have no idea what I'd want to study and it seems pointless to study just for the sake of it, to put time an effort into doing a course on no real basis other that it happens to be running at the nearest college.
So for now at least, and until any better plans present themselves, I trundle along with the picking and packing CDs.
* The 'tiring' thing is the big problem at the moment. The 'Christmas rush' hasn't subsided, which is great for the company, but not great for me, as I really cannot maintain this level of daily physical effort. My boss would be happy to consider reduced hours, flexitime and so on, the trouble is that if I dip below 16 hours per week then my wages dip to 'better off on benefit' level. If I was a client of the company I used to work for, then I would be put on Supported Permitted Work which allows people who can only work part-time for disability reasons to keep a certain amount of earnings on top of Incapacity Benefit. But the local DEA (as featured previously) won't help, she just tells me I can work 16+ hours or not at all. I have an appointment with my GP next week, maybe she'll have some ideas.
I am also, god help me, considering Tax Credits, on the basis that if I have to wrangle with them ad infinitum anyway, I might as well do a smidge more wrangling and actually get something for it.
If you'd told those teachers that in ten years time I would be scraping almost-minimum wage doing a trained-chimp job where I wear trainers to work, they probably would have looked very confused and checked that you were talking about the same Mary.
But, none of them would have been able to give you much of an idea what I would be doing. I was and am reasonably good at all sorts of things, but nothing has ever stood out enough to indicate a specific career of any kind.
At the moment, I am happy as a CD dispatcher. Some of the most important factors for me working are: that I have a flexible and open-minded employer; that my colleagues are sensible and understanding about my particular needs; and that it will not cause death and destruction if I am suddenly crumple up with a migraine (for instance, I should never be an air traffic controller).
In my current job, I have all of that and more. My boss and co-workers are supportive without being patronising, and if for whatever reason I can't work, then the worst that happens is a customer has to wait an extra day for a CD, which to my knowledge, is not the sort of thing that the fate of the free world depends on. We even have a good selection of drinks and biscuits provided in the office kitchen cupboard. That's the sort of perk that isn't to be taken lightly. Some of the most highly-paid career-people I know are jealous of me, as they feed their 20ps into the vending machines in the corridors of their corporate workplaces to obtain a styrofoam cup of alleged tea.
That said, no one should be surprised that I have no desire to be a CD dispatcher for the next ten years. No matter how lovely the people or the workplace might be, the job itself is tiring*, boring, low-paid, unchallenging, and probably not the best use of those all-rounder skills. Furthermore, since I have no interest in classical music, I have no promotion prospects within my current firm.
But, like my teachers ten years ago, I have absolutely no idea what I should be doing. My tragic realisation that, once I got past the age of 18, no one would give a monkey's about the school qualifications I worked so hard for, has not helped.
Some things I won't be doing no matter what. I'm not going to be an astronaut or a doctor or a lawyer or a rally driver or CEO at Microsoft. It's just not on the cards.
There's the stuff I used to do, "helping disabled and disadvantaged people into training and employment"... I was reasonably good at it and I did enjoy it, but these days I think it would be a little bit too close to the bone. I would flinch at having to deal with the Department of Work and Pensions in my work life and my personal life. In fact, this acquired mindset where I regard the DWP as "to be avoided at all costs", probably prevents me from doing most of the sort of social-care kind of work that would, how can I put this, make my Mother proud.
I can think of a hundred new things I could try (given support as appropriate) but most of them, such as being a teacher or a hairdresser or an accountant, would require me to spend a year or more getting qualified first. That isn't a problem. I'd be quite happy to spend a year or so at college, if I had a goal in sight. But I have no idea what I'd want to study and it seems pointless to study just for the sake of it, to put time an effort into doing a course on no real basis other that it happens to be running at the nearest college.
So for now at least, and until any better plans present themselves, I trundle along with the picking and packing CDs.
* The 'tiring' thing is the big problem at the moment. The 'Christmas rush' hasn't subsided, which is great for the company, but not great for me, as I really cannot maintain this level of daily physical effort. My boss would be happy to consider reduced hours, flexitime and so on, the trouble is that if I dip below 16 hours per week then my wages dip to 'better off on benefit' level. If I was a client of the company I used to work for, then I would be put on Supported Permitted Work which allows people who can only work part-time for disability reasons to keep a certain amount of earnings on top of Incapacity Benefit. But the local DEA (as featured previously) won't help, she just tells me I can work 16+ hours or not at all. I have an appointment with my GP next week, maybe she'll have some ideas.
I am also, god help me, considering Tax Credits, on the basis that if I have to wrangle with them ad infinitum anyway, I might as well do a smidge more wrangling and actually get something for it.
Thursday, May 08, 2008
Poddling Along
Observant readers will have spotted that there hasn't been a great deal of news on the knitting front. However, knitting was what got suggested in the comments to my previous post, so, here's the news: I am still working on the jumper that I started at about the same time I moved in with Steve. I have one-and-two-thirds sleeves left to go, plus a certain amount of sewing up. I am also still working on my birthday socks. It took a month to do the first sock, but I'm still a certain way off finishing the second. Twenty more rounds and then it's the toe decreases, for those In The Know.
There are various reasons for the lack of knitting progress. There was the DLA form-filling, and there was a shoulder injury, and there were a couple of phases where I rediscovered addictions to computer games like The Sims 2 and Settlers. There is also, the Top Seekrit Project.
The Top Seekrit Project is a ******** that I have made for ******. It's ****, just like the *** I made previously, with cute little ******s on it just like on ** ****** ****. I finished knitting it a couple of days ago and now I'm just doing the final sewing-up and blocking. It is just a smidge too big, but I feel quite confident I can find a way around that. I think I have enough of the yarn left that I could make one for myself as well. Tempting.
I can't try it on right now though, because I am covered in sun-cream after a fantastic Day Off Work. It's been the first "normal" day of work I've had from this job, by which I mean, it wasn't because I was sick and in bed, or because I had Plans, or because it was a weekend/bank holiday to be spent cowering indoors from the crowds and traffic (seriously, have you ever tried to propel a mobility scooter through a Saturday shopping crowd? not possible, unless you fit blades to the wheels). It was just a gorgeous day, a weekday, a sunny day. So first I went to Boots, for the purchase of sun-cream, and then, having applied said sun-cream, continued on to the book shop. Half an hour later, I'd finally spent my Christmas Book Tokens, and then it was onwards to the park, where I relaxed in the sunshine or in the dappled shade of the trees by turns, read for a bit, sock-knitted for a bit, and got myself an ice-cream. Mint-choc-chip, as it happens.
It might not sound like much, but it meant a lot to me. It was the first chance I've had to properly go out on my own since starting work. Sure, I go to work, but the taxi picks me up from the door of the house and deposits me at the door of the shop, I can't suddenly decide that I'm going to take a different route, or leave early to do some shopping, or drop a letter in the postbox on my way home. Steve is lovely about driving me places or pushing the wheelchair, but I hate having to be so ask-y, so demanding. So it was nice to just go "I think I'll go over here. Now I think I'll stop for a minute. Now I think I'll go over there," and simply do it, for no apparent reason, without needing to ask someone, or to think carefully about whether I can afford to use up my whole day's energy on such fripperies.
I'm very tired, but very relaxed. Hopefully tomorrow (Friday) I will wake up feeling a bit more refreshed, and then it's an afternoon at work before the weekend-proper.
There are various reasons for the lack of knitting progress. There was the DLA form-filling, and there was a shoulder injury, and there were a couple of phases where I rediscovered addictions to computer games like The Sims 2 and Settlers. There is also, the Top Seekrit Project.
The Top Seekrit Project is a ******** that I have made for ******. It's ****, just like the *** I made previously, with cute little ******s on it just like on ** ****** ****. I finished knitting it a couple of days ago and now I'm just doing the final sewing-up and blocking. It is just a smidge too big, but I feel quite confident I can find a way around that. I think I have enough of the yarn left that I could make one for myself as well. Tempting.
I can't try it on right now though, because I am covered in sun-cream after a fantastic Day Off Work. It's been the first "normal" day of work I've had from this job, by which I mean, it wasn't because I was sick and in bed, or because I had Plans, or because it was a weekend/bank holiday to be spent cowering indoors from the crowds and traffic (seriously, have you ever tried to propel a mobility scooter through a Saturday shopping crowd? not possible, unless you fit blades to the wheels). It was just a gorgeous day, a weekday, a sunny day. So first I went to Boots, for the purchase of sun-cream, and then, having applied said sun-cream, continued on to the book shop. Half an hour later, I'd finally spent my Christmas Book Tokens, and then it was onwards to the park, where I relaxed in the sunshine or in the dappled shade of the trees by turns, read for a bit, sock-knitted for a bit, and got myself an ice-cream. Mint-choc-chip, as it happens.
It might not sound like much, but it meant a lot to me. It was the first chance I've had to properly go out on my own since starting work. Sure, I go to work, but the taxi picks me up from the door of the house and deposits me at the door of the shop, I can't suddenly decide that I'm going to take a different route, or leave early to do some shopping, or drop a letter in the postbox on my way home. Steve is lovely about driving me places or pushing the wheelchair, but I hate having to be so ask-y, so demanding. So it was nice to just go "I think I'll go over here. Now I think I'll stop for a minute. Now I think I'll go over there," and simply do it, for no apparent reason, without needing to ask someone, or to think carefully about whether I can afford to use up my whole day's energy on such fripperies.
I'm very tired, but very relaxed. Hopefully tomorrow (Friday) I will wake up feeling a bit more refreshed, and then it's an afternoon at work before the weekend-proper.
Tuesday, May 06, 2008
I know, I know
I already did my BADD roundup. But that was before I had read this. Go. Read. Now. Wet yourself giggling. Come back later.
Myself, I am spinning a few too many plates in my head at the moment, lots of Stuff and Thing that is other people's business and thus not so bloggable. I'm sure you know how it is. I will apply myself to making a proper blogpost soon but right now it's not a priority. If anyone wants to suggest topics, that'd be nice.
Myself, I am spinning a few too many plates in my head at the moment, lots of Stuff and Thing that is other people's business and thus not so bloggable. I'm sure you know how it is. I will apply myself to making a proper blogpost soon but right now it's not a priority. If anyone wants to suggest topics, that'd be nice.
Friday, May 02, 2008
BADD Blogs Of Note
Following on from Blogging Against Disablism Day 2008, I thought I'd post a list of links to the posts I thought were particularly good, for all those people who for some unfathomable reason might not wish to dedicate several hours to reading each and every one of the huge number of posts submitted to the event. I've read about 70 so far, and despite already having an interest in the event and the issues surrounding it, I'm reaching saturation point.
Having realised, about ten posts in, that I was considering most if not all the posts to be really quite good and making really quite important points - even if I didn't entirely agree with everything being said - I got snippety and have ruthlessly cut this list down to my absolute favourites.
Starting off gently, Rudy at Coping With Disability makes a good, and often overlooked, point in this succinct post about the importance of communication.
Ruth at WheelieCatholic writes interestingly about enabling the ableists.
David at Growing Up With A Disability has written a very engaging post about mistaken identity.
Jeanie at Midlife and Treachery has done a darkly humourous post about the bad habits of ableists.
Cherylberyl at Disaboom has posted her well-researched paper explaining about the Tiny Tim and Supercrips views of disabled people.
And finally (for now), in No Quarter Asked Or Given, Jade Lennox explains how even people who think about how to provide accessibility don't always understand how it is applicable to their world...
I'd also like to quickly say, thank you to everyone who has commented or linked to this blog. I appreciate each and every one. Unfortunately the much-requested t-shirts are currently beyond my competence, but anyone who has iron-on transfers should feel free to go ahead.
Having realised, about ten posts in, that I was considering most if not all the posts to be really quite good and making really quite important points - even if I didn't entirely agree with everything being said - I got snippety and have ruthlessly cut this list down to my absolute favourites.
Starting off gently, Rudy at Coping With Disability makes a good, and often overlooked, point in this succinct post about the importance of communication.
Ruth at WheelieCatholic writes interestingly about enabling the ableists.
David at Growing Up With A Disability has written a very engaging post about mistaken identity.
Jeanie at Midlife and Treachery has done a darkly humourous post about the bad habits of ableists.
Cherylberyl at Disaboom has posted her well-researched paper explaining about the Tiny Tim and Supercrips views of disabled people.
And finally (for now), in No Quarter Asked Or Given, Jade Lennox explains how even people who think about how to provide accessibility don't always understand how it is applicable to their world...
I'd also like to quickly say, thank you to everyone who has commented or linked to this blog. I appreciate each and every one. Unfortunately the much-requested t-shirts are currently beyond my competence, but anyone who has iron-on transfers should feel free to go ahead.
Thursday, May 01, 2008
Different but Equal
Written for Blogging Against Disablism Day 2008.
Equal does not mean identical for the same reason that different does not mean inferior, or, for that matter, superior.
Equality, therefore, does not mean giving everyone exactly the same thing, or desperately trying to force one size to fit all. It means giving everyone the same standards (of service, of access, of respect, of quality of life) while recognising the different methods needed to achieve those standards.
Public transport is a good example of this - it's not the only example, but it's one which allows me to make my point. You may have recently read in the news about how all elderly and disabled people in the UK are to get free bus passes. Along with quite a few other disabled people I have spoken to, I'm quite bemused about this.
For starters, there's a load of ifs and buts - little things like No Being Crippled In Public Before 9:30am (they phrase it differently but that's the precis), which is little short of ridiculous to anyone who's ever been told to attend an 8.30am appointment at a hospital twenty miles away.
More importantly though, the bus system is inaccessible to many people. Some, like myself, are completely out - I can't walk or self-propel a wheelchair as far as the nearest bus stop, and although on my better days I could ride my mobility scooter to the bus stop, I wouldn't then be able to put it onto the bus. Others, who can get to the bus stop, then find that there's no space - or more accurately, that there is ONE space that disabled people and parents with prams can fight over amongst themselves. Quite rightly, the bus drivers won't simply have wheelies "squeezing on" because it's dangerous to everyone concerned, so the losers (be they parents, babies, toddlers, children or disabled people of any age), just have to wait at the bus stop, regardless of cold, rain, appointments, feeding or medication schedules, and hope that the single precious space on the next bus will be available.
Or the next one.
Or the next one.
Even once you've got a seat, the problems don't end. For instance, many of the more modern buses have a scrolling display telling you what route you are on and which is the next stop. Very handy. Then someone realised that blind and visually impaired people couldn't read that, so they had the bright idea of an audio announcement for each stop. This, in turn, is causing problems for people who, for various reasons, have difficulty processing an overload of information - it's even stressing out plenty of neurotypical people on routes that have frequent stops.
Bus passes are issued by the local council, and different local councils deal with the issues differently. Where I live, the approach is that if you are eligible for a bus pass, but cannot use the buses, then instead of a bus pass, you get 'tokens' for local community transport. You get twenty trips per year at the special price of 65p per mile. Assuming that every time you go somewhere, you need to get back again, that's TEN local outings per year. As long as it's Monday-Friday, between 9am and 9pm, you book two days or more in advance, and subject to availability of course... oh, and you can't have a bus pass AND tokens, so no getting transport at 65p/mile to the bus stop and freebie-ing from there.
This does not really compare well to Christine and Manju, who are taking a 700-mile tour round the UK for free using their bus-passes. Don't get me wrong, I hope they have a wonderful journey and I think it's great that they're exercising the freedom to travel and explore without worrying about the cost of transport. I just think there's a bit of an illusion that ALL elderly and disabled people could do this if only we were a bit more determined, a bit more spirited. It's simply not the case.
I can't help feeling we'd be a step closer to equality if none of us got free transport, but by the same token, none of us found transport around the local area so expensive that we have to stay at home. Equality isn't one person on a free jaunt around the country while another can't even go to the shops once a week. Equality would be all of us having reasonable and regular access to basic amenities.
Equal does not mean identical for the same reason that different does not mean inferior, or, for that matter, superior.
Equality, therefore, does not mean giving everyone exactly the same thing, or desperately trying to force one size to fit all. It means giving everyone the same standards (of service, of access, of respect, of quality of life) while recognising the different methods needed to achieve those standards.
Public transport is a good example of this - it's not the only example, but it's one which allows me to make my point. You may have recently read in the news about how all elderly and disabled people in the UK are to get free bus passes. Along with quite a few other disabled people I have spoken to, I'm quite bemused about this.
For starters, there's a load of ifs and buts - little things like No Being Crippled In Public Before 9:30am (they phrase it differently but that's the precis), which is little short of ridiculous to anyone who's ever been told to attend an 8.30am appointment at a hospital twenty miles away.
More importantly though, the bus system is inaccessible to many people. Some, like myself, are completely out - I can't walk or self-propel a wheelchair as far as the nearest bus stop, and although on my better days I could ride my mobility scooter to the bus stop, I wouldn't then be able to put it onto the bus. Others, who can get to the bus stop, then find that there's no space - or more accurately, that there is ONE space that disabled people and parents with prams can fight over amongst themselves. Quite rightly, the bus drivers won't simply have wheelies "squeezing on" because it's dangerous to everyone concerned, so the losers (be they parents, babies, toddlers, children or disabled people of any age), just have to wait at the bus stop, regardless of cold, rain, appointments, feeding or medication schedules, and hope that the single precious space on the next bus will be available.
Or the next one.
Or the next one.
Even once you've got a seat, the problems don't end. For instance, many of the more modern buses have a scrolling display telling you what route you are on and which is the next stop. Very handy. Then someone realised that blind and visually impaired people couldn't read that, so they had the bright idea of an audio announcement for each stop. This, in turn, is causing problems for people who, for various reasons, have difficulty processing an overload of information - it's even stressing out plenty of neurotypical people on routes that have frequent stops.
Bus passes are issued by the local council, and different local councils deal with the issues differently. Where I live, the approach is that if you are eligible for a bus pass, but cannot use the buses, then instead of a bus pass, you get 'tokens' for local community transport. You get twenty trips per year at the special price of 65p per mile. Assuming that every time you go somewhere, you need to get back again, that's TEN local outings per year. As long as it's Monday-Friday, between 9am and 9pm, you book two days or more in advance, and subject to availability of course... oh, and you can't have a bus pass AND tokens, so no getting transport at 65p/mile to the bus stop and freebie-ing from there.
This does not really compare well to Christine and Manju, who are taking a 700-mile tour round the UK for free using their bus-passes. Don't get me wrong, I hope they have a wonderful journey and I think it's great that they're exercising the freedom to travel and explore without worrying about the cost of transport. I just think there's a bit of an illusion that ALL elderly and disabled people could do this if only we were a bit more determined, a bit more spirited. It's simply not the case.
I can't help feeling we'd be a step closer to equality if none of us got free transport, but by the same token, none of us found transport around the local area so expensive that we have to stay at home. Equality isn't one person on a free jaunt around the country while another can't even go to the shops once a week. Equality would be all of us having reasonable and regular access to basic amenities.
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Now That's What I Call A Weekend
Finally, after a Great British Springtime of snow, rain, hail, blustery showers and occasional teasingly sunny afternoons followed by yet more rain as soon as I'm not at work any more, we had a proper nice day. Warm but not hot, sunny but not glaring, gentle breezes and no rain. Fantastic.
We started with a lie-in, as many other non-childified adults do on a Saturday. I was pretty shattered, but it really was just too nice a day to spend indoors so I insisted at Steve that he must wake up because we had to go out. We decided to go to Jephson Gardens. I love it there. It's gorgeous, well-maintained, and is one of the most accessible places I've ever been, which is handy when you're being pushed in a wheelchair. We spent maybe two hours there. I did a little bit of sock-knitting (not too much as I've injured my shoulder, that's also why we're on blogging-lite) and Steve took lots of photos of the Ninja Squirrels. It goes like this:
- People scatter nuts for the squirrels.
- Squirrels run and hide from passing dogs (although they're totally not bothered by humans).
- Pigeons descend to eat the nuts.
- Squirrels dash out from their hiding places and attempt to jump on and headbutt the pigeons. Discworld readers: think Nac Mac Feegle, that's what these squirrels are like.
It was really nice to just be spending time outside. The daily wobble from the front door to the taxi doesn't really count, you know?
Back home for bacon sandwiches, and then I went to bed. It was meant to be a twenty-minute nap but instead turned into something in excess of two hours. Normally that would be a very bad thing, but on this occasion, it was exactly right, because while I was enjoying a waking-up cup of tea, Steve got a call from a friend inviting us over for a barbecue that evening. I like barbecues. I like them a LOT.
Last year, the words "fancy a barbecue?" would have been enough to guarantee rain within the next two hours. But yesterday was charmed - we went, we ate, we sat outside and chatted until it was properly dark. More of this sort of thing. Plus, with it having been a Saturday, I now have all of Sunday to rest and recover. Couldn't have asked for a better weekend.
We started with a lie-in, as many other non-childified adults do on a Saturday. I was pretty shattered, but it really was just too nice a day to spend indoors so I insisted at Steve that he must wake up because we had to go out. We decided to go to Jephson Gardens. I love it there. It's gorgeous, well-maintained, and is one of the most accessible places I've ever been, which is handy when you're being pushed in a wheelchair. We spent maybe two hours there. I did a little bit of sock-knitting (not too much as I've injured my shoulder, that's also why we're on blogging-lite) and Steve took lots of photos of the Ninja Squirrels. It goes like this:
- People scatter nuts for the squirrels.
- Squirrels run and hide from passing dogs (although they're totally not bothered by humans).
- Pigeons descend to eat the nuts.
- Squirrels dash out from their hiding places and attempt to jump on and headbutt the pigeons. Discworld readers: think Nac Mac Feegle, that's what these squirrels are like.
It was really nice to just be spending time outside. The daily wobble from the front door to the taxi doesn't really count, you know?
Back home for bacon sandwiches, and then I went to bed. It was meant to be a twenty-minute nap but instead turned into something in excess of two hours. Normally that would be a very bad thing, but on this occasion, it was exactly right, because while I was enjoying a waking-up cup of tea, Steve got a call from a friend inviting us over for a barbecue that evening. I like barbecues. I like them a LOT.
Last year, the words "fancy a barbecue?" would have been enough to guarantee rain within the next two hours. But yesterday was charmed - we went, we ate, we sat outside and chatted until it was properly dark. More of this sort of thing. Plus, with it having been a Saturday, I now have all of Sunday to rest and recover. Couldn't have asked for a better weekend.
Sunday, April 20, 2008
An Engineer's Guide To Cats
While I don't usually regurgitate the b3ta newsletter onto my blog, this was one of those things. Those special things. Those things that just, somehow, wriggle into your consciousness rather than being a two-minute giggle that is forgotten with the next shiny object that rolls past.
The Engineer's Guide To Cats, by Paul Klusman with TJ Wingard, is nominally about cats. Indeed, Paul opens the video with "The purpose of this presentation is to educate engineers, and the general public, about cats."
Nice idea, but really, I think this is the ideal film to educate the general public (and possibly, cats) about engineers. An oft-misunderstood species, I have believed for many years that engineers make superior boyfriend material (although Dilbert may be interested to know that NASA have not hidden me on the moon yet) but I have been unable to explain WHY. What is it about a man with a scientific calculator, a leatherman, and a roll of duct tape, that is attractive?
I still can't explain it properly in actual words. Could it be the intelligence? The single-minded devotion? The attention to detail? The defeat of self-consciousness? I don't know. But I defy any woman to watch these two play with their cats and not melt a little bit inside. That's what it is about engineers.
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