Having been pulling my hair out for months over the rather erratic hours my employer has been offering me, my patience has paid off as they have now offered me a six-month temporary contract (which is likely to remain open beyond that time if we're all happy with each other) to work 24 hours per week, starting 1st September!
So I'm off the to Job Centre this morning to arrange a hopefully smooth transition from incapacity benefit to working tax credits - they assure me it should be a smooth transition anyway. Very exciting really, as this will be the first time for over twenty years when I'm not officially 'sick' or claiming benefits relating to my incapacity for work!
Friday, 15 August 2008
Wednesday, 18 June 2008
And so, another year passes...
Last night, I had a message from my supervisor at work, informing me that the 8-hour shift I was due to work today has been cancelled, as the service user is unwell and doesn't need our support this week - but as the notice is so short, I can still include the hours on my timesheet!
As it happens, this happy incident coincides with my birthday! But I'm not one of those people who seems to think he has somekind of divine right to not work on his birthday - to me, that seems really self-centred.
Nor do I bother much with parties - though I've had my share over the years; and in fact, one of the most memorable occured a whole 40 years ago! My mother has numerous, faded old black and white photographs of that event - attended by numerous, long-dead family members, as well as others who have changed almost beyond recognition in the intervening years; and yet, I can remember it almost as it it were yesterday!
I spent my 21st in Ravenglass, Cumbria, with my then partner and another couple we were friendly with, one of whom shared my birthday - as the guest of a somewhat eccentric friend of theirs, who cooked an enormous banquet including courses I'd never had before, such as fish and sorbet - in addition to mains and pudding! The latter was an enormous, extremely boozy pavlova - goodness knows how long he'd soaked the pineapples and raspberries in vodka!
My one and only surprise party was in 1992, for my 28th. I thought I was just going to stay with a friend who lived in a big country house in the Wye valley in South Wales for a couple of days of walking, when he picked me up and took me over there as arranged - but of course, unbeknown to me, he'd invited lots of other people too - who had all made their own ways there...!
And for my 40th I had a meal in Gosport - which to be honest, was a bit disapppointing as I had to organise it myself, and the menu turned out to be a lot fancier - and more expensive - that I'd been given the impression it'd be at the planning stage!
Today should be safe - if only because not very many people in Edinburgh know it's my birthday! Thanks to friends down south who have sent me greetings - ten cards, two emails and a text message so far - you know who you are; and I consider myself fortunate indeed to be remembered so fondly by you. Amen!
As it happens, this happy incident coincides with my birthday! But I'm not one of those people who seems to think he has somekind of divine right to not work on his birthday - to me, that seems really self-centred.
Nor do I bother much with parties - though I've had my share over the years; and in fact, one of the most memorable occured a whole 40 years ago! My mother has numerous, faded old black and white photographs of that event - attended by numerous, long-dead family members, as well as others who have changed almost beyond recognition in the intervening years; and yet, I can remember it almost as it it were yesterday!
I spent my 21st in Ravenglass, Cumbria, with my then partner and another couple we were friendly with, one of whom shared my birthday - as the guest of a somewhat eccentric friend of theirs, who cooked an enormous banquet including courses I'd never had before, such as fish and sorbet - in addition to mains and pudding! The latter was an enormous, extremely boozy pavlova - goodness knows how long he'd soaked the pineapples and raspberries in vodka!
My one and only surprise party was in 1992, for my 28th. I thought I was just going to stay with a friend who lived in a big country house in the Wye valley in South Wales for a couple of days of walking, when he picked me up and took me over there as arranged - but of course, unbeknown to me, he'd invited lots of other people too - who had all made their own ways there...!
And for my 40th I had a meal in Gosport - which to be honest, was a bit disapppointing as I had to organise it myself, and the menu turned out to be a lot fancier - and more expensive - that I'd been given the impression it'd be at the planning stage!
Today should be safe - if only because not very many people in Edinburgh know it's my birthday! Thanks to friends down south who have sent me greetings - ten cards, two emails and a text message so far - you know who you are; and I consider myself fortunate indeed to be remembered so fondly by you. Amen!
Tuesday, 3 June 2008
Whew!
Yesterday I had a whopper of a headache, and so remained in bed for much of the day. Despite this, I managed to sleep quite well overnight, and today I have no headache. Alleluia!
Friday, 30 May 2008
Less consolation, more consolidation, please!
I've been rather depressed for the past week or so.
Now, I know that we sometimes see things in different lights when we're depressed, but in a way it has been quite useful this time as I've been able to identify a few areas of my life that could do with a bit of weeding...
First off, I must stop accepting consolation prizes as readily as I've been doing. It isn't too much to expect to get a first-bite of the cherry occasionally, I'm sure of that. So I think I need to speak up when time after time, all I get offered is some of the juice!
All too often it seems, organisations value their own above all others. The Salvation Army is terrible for it: people with existing connections - especially, dare I say, those who happen to be related to officers - seem to have much greater ease of access to employment and other opportunities than those of us who are relatively new to it and not otherwise connected. Admittedly we get a much more sympathetic hearing than we might have done a few years ago, but I still think we're treated with a lot more suspicion than we deserve; and subjected to a lot more red tape, than those who are lifelong members with family connections.
I also had a minor run-in with the Scottish Recovery Network the other day over what seems like largely the same issue. I did stage 1 of a particular training course a couple of years back while I was living in Hampshire, and was encouraged by them to apply for a place on their stage 2 course; but failed to get a place. On the surface they've been really good about it - telephoning to inform me rather than just emailing - and adding that they hope I'll still support their cause, and suggesting that I look out for some co-facilitating experience over the next few months...
Now, I've no doubt that experience would be very useful and certainly, if I am to support the cause further as they say, it would help me do so - but who exactly is all that about? It seems to me they're very happy to use whatever I have to offer them, yet still reserve the right to exclude me from any meaningful developments - and to be perfectly honest, I'm getting rather bored with that particular game of soldiers...!
And I've also worked out that, despite all that I told my mother as regards the Slimming World eating plan I'm currently following; I neither need nor even want lots of extra food to get me through my depression. I just want to feel normal again.
Now, I know that we sometimes see things in different lights when we're depressed, but in a way it has been quite useful this time as I've been able to identify a few areas of my life that could do with a bit of weeding...
First off, I must stop accepting consolation prizes as readily as I've been doing. It isn't too much to expect to get a first-bite of the cherry occasionally, I'm sure of that. So I think I need to speak up when time after time, all I get offered is some of the juice!
All too often it seems, organisations value their own above all others. The Salvation Army is terrible for it: people with existing connections - especially, dare I say, those who happen to be related to officers - seem to have much greater ease of access to employment and other opportunities than those of us who are relatively new to it and not otherwise connected. Admittedly we get a much more sympathetic hearing than we might have done a few years ago, but I still think we're treated with a lot more suspicion than we deserve; and subjected to a lot more red tape, than those who are lifelong members with family connections.
I also had a minor run-in with the Scottish Recovery Network the other day over what seems like largely the same issue. I did stage 1 of a particular training course a couple of years back while I was living in Hampshire, and was encouraged by them to apply for a place on their stage 2 course; but failed to get a place. On the surface they've been really good about it - telephoning to inform me rather than just emailing - and adding that they hope I'll still support their cause, and suggesting that I look out for some co-facilitating experience over the next few months...
Now, I've no doubt that experience would be very useful and certainly, if I am to support the cause further as they say, it would help me do so - but who exactly is all that about? It seems to me they're very happy to use whatever I have to offer them, yet still reserve the right to exclude me from any meaningful developments - and to be perfectly honest, I'm getting rather bored with that particular game of soldiers...!
And I've also worked out that, despite all that I told my mother as regards the Slimming World eating plan I'm currently following; I neither need nor even want lots of extra food to get me through my depression. I just want to feel normal again.
Wednesday, 14 May 2008
I'm not one to blow my own trumpet, but...
This morning, I was elected 'group man of the year 2008' at Slimming World!
Now, I don't normally do great visual displays of excitement, but I will admit to feeling rather pleased and very proud of myself today - I have a nice certificate, and paperweight, to prove it!
Not only that, having lost another five pounds I was also 'slimmer of the week', for which I have a bag of fruit and a fridge magnet - they have a series of ten, that you can collect - this is my second.
And the statistics? Well, I have lost a total of 2 st 12 lbs so far - I am now under 19 stones for the first time since I really can't remember when, and I have lost four inches off my waist...! The eventual aim is to get down to around 14 st 7 lbs - by which time I shall be 33% lighter than when I joined the group, on January 23rd this year.
Now, I don't normally do great visual displays of excitement, but I will admit to feeling rather pleased and very proud of myself today - I have a nice certificate, and paperweight, to prove it!
Not only that, having lost another five pounds I was also 'slimmer of the week', for which I have a bag of fruit and a fridge magnet - they have a series of ten, that you can collect - this is my second.
And the statistics? Well, I have lost a total of 2 st 12 lbs so far - I am now under 19 stones for the first time since I really can't remember when, and I have lost four inches off my waist...! The eventual aim is to get down to around 14 st 7 lbs - by which time I shall be 33% lighter than when I joined the group, on January 23rd this year.
Sunday, 11 May 2008
A welcome sign - well, ish...
In an ideal world, I guess that stretch marks across the stomach might not feel so welcome, but, at two and a half stones less than I was three months ago, these feel like a sign of real progress.
And I was very good today, as while all around me tucked into delicious-looking pizza slices, sandwiches and gateaux, I didn't have so much as a morsel of the buffet after church, which had been laid on by a family celebrating the dedication of their latest child.
Mind you, I have just had a toffee eclair, and a chocolate. Well, nobody's perfect!!
And I was very good today, as while all around me tucked into delicious-looking pizza slices, sandwiches and gateaux, I didn't have so much as a morsel of the buffet after church, which had been laid on by a family celebrating the dedication of their latest child.
Mind you, I have just had a toffee eclair, and a chocolate. Well, nobody's perfect!!
Friday, 9 May 2008
I'm shattered!
I'd no idea that commuting to Glenrothes by bus was so tiring - and I've only done it twice so far. Tomorrow will be three times in a week.
My mother is unwell you see. Vomiting bug - started Tuesday evening, continued all day Wednesday. When I got there first time she couldn't even sit up and speak, so there wasn't much I could do - but I expect knowing I was around for a few hours might have given her some comfort. And yesterday was more of the same - she attempted to get out of bed after an hour, but immediately buried her head as soon as she reached the kitchen, and staggered straight back again.
Mercifully, she sounds a bit better today - been up and had a shower, and even watched some TV - for the first time since Tuesday. Still not eating solids, but managed a little milk earlier. Alas, she's lost 6lbs in weight, and it really shows - she told me she burst into tears when she saw herself in the mirror; and yes, I'm afraid she does look just like her own mother did in her closing weeks - so heaven knows what must be going through her mind.
I ought to be down at the Salvation Army cleaning right now - but I'm afraid even I'm not infallible. I was up earlier, but returned to bed and slept until after nine; and this, I'm afraid, is me time - we all need it after all, and the cleaning can wait a few more hours!
It doesn't look as if I'm the only one identifying my need for me time either, as I arrived at Glenrothes bus station last night with half an hour before the next Edinburgh departure - and so I joined a Glasgow bus as far as Dunfermline, thinking I'd get a quicker onward connection there. Alas, there was an even longer wait - necessitating a lovely walk through Pittencieff Park in the evening sunshine. Hence it seems to me there's nothing God won't use to tend his sheep - even Stagecoach!!
Hence, here we are at almost 7pm - and I've nothing but attendance at this morning's prayer meeting, where I collected a pile of War Crys I'd intended going to Princes Street to seel this afternoon - to show for the day...
I just needed to catch up on some sleep! I was going to go on an organised walk tomorrow morning (before going to my mother's) - I was on one with the same group last Saturday and really enjoyed it; so perhaps the best thing to do would be to forego that and go sell the papers then instead!
Even then, I have the small problem of no clean white unform shirts - because I've not had sufficient time or energy to go to the launderette with them. There's also a meeting to prepare for Tuesday (I am honoured to have been invited to lead this, a regular slot in the mental health chaplaincy drop-in), two application forms - one of which is urgent, as the closing date is getting near (I need to do these online as I have writers cramp - and I need to do it at home as there's no internet connection available at my mum's), my own correspondence, shopping - oh, and the washing-up etc - as I've not washed a spoon since Wednesday!!
Hey, it is now 5.15am - having slept most of the night as well, I off to do my cleaning - and papers. See if I don't!!
My mother is unwell you see. Vomiting bug - started Tuesday evening, continued all day Wednesday. When I got there first time she couldn't even sit up and speak, so there wasn't much I could do - but I expect knowing I was around for a few hours might have given her some comfort. And yesterday was more of the same - she attempted to get out of bed after an hour, but immediately buried her head as soon as she reached the kitchen, and staggered straight back again.
Mercifully, she sounds a bit better today - been up and had a shower, and even watched some TV - for the first time since Tuesday. Still not eating solids, but managed a little milk earlier. Alas, she's lost 6lbs in weight, and it really shows - she told me she burst into tears when she saw herself in the mirror; and yes, I'm afraid she does look just like her own mother did in her closing weeks - so heaven knows what must be going through her mind.
I ought to be down at the Salvation Army cleaning right now - but I'm afraid even I'm not infallible. I was up earlier, but returned to bed and slept until after nine; and this, I'm afraid, is me time - we all need it after all, and the cleaning can wait a few more hours!
It doesn't look as if I'm the only one identifying my need for me time either, as I arrived at Glenrothes bus station last night with half an hour before the next Edinburgh departure - and so I joined a Glasgow bus as far as Dunfermline, thinking I'd get a quicker onward connection there. Alas, there was an even longer wait - necessitating a lovely walk through Pittencieff Park in the evening sunshine. Hence it seems to me there's nothing God won't use to tend his sheep - even Stagecoach!!
Hence, here we are at almost 7pm - and I've nothing but attendance at this morning's prayer meeting, where I collected a pile of War Crys I'd intended going to Princes Street to seel this afternoon - to show for the day...
I just needed to catch up on some sleep! I was going to go on an organised walk tomorrow morning (before going to my mother's) - I was on one with the same group last Saturday and really enjoyed it; so perhaps the best thing to do would be to forego that and go sell the papers then instead!
Even then, I have the small problem of no clean white unform shirts - because I've not had sufficient time or energy to go to the launderette with them. There's also a meeting to prepare for Tuesday (I am honoured to have been invited to lead this, a regular slot in the mental health chaplaincy drop-in), two application forms - one of which is urgent, as the closing date is getting near (I need to do these online as I have writers cramp - and I need to do it at home as there's no internet connection available at my mum's), my own correspondence, shopping - oh, and the washing-up etc - as I've not washed a spoon since Wednesday!!
Hey, it is now 5.15am - having slept most of the night as well, I off to do my cleaning - and papers. See if I don't!!
Friday, 25 April 2008
The pains of letting go...
I guess most of us will have experienced the pain of someone we love not loving us back the way we'd like them to, at some point in our lives.
Michelle and I met properly on a Salvation Army corps retreat some years back, and immediately tuned into each other's sense of fun and playfulness. At that time, she worked in the corps' charity shop and, largely thanks to her encouragement and friendliness, I began working in the adjaccent cafe shortly afterwards; and as a result of this, many people began to put two and two together...
Of course, this appealed to our sense of humour and we decided to play along, and wind them all up! We had weekends away - in Brighton and Llandudno, discovering our deeper selves as we also got to know each other, as we were each able to stimulate the other's somewhat latent self-confidence. Amidst all our uncoventional behaviours - such as walking along the seafront from 2-5am and sitting alone on the back seat of an open-top bus through Snowdonia on a cold damp day - waving and gesturing at strangers like a pair of schoolchildren; we helped each other grow in faith. We share the hobby of people-watching, the characteristic of restlessness, the desire to be on the go as much as possible, discovering new places and yet, all the time just soaking up God's wonderful creation. And we're also rather partial to eating...
Those of you who've been reading through my posts will know that I've lost quite a bit of weight through the Slimming World regime in recent months. It was Michelle that put me onto the idea originally as she herself went a few years back and lost over three stones initially - much to everyone's relief as she is very probably the fattest person that most people will have ever seen, and very is obviously hugely at risk of all manner of serious health problems in consequence.
Alas, it didn't last, and she put it all back on - and more. There have been numerous subsequent attempts - she does it for a few weeks, relapses, and end up heavier than she started out in the first place. I've no real idea how heavy she is these days - people keep asking me this when I share my worries about her with them; the only guide I have is several years old, when she was 28 stone. But as she said herself just the other day, at that time she was able to cycle to and from work, then all around Gosport and back - but for the past couple of years she's not been able to use her bike at all, because the tyres become flat and the wheels buckle, as soon as she gets on board...
What I can offer, by way of size indication, is her dress size - 32. This time last year it was 28 - so perhaps you can understand the extent of the problem, and how much I and others who love and care about her are concerned. Last New Year's Eve, she arrived in Edinburgh with just an old baggy fleece, which indeed she had in St Bees this week too - it's the only item of outer clothing she has that fastens. She looks in vain for a waterproof jacket designed for either sex as mens' clothes are often made bigger and when you get into those sizes it doesn't matter much anyway, but of course she rarely if ever finds anything.
In her better moments, she reflects that what she really needs to do is to lose some weight so that she can fit into her expensive, rarely worn waterproof that she managed to buy from a specialist outlet in Bournemouth a couple of years ago. She did so the other afternoon in fact - adding that she knows how much her weight resticts her and giving opportunity for encouraging interjections about how better her quality of life could be, and how many more places she could go and enjoy; and she even admitted that it will probably take a heart attack or stroke to give her sufficient impetus to do something about it. The trouble is of course, that's always assuming she survives such a attack - which is an outcome that she - poerhaps understandably - doesn't seem to want to consider...
As she was leaving for home at new year, I did tell her that I didn't want the next time I saw her husband and friends to be at her funeral, and she did agree to have another go at losing weight then. Her husband even tried doing it with her, even though he doesn't really need to - but to no avail. She's started, aborted and restarted the slimming plan three times since then...!!
I did moot the idea of contacting Overeaters Anonymous the other day - and it seems her doctor has already betaen me to it, offering a referral to her local group. Alas, she knows some people who already go there (and who, at just over 11 stone, really don't need to), and she doesn't want to go if they're there, which I can understand. That's the trouble with such groups - they really should offer specialist services for the really obese). I might just send her the contact details anyway though. She does qualify for gastric banding on the NHS - she has been offered it umpteen times by various doctors, but refuses to go down that route...
As we were talking about this the other day, it occurred to me that I need to start letting go. I'm not sure exactly what tht entails at this time - but quite clearly, the chances of Michelle seeing the end of the decade are really not very great. Every time we meet and say goodbye, I can't help wondering whether it is for the last time - and I really don't need that kind of pressure in my life. I don't want to lose contact with her of course, and she is the last person I'd want to hurt in any way - but maybe that could be part of a solution? I don't know - I guess I'm just desperate enough to consider all of these thoughts.
She is planning to visit me again in August. Perhaps I need to make it conditional, upon an agreed amout of weight loss, and some exercise? I feel awful for even thinking along these lines, as there's a risk we won't meet and she'll hate me for it - but as it stands, there's an even greater risk that unless somebody can find some kind of bargaining chip that she values more than endless eating out and take-aways, that we won't be seeing each other again anyway.
And yet, who do I think I am? Everyone hoped she'd do it for her new husband, who she married four years ago. But if anything, she's got worse in that time - not least because he does everything for her, and she has even less exercise than before - and of course, greater availability of money to buy yet more food. She is already unable to travel by coach or air - and dislikes modern trains that don't have opening windows, while most of the others are impractical because she simply doesn't fit into any of the seats. Increasingly, this is no longer a matter of mere comfort - it is actually that she quite literally does not fit. The same is true of accommodation - hotels they've booked have turned them away more than once, having mysteriously lost their booking when they've turned up to claim their room. When they visit me, they very considerately choose to sleep upon just the mattress of my bed, on the floor, rather than risk the bed frame. She is even restricted in her choice of cafes and restaurants, as the seating used by many simply will not accommodate either her shape or weight.
What I do know is, I can't handle waiting around for her to die. I need to think of something!!
Michelle and I met properly on a Salvation Army corps retreat some years back, and immediately tuned into each other's sense of fun and playfulness. At that time, she worked in the corps' charity shop and, largely thanks to her encouragement and friendliness, I began working in the adjaccent cafe shortly afterwards; and as a result of this, many people began to put two and two together...
Of course, this appealed to our sense of humour and we decided to play along, and wind them all up! We had weekends away - in Brighton and Llandudno, discovering our deeper selves as we also got to know each other, as we were each able to stimulate the other's somewhat latent self-confidence. Amidst all our uncoventional behaviours - such as walking along the seafront from 2-5am and sitting alone on the back seat of an open-top bus through Snowdonia on a cold damp day - waving and gesturing at strangers like a pair of schoolchildren; we helped each other grow in faith. We share the hobby of people-watching, the characteristic of restlessness, the desire to be on the go as much as possible, discovering new places and yet, all the time just soaking up God's wonderful creation. And we're also rather partial to eating...
Those of you who've been reading through my posts will know that I've lost quite a bit of weight through the Slimming World regime in recent months. It was Michelle that put me onto the idea originally as she herself went a few years back and lost over three stones initially - much to everyone's relief as she is very probably the fattest person that most people will have ever seen, and very is obviously hugely at risk of all manner of serious health problems in consequence.
Alas, it didn't last, and she put it all back on - and more. There have been numerous subsequent attempts - she does it for a few weeks, relapses, and end up heavier than she started out in the first place. I've no real idea how heavy she is these days - people keep asking me this when I share my worries about her with them; the only guide I have is several years old, when she was 28 stone. But as she said herself just the other day, at that time she was able to cycle to and from work, then all around Gosport and back - but for the past couple of years she's not been able to use her bike at all, because the tyres become flat and the wheels buckle, as soon as she gets on board...
What I can offer, by way of size indication, is her dress size - 32. This time last year it was 28 - so perhaps you can understand the extent of the problem, and how much I and others who love and care about her are concerned. Last New Year's Eve, she arrived in Edinburgh with just an old baggy fleece, which indeed she had in St Bees this week too - it's the only item of outer clothing she has that fastens. She looks in vain for a waterproof jacket designed for either sex as mens' clothes are often made bigger and when you get into those sizes it doesn't matter much anyway, but of course she rarely if ever finds anything.
In her better moments, she reflects that what she really needs to do is to lose some weight so that she can fit into her expensive, rarely worn waterproof that she managed to buy from a specialist outlet in Bournemouth a couple of years ago. She did so the other afternoon in fact - adding that she knows how much her weight resticts her and giving opportunity for encouraging interjections about how better her quality of life could be, and how many more places she could go and enjoy; and she even admitted that it will probably take a heart attack or stroke to give her sufficient impetus to do something about it. The trouble is of course, that's always assuming she survives such a attack - which is an outcome that she - poerhaps understandably - doesn't seem to want to consider...
As she was leaving for home at new year, I did tell her that I didn't want the next time I saw her husband and friends to be at her funeral, and she did agree to have another go at losing weight then. Her husband even tried doing it with her, even though he doesn't really need to - but to no avail. She's started, aborted and restarted the slimming plan three times since then...!!
I did moot the idea of contacting Overeaters Anonymous the other day - and it seems her doctor has already betaen me to it, offering a referral to her local group. Alas, she knows some people who already go there (and who, at just over 11 stone, really don't need to), and she doesn't want to go if they're there, which I can understand. That's the trouble with such groups - they really should offer specialist services for the really obese). I might just send her the contact details anyway though. She does qualify for gastric banding on the NHS - she has been offered it umpteen times by various doctors, but refuses to go down that route...
As we were talking about this the other day, it occurred to me that I need to start letting go. I'm not sure exactly what tht entails at this time - but quite clearly, the chances of Michelle seeing the end of the decade are really not very great. Every time we meet and say goodbye, I can't help wondering whether it is for the last time - and I really don't need that kind of pressure in my life. I don't want to lose contact with her of course, and she is the last person I'd want to hurt in any way - but maybe that could be part of a solution? I don't know - I guess I'm just desperate enough to consider all of these thoughts.
She is planning to visit me again in August. Perhaps I need to make it conditional, upon an agreed amout of weight loss, and some exercise? I feel awful for even thinking along these lines, as there's a risk we won't meet and she'll hate me for it - but as it stands, there's an even greater risk that unless somebody can find some kind of bargaining chip that she values more than endless eating out and take-aways, that we won't be seeing each other again anyway.
And yet, who do I think I am? Everyone hoped she'd do it for her new husband, who she married four years ago. But if anything, she's got worse in that time - not least because he does everything for her, and she has even less exercise than before - and of course, greater availability of money to buy yet more food. She is already unable to travel by coach or air - and dislikes modern trains that don't have opening windows, while most of the others are impractical because she simply doesn't fit into any of the seats. Increasingly, this is no longer a matter of mere comfort - it is actually that she quite literally does not fit. The same is true of accommodation - hotels they've booked have turned them away more than once, having mysteriously lost their booking when they've turned up to claim their room. When they visit me, they very considerately choose to sleep upon just the mattress of my bed, on the floor, rather than risk the bed frame. She is even restricted in her choice of cafes and restaurants, as the seating used by many simply will not accommodate either her shape or weight.
What I do know is, I can't handle waiting around for her to die. I need to think of something!!
Cumbria & the English Lake District
I have just returned from a short break in the Lake District with my friend, Michelle. We had a caravan at Seacote Park, St Bees - a beautiful setting indeed, spotlessly clean, well equipped, nice and warm and staffed with people that just couldn't do enough for you - highly recommended, in other words!
Apart from a short distance to the south of Ravenglass - of which I'd no real memory as it was over 20 years ago, I'd never been along the Cumbrian Coast before. That's no mean feat for me as I like to travel along the railways - and there's not many bits of the UK network left that I haven't done at some stage! It is quite an experience - jointed track, mechanical, semaphore signals & signal boxes, pretty stations, old signs, lanterns, buildings etc - all with the usual atmosphere of advanced decay; especially around Workington, which was obviously heavily industrialised until quite recently. And unlike the majority of so-called 'coast' lines, this one really does hug the coast for much of the way - built quite literally upon the sea wall in many places. And to cap it all, the southern part especially has a backdrop of wonderful, dramatic mountain scenery - all of which is absolute paradise as far as I'm concerned!
My one and only previous trip to the Lakes was in June 1985, just before my 21st birthday. I'm afraid my memory had faded rather more than I'd thought. All I remember of the jourmey there is a fleeting glimpse of the Windermere branch railway as it descends from the main line at Oxenholme! I know we did catch the 555 bus from there to Keswick, and then the 77 to the youth hostel at Longthwaite (Borrowdale), where we spent the night - and I got up early in the morning and went outside to wash my hair in the stream that runs in front; yet I don't remember actually making that journey...
Then I remember our walk - it must have been on the 17th June - the day before my birthday - very clearly indeed. Up the dead-end road past Seatoller to Seathwaite, then up a track to a mountain col, where there was a big tin box which, according to the map, contained a mountain rescue kit - I assume it's still there; then down a long path on the south slope of Green Gable with views of a helicopter rescue taking place on the north slope of Sca Fell - near a waterfall known as Taylorgill Force; and eventually down to Wasdale Head, where we stopped for lunch; before ascending again, over to Boot, and the narrow-gauge railway to Ravenglass...
We'd arranged to meet friends there - who were staying with another friend of theirs, who had one of the four cottages between the two railway stations - it is still instantly recognisable. I shared a birthday with one of them, and he did a joint meal for us - which I don't remember a great deal about, save for it having many courses including sorbet, fish, and an enormous, extremely boozy pavlova with mountains of cream. And, late at night, we wandered outside for fresh air, looking over the darkness of the sandy river estuary...
And on the Sunday, we were driven to Ulverston to catch the train for some reason. Perhaps there was no Sunday service to Barrow-in-Furness (there still isn't); and I've a vague idea there might also have been engineering works between there and Ulverston. But which route our drive took is anyone's guess, as I retain no memory of it whatsoever!
It's funny how your memory plays those tricks on you, isn't it...?
Apart from a short distance to the south of Ravenglass - of which I'd no real memory as it was over 20 years ago, I'd never been along the Cumbrian Coast before. That's no mean feat for me as I like to travel along the railways - and there's not many bits of the UK network left that I haven't done at some stage! It is quite an experience - jointed track, mechanical, semaphore signals & signal boxes, pretty stations, old signs, lanterns, buildings etc - all with the usual atmosphere of advanced decay; especially around Workington, which was obviously heavily industrialised until quite recently. And unlike the majority of so-called 'coast' lines, this one really does hug the coast for much of the way - built quite literally upon the sea wall in many places. And to cap it all, the southern part especially has a backdrop of wonderful, dramatic mountain scenery - all of which is absolute paradise as far as I'm concerned!
My one and only previous trip to the Lakes was in June 1985, just before my 21st birthday. I'm afraid my memory had faded rather more than I'd thought. All I remember of the jourmey there is a fleeting glimpse of the Windermere branch railway as it descends from the main line at Oxenholme! I know we did catch the 555 bus from there to Keswick, and then the 77 to the youth hostel at Longthwaite (Borrowdale), where we spent the night - and I got up early in the morning and went outside to wash my hair in the stream that runs in front; yet I don't remember actually making that journey...
Then I remember our walk - it must have been on the 17th June - the day before my birthday - very clearly indeed. Up the dead-end road past Seatoller to Seathwaite, then up a track to a mountain col, where there was a big tin box which, according to the map, contained a mountain rescue kit - I assume it's still there; then down a long path on the south slope of Green Gable with views of a helicopter rescue taking place on the north slope of Sca Fell - near a waterfall known as Taylorgill Force; and eventually down to Wasdale Head, where we stopped for lunch; before ascending again, over to Boot, and the narrow-gauge railway to Ravenglass...
We'd arranged to meet friends there - who were staying with another friend of theirs, who had one of the four cottages between the two railway stations - it is still instantly recognisable. I shared a birthday with one of them, and he did a joint meal for us - which I don't remember a great deal about, save for it having many courses including sorbet, fish, and an enormous, extremely boozy pavlova with mountains of cream. And, late at night, we wandered outside for fresh air, looking over the darkness of the sandy river estuary...
And on the Sunday, we were driven to Ulverston to catch the train for some reason. Perhaps there was no Sunday service to Barrow-in-Furness (there still isn't); and I've a vague idea there might also have been engineering works between there and Ulverston. But which route our drive took is anyone's guess, as I retain no memory of it whatsoever!
It's funny how your memory plays those tricks on you, isn't it...?
Sunday, 20 April 2008
Mobile phones again!
Having left saying that she might put some credit on it and use both mobiles until she got use to the new one, I had a call from my mum last night - she'd discovered how to check how much existing credit there was - and there was £19.92! Methinks she's done rather well out of this!!
Saturday, 19 April 2008
Mobile phones - and suchlike!
It is only 6am, and my head is already buzzing...!!
It seems my mother's mobile handset is no longer cool - even for a 65 year old. All her friends have newer, smaller, lighter models apparently - supplied by family members who have themselves had upgrades. Whether any of the said friends are actually able to see - or work - these new handsets, she hasn't actually said...
Now, inadvisedly I'm sure, I've always had contract mobiles - so I'm just assuming that the theory is the same with pay as you go handsets. You charge the new handset, get it unlocked if it is designed to be used with a different network from the one you normally use, swap the SIM cards, and away you go basically - am I right?
And if you want to keep your original phone number - which I can guarantee you my mum will, you have to ring your network for some number that I can't even recall the name of, right?
You see, one of the reasons I have a contract phone is, they do all this stuff for you! Because I just don't understand all this at all!!
Unfortunately, knowing that doesn't stop my mother expecting me to be able to advise her - and all I can really say is, 'we'll take it to the shop'!
I'm very much an 'if it ain't broke, don't fix it' sort of guy you see. All those folk out there claim to be totally committed to recycling - but not, it seems, to mobile handsets which, so far as I can see, they change every five minutes...
The fact that the last time something went wrong she took it back to the shop for repair - and ever since, has suspected the handset that was returned isn't the same one that was deposited, really doesn't help - it could only happen to my mother!!
Anyway, it occured to me the other day that Winnie - an old lady at church - had given me two new mobile handsets a few months back, despite my best protests that I didn't need them. Not only that, but also a camera and MP3 player - and I can't work them, either! Hence they've all sat in their boxes, in the back of my cupboard ever since - I'd all but forgotten about them, and indeed only found them whilst looking for something else the other day...
(At 82, Winnie's expectations of my ability to understand what all these things are for - let alone how to work them - are even worse than my mother's. She keeps arriving with CD-ROM drivers and manuals, insisting I take them because I have a computer. I just can't get her to understand that they're absolutely no use unless you want to use the appliance they refer to with your computer, and that they're no use otherwise. But, as far as she's concerned, I have a computer and she hasn't, so they're more likely to be of some use to me...).
So, the upshot is that both new handsets are now charged - I did that overnight. Neither will so much as turn on without spending several hours browsing through instructions - that I really don't have; and of course, neither are on my mother's (Virgin) network so far as I can make out - though one of them seems to be locked in German language anyway - so I've not a clue what it says!!
"So why doesn't she just change over to one of the other networks," I hear you say. "What's so special about Virgin?"
Well, she has £27 credit on her existing handset you see. This, for the woman who sends at best, two or three texts a week and only ever makes any calls in an emergency. There really is nothing like obsessive 'just in case' topping-up, is there?
And you know what? As soon as she realises she'll have to use some of her credit to advise all her contacts of a number change, she'll decide not to bother anyway...!!
And if on the offchance she does start to use one of them, she'll be on the phone every five minutes asking me how to do this or that - and I won't have a clue, nor any way of finding out - as she'll have the instructions by then as well.
So I'm just consoling myself here with an earful of Shirley Bassey as I type! It's going to be an interesting day, I fear. Better nip out for some migraine pills, I reckon...
It seems my mother's mobile handset is no longer cool - even for a 65 year old. All her friends have newer, smaller, lighter models apparently - supplied by family members who have themselves had upgrades. Whether any of the said friends are actually able to see - or work - these new handsets, she hasn't actually said...
Now, inadvisedly I'm sure, I've always had contract mobiles - so I'm just assuming that the theory is the same with pay as you go handsets. You charge the new handset, get it unlocked if it is designed to be used with a different network from the one you normally use, swap the SIM cards, and away you go basically - am I right?
And if you want to keep your original phone number - which I can guarantee you my mum will, you have to ring your network for some number that I can't even recall the name of, right?
You see, one of the reasons I have a contract phone is, they do all this stuff for you! Because I just don't understand all this at all!!
Unfortunately, knowing that doesn't stop my mother expecting me to be able to advise her - and all I can really say is, 'we'll take it to the shop'!
I'm very much an 'if it ain't broke, don't fix it' sort of guy you see. All those folk out there claim to be totally committed to recycling - but not, it seems, to mobile handsets which, so far as I can see, they change every five minutes...
The fact that the last time something went wrong she took it back to the shop for repair - and ever since, has suspected the handset that was returned isn't the same one that was deposited, really doesn't help - it could only happen to my mother!!
Anyway, it occured to me the other day that Winnie - an old lady at church - had given me two new mobile handsets a few months back, despite my best protests that I didn't need them. Not only that, but also a camera and MP3 player - and I can't work them, either! Hence they've all sat in their boxes, in the back of my cupboard ever since - I'd all but forgotten about them, and indeed only found them whilst looking for something else the other day...
(At 82, Winnie's expectations of my ability to understand what all these things are for - let alone how to work them - are even worse than my mother's. She keeps arriving with CD-ROM drivers and manuals, insisting I take them because I have a computer. I just can't get her to understand that they're absolutely no use unless you want to use the appliance they refer to with your computer, and that they're no use otherwise. But, as far as she's concerned, I have a computer and she hasn't, so they're more likely to be of some use to me...).
So, the upshot is that both new handsets are now charged - I did that overnight. Neither will so much as turn on without spending several hours browsing through instructions - that I really don't have; and of course, neither are on my mother's (Virgin) network so far as I can make out - though one of them seems to be locked in German language anyway - so I've not a clue what it says!!
"So why doesn't she just change over to one of the other networks," I hear you say. "What's so special about Virgin?"
Well, she has £27 credit on her existing handset you see. This, for the woman who sends at best, two or three texts a week and only ever makes any calls in an emergency. There really is nothing like obsessive 'just in case' topping-up, is there?
And you know what? As soon as she realises she'll have to use some of her credit to advise all her contacts of a number change, she'll decide not to bother anyway...!!
And if on the offchance she does start to use one of them, she'll be on the phone every five minutes asking me how to do this or that - and I won't have a clue, nor any way of finding out - as she'll have the instructions by then as well.
So I'm just consoling myself here with an earful of Shirley Bassey as I type! It's going to be an interesting day, I fear. Better nip out for some migraine pills, I reckon...
Friday, 11 April 2008
new shoes
Why are new shoes always so difficult to break in? Is it compulsory that they have to redden, then skin both your heels and show you who's boss, before they start feeling remotely comfortable?
For the past few years I've had no such problems - Millet's has supplied me with Pennine walking Shoes - 100% waterproof, polishable black and brown lace ups which I fit into like slippers. Alas, they've stopped making them; and so here I am in a surprisingly tight pair of Clark's.
"Wear them in the house for a few days," said the shop assistant, "and if they still feel overly tight you can always bring them back."
That was fine - I've worn them all evening twice now with no problems. But even just nipping to the end of the street to collect my laundry has resulted in sore heels!! Am I missing something, here??
For the past few years I've had no such problems - Millet's has supplied me with Pennine walking Shoes - 100% waterproof, polishable black and brown lace ups which I fit into like slippers. Alas, they've stopped making them; and so here I am in a surprisingly tight pair of Clark's.
"Wear them in the house for a few days," said the shop assistant, "and if they still feel overly tight you can always bring them back."
That was fine - I've worn them all evening twice now with no problems. But even just nipping to the end of the street to collect my laundry has resulted in sore heels!! Am I missing something, here??
Thursday, 10 April 2008
It had to happen sooner or later I suppose...
As of yesterday, I am the proud owner of TWO pairs of glasses - one for distance and general use, and one for reading. It was either that, bifocals or varifocals - neither of which I fancied learning to walk in just at the moment - as I'm reliably assured that seeing through your first pair is the least of your problems...
Added to the grey hair and missing teeth - I suspect I may be getting old.
But hey, I'm still 2 stones lighter than at the start of the year - and with a bit of luck I'll be 4 stones lighter by the end of it!
Brace yourselves, world, the new me is heading your way!!!
Added to the grey hair and missing teeth - I suspect I may be getting old.
But hey, I'm still 2 stones lighter than at the start of the year - and with a bit of luck I'll be 4 stones lighter by the end of it!
Brace yourselves, world, the new me is heading your way!!!
Tuesday, 8 April 2008
They don't call us 'the barmy army' for nothing...
'Barmy' isn't a word you hear very often in Scotland. Maybe it was a regional thing - and in any case, I reckon it was probably some time ago now, back in more innocent times - when The Salvation Army was referred to by some as 'The Barmy Army'.
But, never let it be said that, whatever it may jokingly be called these days, The Salvation Army doesn't deserve such a description - which I suspect was always more affectionate and light-hearted, than critical; as I arrived at DHQ this morning, just in time to join the assembled team in a ten-minute discussion about spiders - featuring overgrown boys doing their best to scare female colleagues with their suggestions that their biggest, hairiest clockwork specimens might just make an unannounced appearance at some point in the future...!
I suppose it at least it proves we're as human as anyone else - and hopefully you'll be pleased to note that, we did get down to prayers eventually.
But, never let it be said that, whatever it may jokingly be called these days, The Salvation Army doesn't deserve such a description - which I suspect was always more affectionate and light-hearted, than critical; as I arrived at DHQ this morning, just in time to join the assembled team in a ten-minute discussion about spiders - featuring overgrown boys doing their best to scare female colleagues with their suggestions that their biggest, hairiest clockwork specimens might just make an unannounced appearance at some point in the future...!
I suppose it at least it proves we're as human as anyone else - and hopefully you'll be pleased to note that, we did get down to prayers eventually.
Monday, 31 March 2008
Meanwhile, in the Gents at the Salvation Army...
I had one of those potentially life-changing conversations - as it just so happened that I was not the only one in need of a sharp exit from yesterday morning's meeting. The Divisional Commander had beaten me to it and, seeing as we were alone, I mentioned I was aware that my name had come up in conversation, regarding the future possibility of sharing ministry elsehwere within the division...
"I don't have my diary on me just now, Paul, but ring the office - and if I'm not there, speak to Sandra - she knows when I'm likely to be free. That is a conversation I look forward to sharing with you very much indeed!"
What a nice, encouraging way to respond!
"I don't have my diary on me just now, Paul, but ring the office - and if I'm not there, speak to Sandra - she knows when I'm likely to be free. That is a conversation I look forward to sharing with you very much indeed!"
What a nice, encouraging way to respond!
Saturday, 29 March 2008
Andrew...
Why do some families find it so necessary to make such dramas out of the minor crises if their sons? I don't normally delete posts and start over again, but it feels right to do so here - as the person who had been described to me by the mother on Saturday evening simply isn't the one that arrived yesterday morning at all!
Admittedly, he has already told me that he had at one point in the emotional turmoil of the last few days not intended on returning home - on the grounds that whatever awaited him in Edinburgh couldn't possibly feel much worse than his life back home in Gosport; and that he did almost turn back en route, and was pretty scared when he finally arrived as he's never travelled so far away on his own before and at that point, wasn't sure he was doing the right thing...
But, tea and talk, sleep, a good meal and a walk along the Water of Leith walkway later, he announced that actually, this was really relaxing - not the kind of thing he normally does at all. In other words, the fear had subsided and he actually began to recognise the value of his achievement - and indeed, from that moment on, he's been a different person - even singing in a karaoke bar in Leith, last evening!!
Andrew is on a sharp learning curve about life - and in particular, about how much better it can be when you just take some time out for yourself occasionally, rather than trying to please others all of the time. I just wish for his sake, that his mum and sister would take the same journey...
Admittedly, he has already told me that he had at one point in the emotional turmoil of the last few days not intended on returning home - on the grounds that whatever awaited him in Edinburgh couldn't possibly feel much worse than his life back home in Gosport; and that he did almost turn back en route, and was pretty scared when he finally arrived as he's never travelled so far away on his own before and at that point, wasn't sure he was doing the right thing...
But, tea and talk, sleep, a good meal and a walk along the Water of Leith walkway later, he announced that actually, this was really relaxing - not the kind of thing he normally does at all. In other words, the fear had subsided and he actually began to recognise the value of his achievement - and indeed, from that moment on, he's been a different person - even singing in a karaoke bar in Leith, last evening!!
Andrew is on a sharp learning curve about life - and in particular, about how much better it can be when you just take some time out for yourself occasionally, rather than trying to please others all of the time. I just wish for his sake, that his mum and sister would take the same journey...
Thursday, 27 March 2008
Chilling out time
Well, mostly. I've been asked to visit someone in hospital, which I'll do later, but otherwise I have the day to my own devices. So far that's mostly involved sleeping!!
At the beginning of the week I was expecting to be free on Wednesday. Then on Tuesday, that was swapped for Friday - and yesterday, Friday was swapped for today!
Methinks I can definitely add 'flexibility' to my CV...!
At the beginning of the week I was expecting to be free on Wednesday. Then on Tuesday, that was swapped for Friday - and yesterday, Friday was swapped for today!
Methinks I can definitely add 'flexibility' to my CV...!
Saturday, 22 March 2008
Going solo
Whew! I've just rescued my reduced fat hot cross bun - it almost became too blackened to eat there!!
Fortunately I was doing it for me and not for David - they guy I'm working with. He'd have thought that so funny he'd almost certainly have told everybody about it - for weeks. As it is, the other workers I've been shadowing have remarked how well David seems to have taken to me - apparently it is not unknown for some service users to blank new workers for a while.
But no - he likes my beard, my shoes, my watch - and patting my belly and telling me I'm too fat - to which I return some light-hearted, faceitious remark which makes him laugh. So I think we're going to get along just fine. Today I'm working with him alone, from 10-12 and again from 4-6: this will be the first time I'll have worked with a client one to one.
Good Friday was quite action-packed, actually! I'd forgotten that the buses were running to a Saturday timetable - so getting to work on time was a little hairy, though I was comforted greatly when both my boss and my fellow worker got on the same bus further down the road from me! (Lothian Buses are always winning awards for being Beritain's best bus company - which I wholeheartedly support, save for the fact that they reduce the service levels on both English Bank Holidays AND local ones - what's that about?).
Then I had only just enough time to return home and get changed before meeting Richard and Liz at Sainsbury's at 1pm - as time was running out before last night's divisional meeting, I'd roped them into helping me with some hall cleaning for what I thought would be a couple of hours - and promised to buy them lunch as a reward for the favour. Which is what we did - except that Sainbury's was busier than any of us had ever seen before and everything took much longer. Plus, Iain and John were already in the hall - they'd been painting and doing odd jobs - and as I said, the neighbours must have been saying to each other, "The Sally Army's getting visitors again - you can always tell...!"
And all that took much longer too - though it has to be said, we're nothing if not enthusiastic. It was snow and hail that eventually stopped play - or window-cleaning, to be precise - at 5.20pm. By then it was too late for Richard and Liz to get home and back in time for the meeting, and I again had less than half an hour at home - just enough to get changed into my uniform etc. And of course, it was then a case of all hands on deck - I ended up being default welcoming sergeant, as well as caretaker, etc - and didn't get home until nearly 11pm.
While there are many others with keys who could do so, part of my caretaker role is to lock up after special events you see. The trouble is, you always get a crowd who sit around chatting at the end - and it's very nice that they do that - though I do wonder how many of them had been out since 8.30 in the morning and have to return to work again today? Fortunately not until 10 - had it been any earlier I suspect I'd be ringing in sick with burnout, come Tuesday.
Finally, I could have spoken with the divisional commander last night about the subject in my last post, but I need to pray about it a while first, I think. I'm certainly not against the idea - I'm quite taken by it actually, but if I'm going to survive I need to start as I mean to go on and pace myself a little. Along with Advent Sunday, Good Friday has always been one of the most spiritual days for me, and so I treated the meeting and subsequent social time as my personal space. If he doesn't reappear at the corps for another few weeks I'll drop him a line or phone, requesting some time to meet, and leave to forward some of my thoughts on paper, prior to the meeting. To me, that sounds far more satisfactory than grabbing a few minutes in a crowded room with millions of distractions around...
Fortunately I was doing it for me and not for David - they guy I'm working with. He'd have thought that so funny he'd almost certainly have told everybody about it - for weeks. As it is, the other workers I've been shadowing have remarked how well David seems to have taken to me - apparently it is not unknown for some service users to blank new workers for a while.
But no - he likes my beard, my shoes, my watch - and patting my belly and telling me I'm too fat - to which I return some light-hearted, faceitious remark which makes him laugh. So I think we're going to get along just fine. Today I'm working with him alone, from 10-12 and again from 4-6: this will be the first time I'll have worked with a client one to one.
Good Friday was quite action-packed, actually! I'd forgotten that the buses were running to a Saturday timetable - so getting to work on time was a little hairy, though I was comforted greatly when both my boss and my fellow worker got on the same bus further down the road from me! (Lothian Buses are always winning awards for being Beritain's best bus company - which I wholeheartedly support, save for the fact that they reduce the service levels on both English Bank Holidays AND local ones - what's that about?).
Then I had only just enough time to return home and get changed before meeting Richard and Liz at Sainsbury's at 1pm - as time was running out before last night's divisional meeting, I'd roped them into helping me with some hall cleaning for what I thought would be a couple of hours - and promised to buy them lunch as a reward for the favour. Which is what we did - except that Sainbury's was busier than any of us had ever seen before and everything took much longer. Plus, Iain and John were already in the hall - they'd been painting and doing odd jobs - and as I said, the neighbours must have been saying to each other, "The Sally Army's getting visitors again - you can always tell...!"
And all that took much longer too - though it has to be said, we're nothing if not enthusiastic. It was snow and hail that eventually stopped play - or window-cleaning, to be precise - at 5.20pm. By then it was too late for Richard and Liz to get home and back in time for the meeting, and I again had less than half an hour at home - just enough to get changed into my uniform etc. And of course, it was then a case of all hands on deck - I ended up being default welcoming sergeant, as well as caretaker, etc - and didn't get home until nearly 11pm.
While there are many others with keys who could do so, part of my caretaker role is to lock up after special events you see. The trouble is, you always get a crowd who sit around chatting at the end - and it's very nice that they do that - though I do wonder how many of them had been out since 8.30 in the morning and have to return to work again today? Fortunately not until 10 - had it been any earlier I suspect I'd be ringing in sick with burnout, come Tuesday.
Finally, I could have spoken with the divisional commander last night about the subject in my last post, but I need to pray about it a while first, I think. I'm certainly not against the idea - I'm quite taken by it actually, but if I'm going to survive I need to start as I mean to go on and pace myself a little. Along with Advent Sunday, Good Friday has always been one of the most spiritual days for me, and so I treated the meeting and subsequent social time as my personal space. If he doesn't reappear at the corps for another few weeks I'll drop him a line or phone, requesting some time to meet, and leave to forward some of my thoughts on paper, prior to the meeting. To me, that sounds far more satisfactory than grabbing a few minutes in a crowded room with millions of distractions around...
Thursday, 20 March 2008
Work, work and more work!
I had my first three hours of employment for some years on monday afternoon - just the boring induction stuff; and another four hours yesterday - which consisited of reading support plans, attending a case conference thingy, and arranging some shadow shifts for the next week or so...
The purpose of these is to introduce me to the people I'll be supporting, as well as their needs and routines. I have one such shift this afternoon, and another tomorrow morning - which will hopefully equip me sufficiently for my first solo shift with the same client on Saturday - well, actually that will be a split shift, so I'll have the middle part of the day free!
Then next week, I have three more shadow shifts booked...
Meanwhile, down at the Salvation Army, it is of course time to prepare for Easter - and as the divisional Good Friday evening meeting takes place in our hall - not to mention one of the Sunday meetings and a Saturday evening social event which will use two of the other halls - there's rather a lot of cleaning to do - somewhere. So I've got permission to rope in a couple of friends to assist with this on Friday afternoon - I just hope they can make it!!
And it seems that my name has been mentioned to the Divisional Commander as one of the potential solutions to his ongoing problem of arranging cover for the several corps in the division that currently have no officer, or whose officer is on long-term sick leave... I expect those of you who have known me in the Army context for the past few years will be cheered by this particular bit of news - though don't get too excited, as there's nothing official yet. We're most probably talking in terms of some part-time, Divisional Envoy role, or something similar. Apparently I need to approach the DC directly, if I want to set that particular ball rolling again. Comfortable as I currently am with my lot, I'm really not sure that - in spiritual terms - I actually have much choice in the matter!
The purpose of these is to introduce me to the people I'll be supporting, as well as their needs and routines. I have one such shift this afternoon, and another tomorrow morning - which will hopefully equip me sufficiently for my first solo shift with the same client on Saturday - well, actually that will be a split shift, so I'll have the middle part of the day free!
Then next week, I have three more shadow shifts booked...
Meanwhile, down at the Salvation Army, it is of course time to prepare for Easter - and as the divisional Good Friday evening meeting takes place in our hall - not to mention one of the Sunday meetings and a Saturday evening social event which will use two of the other halls - there's rather a lot of cleaning to do - somewhere. So I've got permission to rope in a couple of friends to assist with this on Friday afternoon - I just hope they can make it!!
And it seems that my name has been mentioned to the Divisional Commander as one of the potential solutions to his ongoing problem of arranging cover for the several corps in the division that currently have no officer, or whose officer is on long-term sick leave... I expect those of you who have known me in the Army context for the past few years will be cheered by this particular bit of news - though don't get too excited, as there's nothing official yet. We're most probably talking in terms of some part-time, Divisional Envoy role, or something similar. Apparently I need to approach the DC directly, if I want to set that particular ball rolling again. Comfortable as I currently am with my lot, I'm really not sure that - in spiritual terms - I actually have much choice in the matter!
Monday, 17 March 2008
never felt more like...
I was SO uncomfortable in church yesterday. It was a shame, because it was a good meeting (well, all the bits organised by different parties fitted well together - that's what I call a good meeting; even if the overall thing was about Home League, which is in internal Salvation Army women's organisation that would mean absolutely nothing to any non-Salvationist who happened to be visiting). But I sat there feeling more and more wierd, and squirmed.
The trouble is, when you're not used to taking pills, you forget - or I do, at any rate! And I guess that's partly because I don't really want to be taking pills anyway - especially when its just to make me feel more comfortable doing the things I normally do unaided. I was fine on Saturday (excepting a few minutes in the cafe), but yesterday I felt like running out screaming!! I think its the large crowds that makes the difference - and that's really odd, as they never usually bother me at all.
At times like these, I need reassurance more than anything else - that there are people around (in ones and twos) who are willing to hold my hand. Sounds daft I know - but there you have it in a nutshell. And funnily enough, the people I thought would be most challenging are actually proving to be the most supportive - which only goes to prove, there's nothing quite like lived experience...
The trouble is, when you're not used to taking pills, you forget - or I do, at any rate! And I guess that's partly because I don't really want to be taking pills anyway - especially when its just to make me feel more comfortable doing the things I normally do unaided. I was fine on Saturday (excepting a few minutes in the cafe), but yesterday I felt like running out screaming!! I think its the large crowds that makes the difference - and that's really odd, as they never usually bother me at all.
At times like these, I need reassurance more than anything else - that there are people around (in ones and twos) who are willing to hold my hand. Sounds daft I know - but there you have it in a nutshell. And funnily enough, the people I thought would be most challenging are actually proving to be the most supportive - which only goes to prove, there's nothing quite like lived experience...
Saturday, 15 March 2008
God made it all, just for you!
Have you ever written anything in the sand? I don't just mean your name, but something meaningful...
I caught a bus to North Berwick earlier. It's the sort of place that I find really condusive to chilling out, with it's small, wooden-fronted shops and cafes, stone harbour with lobster creels piled up, natural swimming pool that gets filled by the tide, houses opening right onto the beach: it really has a rather wonderful, old-fashioned, traditional air. Enough to see and do for a few hours without feeling suicidal, and yet quiet enough to just sit back and take in the air...
After a delicious lunch of a baked potato stuffed with baked vegetables, mozerella & fresh green salad and an equally wonderful pot of tea in the excellent cafe at the Scottish Seabird Centre, I decided to walk along the shore towards Dirleton - whose castle is on my 'to do' list - only to wind up eventually in Gullane! That coast has beaches like beaches should be - wide, smooth sandy expanses with dune systems, and rocky outcrops and pools at low tide; with lots of different shells, seabirds, driftwood and even the odd cave!
At various points along the way I wrote things like, "God made all this just for you," or "Look how much God loves you," and suchlike. I pray that somebody will feel moved to give him thanks, before the tide comes in and reclaims them...
I caught a bus to North Berwick earlier. It's the sort of place that I find really condusive to chilling out, with it's small, wooden-fronted shops and cafes, stone harbour with lobster creels piled up, natural swimming pool that gets filled by the tide, houses opening right onto the beach: it really has a rather wonderful, old-fashioned, traditional air. Enough to see and do for a few hours without feeling suicidal, and yet quiet enough to just sit back and take in the air...
After a delicious lunch of a baked potato stuffed with baked vegetables, mozerella & fresh green salad and an equally wonderful pot of tea in the excellent cafe at the Scottish Seabird Centre, I decided to walk along the shore towards Dirleton - whose castle is on my 'to do' list - only to wind up eventually in Gullane! That coast has beaches like beaches should be - wide, smooth sandy expanses with dune systems, and rocky outcrops and pools at low tide; with lots of different shells, seabirds, driftwood and even the odd cave!
At various points along the way I wrote things like, "God made all this just for you," or "Look how much God loves you," and suchlike. I pray that somebody will feel moved to give him thanks, before the tide comes in and reclaims them...
Chilling out - without my mother...!
I don't know why mothers are so unpredictable, but there sure are times when it works to your advantage!
At the beginning of the week, she was for coming over to Edinburgh today. I wasn't keen. I prefer not to let her see me when I'm not feeling 100%, because she'd go away and worry herself silly when there's absolutely no need for doing so - and then come the middle of next week, she'd be full of aches and pains caused by the worry I'd 'given' her. It would therefore be all my fault. That, dear friends, is the sort of emotional pressure that has been going on all my life, and which has largely caused me to become like this in the first place...
So I was expecting a big showdown when I called her last night - but no, she'd already made alternative plans with her friend!
I'm feeling really thankful for this, as we'd almost certainly have ended up falling out otherwise, and it just isn't worth it.
At the beginning of the week, she was for coming over to Edinburgh today. I wasn't keen. I prefer not to let her see me when I'm not feeling 100%, because she'd go away and worry herself silly when there's absolutely no need for doing so - and then come the middle of next week, she'd be full of aches and pains caused by the worry I'd 'given' her. It would therefore be all my fault. That, dear friends, is the sort of emotional pressure that has been going on all my life, and which has largely caused me to become like this in the first place...
So I was expecting a big showdown when I called her last night - but no, she'd already made alternative plans with her friend!
I'm feeling really thankful for this, as we'd almost certainly have ended up falling out otherwise, and it just isn't worth it.
Thursday, 13 March 2008
The day's results...
My fast lasted until 1 o'clock. I probably could have held on a bit longer, had I not gone shopping - but what, pray, do you do when you're neither eating nor shopping? My mind is all over the place as it is at the moment - there's no point in making it any harder than it is already!
There were no doctors appointments left at 8.30am, so I went walking. Well, I caught a bus out to Balerno to be precise - and ended up walking; having taken a few very indecisive paces in umpteen directions first.
But I managed to get an appointment with Dr Ali during the afternoon. I was really surprised and impressed with this young man when I met him for the first time a few months ago - he moved his chair closer to mine so he could maintain good eye contact, and I really felt listened to. I think there's a lot to be said for recently-qualified GPs, its nice to feel you're working with your doctor, rather than just sitting there passively, like a lemon!
Well, it seems that thioridazine, my usual anti-anxiety drug, is no longer used in the UK - he'd never heard of it, and patiently looked up its' various names in front of me, to prove the fact! I must admit I do have a few misgivings about his suggested alternatives - I think the last time I had diazepam was from some unkempt-looking police surgeon, having just been sectioned in the late 1980s; and here I am home with 28 of them...
He's written me up for up to 3 a day - but said I can have 4 if I feel I need them - and it's also okay to just have one. He reckons they'll make me feel really good - and warned that because they're addictive, I can't have them long term - but hey! So I came home via Boots and took a couple. I have to say, so far, so good - they always used to give me tinnitus, dry mouth, tremor, palpitations and sweats pretty well straight away, but so far I've not experienced any adverse side effects, which is pretty amazing really. Maybe they've refined it a bit, from the stuff I've had before? I guess I'll have a better idea in the morning...
Anyway, I've to keep in touch with the good doctor - he wants to see me again when I run out of pills - which I guess could be in as little as a week's time. I've also to continue trying to go out and keep myself occupied, and he even thinks that starting work on Monday is a good idea - I was terrified he'd tell me not to.
He's a bit of a one for antidepressants mind you, which I'm not so keen to have. I'm afraid the only sort I've ever had that make a significant difference to the depression are such that their side-effects render me incapable of day to day functioning, and in particular, the newer SSRI type really don't suit me at all, so far as I can tell. But we'll see. At the moment I'd be willing to try just about anything, within reason!
A bit of internet research has confirmed that thiroidazine - also known as Melleril - was indeed withdrawn from UK pharmacology in 2005. You know, it's actually quite worrying when you consider that, not many years ago, I and countless others were being prescribed 200mg doses on a daily basis! Though in its defence I have to say, four or five days in hospital with that kind of treatment used to serve me very well - and the jury's still out on whether that might still be preferable to long-term use of ineffective antidepressants.
Disclosure update!
I've just realised that I forgot to mention - I now have my enhanced disclosure - at last, it came through last Tuesday!
Rather disturbingly, it seems there are new guidelines about to be introduced, regarding people who have had jail sentences - no matter what for, for how long, or how long ago. It is as yet unclear how exactly these should be interpreted, but the inference is that such history would automatically bar such persons from doing care/support work - which, as my boss at Enable said, does seem rather harsh, especially if the sentences in question occurred many years ago and the person hasn't been in trouble with the law again since...
Fortunately for me, they seem to be taking the view that as these guidelines haven't actually been introduced yet, that they don't apply to me - and in any case, they're happy to accept my explanation that the only reason I ended up dallying with the criminal justice system at all was in order to escape the dreadful abuse I was receiving from the mental health system at the time.
Taken literally, these guidelines could have pretty awful implications for a lot of people who, like me, went off the rails as teenagers, or those whose crimes arose as a result of their mental health issues, who were only sent to prison as a last resort, because there was no secure hospital accommodation available for them - which again, was arguably so in my case. At the time, I was assessed by three doctors, all of whom said that while I did not fit the criteria for admission to the high security State Hospital at Carstairs, I was also not fit enough for a prison sentence; and in the end I only got one because the local hospital refused to re-admit me, and there was no medium secure facility available!
I met with Sean, my new boss, for a couple of hours last Friday, and learned a bit about the two people they want me to support. Both live fairly close to me, and have very mild learning disabilities that, nevertheless, have resulted in them spending significant parts of their lives in hospitals. One also has autism, and the other obsessive-compulsive disorder.
The next stage is induction training - which is next Monday afternoon. I just hope I feel up to it on the day...
Rather disturbingly, it seems there are new guidelines about to be introduced, regarding people who have had jail sentences - no matter what for, for how long, or how long ago. It is as yet unclear how exactly these should be interpreted, but the inference is that such history would automatically bar such persons from doing care/support work - which, as my boss at Enable said, does seem rather harsh, especially if the sentences in question occurred many years ago and the person hasn't been in trouble with the law again since...
Fortunately for me, they seem to be taking the view that as these guidelines haven't actually been introduced yet, that they don't apply to me - and in any case, they're happy to accept my explanation that the only reason I ended up dallying with the criminal justice system at all was in order to escape the dreadful abuse I was receiving from the mental health system at the time.
Taken literally, these guidelines could have pretty awful implications for a lot of people who, like me, went off the rails as teenagers, or those whose crimes arose as a result of their mental health issues, who were only sent to prison as a last resort, because there was no secure hospital accommodation available for them - which again, was arguably so in my case. At the time, I was assessed by three doctors, all of whom said that while I did not fit the criteria for admission to the high security State Hospital at Carstairs, I was also not fit enough for a prison sentence; and in the end I only got one because the local hospital refused to re-admit me, and there was no medium secure facility available!
I met with Sean, my new boss, for a couple of hours last Friday, and learned a bit about the two people they want me to support. Both live fairly close to me, and have very mild learning disabilities that, nevertheless, have resulted in them spending significant parts of their lives in hospitals. One also has autism, and the other obsessive-compulsive disorder.
The next stage is induction training - which is next Monday afternoon. I just hope I feel up to it on the day...
Fasting!
During the past week, I managed to gain some weight for the first time since I began attending Slimmers World! Only a pound and a half, so not a disaster, but a gain all the same. The truth is I'm getting really sick of fruit, vegetables, Quorn, yogurt, etc - and I'm not really in the right space to prepare more interesting foodstuffs at the moment...
A few weeks back, the subject of fasting came up in a church house group. I've always kind of admired people that can fast, and wondered how on earth they can possibly be so self-discplined to achieve such a thing! I'd really quite like to feel able to do it if I wanted to - and you know, I think the time has come to just give it a go. So today's the day - I shall drink tea, but not eat - not until after lunchtime anyway - that feels like it could be a realistic goal!
Of course, I know that you're not meant to tell anyone you're doing it if it's for spiritual reasons - so let me say that this time it is about me, and not specifically about my spirituality - I just need to know that I can do it if I want to. Know what I mean?
As regards other matters, the visualisations I described a few days ago have subsided a bit, but there have been others - usually these occur as I'm walking over high bridges and the like. Don't be alarmed - I'm not likely to act upon them - but they are very disturbing indeed when they occur, as I can actually feel my feet moving towards the edge or the parapet. I've always been scared of heights anyway - perhaps this is why - I'm the same on underground platforms, as the train is pulling into the station; and as for cliff edges - don't even go there.
One visualisation I used to get that thankfully, doesn't seem to occur these days, involved walking off into oblivion. It was always worse whenever there were reports of bad weather, snow, blizzards or fog - I'd just have this overwhelming urge to take myself off to some remote moor or mountain and just walk into the thick of it, never to return.
I'm probably way off mark, but in a sense I feel I can identify with the police chief guy that was found dead on Snowdon the other day, as he appears to have done just that...
As a precaution, I've decided to tell my doctor about these thoughts and visualisations - again, I'm kind of needing to know that such a revelation won't result in me being carted off to hospital - as I'm pretty certain it would have done in former times! I have an applointment for Monday - but they also do same day appointments, and as both of the doctors I normally see are working today, I'm going to go up to the surgery in a bit and see if they can fit me in today - the sooner the better I think - just in case...
A few weeks back, the subject of fasting came up in a church house group. I've always kind of admired people that can fast, and wondered how on earth they can possibly be so self-discplined to achieve such a thing! I'd really quite like to feel able to do it if I wanted to - and you know, I think the time has come to just give it a go. So today's the day - I shall drink tea, but not eat - not until after lunchtime anyway - that feels like it could be a realistic goal!
Of course, I know that you're not meant to tell anyone you're doing it if it's for spiritual reasons - so let me say that this time it is about me, and not specifically about my spirituality - I just need to know that I can do it if I want to. Know what I mean?
As regards other matters, the visualisations I described a few days ago have subsided a bit, but there have been others - usually these occur as I'm walking over high bridges and the like. Don't be alarmed - I'm not likely to act upon them - but they are very disturbing indeed when they occur, as I can actually feel my feet moving towards the edge or the parapet. I've always been scared of heights anyway - perhaps this is why - I'm the same on underground platforms, as the train is pulling into the station; and as for cliff edges - don't even go there.
One visualisation I used to get that thankfully, doesn't seem to occur these days, involved walking off into oblivion. It was always worse whenever there were reports of bad weather, snow, blizzards or fog - I'd just have this overwhelming urge to take myself off to some remote moor or mountain and just walk into the thick of it, never to return.
I'm probably way off mark, but in a sense I feel I can identify with the police chief guy that was found dead on Snowdon the other day, as he appears to have done just that...
As a precaution, I've decided to tell my doctor about these thoughts and visualisations - again, I'm kind of needing to know that such a revelation won't result in me being carted off to hospital - as I'm pretty certain it would have done in former times! I have an applointment for Monday - but they also do same day appointments, and as both of the doctors I normally see are working today, I'm going to go up to the surgery in a bit and see if they can fit me in today - the sooner the better I think - just in case...
Monday, 10 March 2008
What a difference a year makes!
It is now a whole year since I moved to Edinburgh!
If anything, it feels a lot longer - for me, that's a sign of being settled. And, even if it has taken a long time to come about and it's still not exactly certain, the future's reasonably bright...
'Back later!
If anything, it feels a lot longer - for me, that's a sign of being settled. And, even if it has taken a long time to come about and it's still not exactly certain, the future's reasonably bright...
'Back later!
Sunday, 9 March 2008
more warnings...
You know, sometimes I don't see any wood for trees. For the first time in several years, I've recently been bothered with eczema. I had put it down to my weight loss!!
Friday, 7 March 2008
Doing the sensible thing
I've not been anywhere since I signed off my last post - I've just been sititng relaxing, having breakfast, watching tv and snoozing in my chair. My guest is still in bed - normally, that'd wind me up as I'm always raring to go, but today it's an advantage. I'll get myself ready for the prayer meeting after I've done this - but the cleaning can wait!
Yesterday, we went on a bit of a grand tour, by bus. First to Stirling for an hour - just time to walk up to the castle esplanade, take a few photos and buy some postcards. Then, on to Crieff, where we had lunch and a seat in the square (it is surprisingly mild), before catching one of the twice daily (schooldays only) buses through the Sma' Glen to Aberfeldy. This was a treat indeed, as we had the bus to ourselves, front seat, lovely scenery and all that. Then after another little wander, a twice-daily bus (which also just runs on schooldays) along a single track road to Dunkeld, and onto Blairgowrie - where we crossed the road and immediately caught another bus to Perth, arriving there at about 6pm. Here we had tea - carvery for a fiver - before catching another bus back to Edinburgh!
Now, I feel a bit embarrassed about describing this, so forgive me if it seems a bit odd or inappropriate - that, I fear, is oftent the nature of mental illness...
During the journey I began to visualise the sensation of a really prolonged snog. Very localised - really just concerning the mouth and tongue, and breathing - I didn't have a picture of myself actually doing it, just the feeling and the sensations. Try as I might, I just couldn't get that picture out of my mind. Now that for me is an early warning sign: the earliest stages of my depression could easily be a cold coming on, or a myriad of other things and are therefore hard to identify as such - but when that sort of visualisation starts to appear like that, I know I'm getting depressed as opposed to anything else...
Amidst it all, I also get other visions of a more sexual nature - and again, I don't actually appear in the picture as such (and nor does anyone else I can identify), it's just the extremely localised feelings and sensations - such a a hand giving a sharp smack, and stinging flesh - and well, I'll leave the rest to your imagination.
It stopped happening when I'd decided I was going to post it here. If it comes back, I will ring the crisis line I think...
So there you are - a good example of an early warning sign - some very subtle, entirely internal occurrence that nobody else would have any way of knowing about unless I told them about it - that follows on from triggers being set off. This post - and any subsequent conversations arising from comments, or phone calls to the crisis service or whatever, is my action plan. Let's pray that it works, and doesn't worsen!!
Yesterday, we went on a bit of a grand tour, by bus. First to Stirling for an hour - just time to walk up to the castle esplanade, take a few photos and buy some postcards. Then, on to Crieff, where we had lunch and a seat in the square (it is surprisingly mild), before catching one of the twice daily (schooldays only) buses through the Sma' Glen to Aberfeldy. This was a treat indeed, as we had the bus to ourselves, front seat, lovely scenery and all that. Then after another little wander, a twice-daily bus (which also just runs on schooldays) along a single track road to Dunkeld, and onto Blairgowrie - where we crossed the road and immediately caught another bus to Perth, arriving there at about 6pm. Here we had tea - carvery for a fiver - before catching another bus back to Edinburgh!
Now, I feel a bit embarrassed about describing this, so forgive me if it seems a bit odd or inappropriate - that, I fear, is oftent the nature of mental illness...
During the journey I began to visualise the sensation of a really prolonged snog. Very localised - really just concerning the mouth and tongue, and breathing - I didn't have a picture of myself actually doing it, just the feeling and the sensations. Try as I might, I just couldn't get that picture out of my mind. Now that for me is an early warning sign: the earliest stages of my depression could easily be a cold coming on, or a myriad of other things and are therefore hard to identify as such - but when that sort of visualisation starts to appear like that, I know I'm getting depressed as opposed to anything else...
Amidst it all, I also get other visions of a more sexual nature - and again, I don't actually appear in the picture as such (and nor does anyone else I can identify), it's just the extremely localised feelings and sensations - such a a hand giving a sharp smack, and stinging flesh - and well, I'll leave the rest to your imagination.
It stopped happening when I'd decided I was going to post it here. If it comes back, I will ring the crisis line I think...
So there you are - a good example of an early warning sign - some very subtle, entirely internal occurrence that nobody else would have any way of knowing about unless I told them about it - that follows on from triggers being set off. This post - and any subsequent conversations arising from comments, or phone calls to the crisis service or whatever, is my action plan. Let's pray that it works, and doesn't worsen!!
WRAP in Action!
A while back I posted a brief definition of WRAP - Wellness Recovery Action Plan. If you remember, you list all the things you do regularly to keep you well, then identify external events (triggers), subtle signs (called early warning signs) and more serious symptoms before writing crisis and post crisis plans...
Over the last few days, I've encountered a number of triggers. Yesterday, I started getting some early warning signs. As soon as I realised what was going on, I thought I'd better ring the Edinburgh Crisis Centre, and still might; but it also occurs to me that as I'm good at writing things down, sharing some of them here might be a good action plan. Certainly, the signs have started to subside since I decided I'd do that!
I can cope with many things, but sleep deprivation isn't one of them. For weeks, I've had very little sleep - barely four hours a night, if I'm lucky. I have always been an early morning person - but waking up at 4.50 when you've only been asleep since 12.30 is no joke...
The funny thing is, through the day I have boundless energy! Though I've lost some weight (one and a half stones now) and that probably contributes, I've been charging around at previously unknown speeds, doing all sorts of things very effectively!
I have lots of new projects on the go, I've been writing a lot, cooking and eating really well, looking after myself, feeling great. I've been sociable, making new friends, and taken myself out and about without effort.
And I've had some really good news too - feedback from the meeting I attended the other week and a possible opportunity to continue some of that work; and yes - at long last, my enhanced disclosure has turned up, which means I can start my support work job - I'm going to talk to my employer about the next stages on Monday afternoon!
Thinking about it, I did notice that I was unusually annoyed by having to go and visit my mother last weekend. Don't get me wrong - it wasn't that I didn't want to go, it was simply that during that particular weekend, it really was very difficult to identify the time, at least without digging deeply into what might otherwise be described as 'me time'. But it was mother's day last Sunday - so I didn't really feel I could make too much fuss about giving her half my Saturday - even though she'd been over here the Saturday before...
But the inane, endless conversation about nothing in particular or certainly, nothing particularly interesting, got to me more last weekend than it has done for a long time. I found myself answering through clenched teeth. I suppose I just felt that I was too busy, for lectures on how to run the life I've been running successfully on the whole for the past 43 years - from somebody who refuses to have a life of her own. My uncle says that my mother is never happy unless she has something to moan about - and you know, I rather fear he may have a point. I also think that's probably why she doesn't get many visitors. I'm afraid she loves being the centre of family attention, and so expects them all to visit her - but refuses to make return visits to them - even after I've pointed out that if she doesn't, there's surely a risk they'll interpret that in a negative way, and visit less often in consequence. She just doesn't see that she has any responsibility for cultivating such relationships at all - and of course, they all resent that...
It's also well-nigh impossible to make any sort of observation on any subject, without it being taken as a personal criticism. I thought I was bad for feeling the need to be everyone else's fire and rescue service - but my mother, well! It's not hard to see where I get it from!!
I'm afraid, dear reader, I find all this extremely wearing. Add to that her favourite game of criticising olther relations for not supporting her as much as they might - and then putting pressure on me to agree, and take her side; and you'll perhaps have a flavour of the problem that is my mother...
Almost everything outside of her usual routine is too much effort even to contemplate. And nobody else is allowed to be more adversely affected. She'll acknowledge their loneliness or pain - but then add that it isn't so bad for them, because they have family nearby...
Anyway - enough of her - this isn't about her...!!
On Tuesday, I had a major falling-out with a colleague. As those of you know me in person would probably testify, it really takes an awful lot to make me that angry - I'm normally a really placid person. Though there are common triggers within that - humiliation being the biggie. I think it relates back to abuse that took place earlier in my life...
We were in the Old Council Chamber (big long table in an oak-panelled room with huge chandaliers, fancy leather chairs, enormous portraits and sculptured busts of former Lord Provosts), trying to encourage a new intake of 'Get On' course participants of the importance of service user involvement. We'd had several meetings beforehand, at which we'd planned our lesson - the bulk of which I was supposed to be delivering, using an agreed imaginary scenario to
illustrate my points...
Just before we started, he suggested what I thought was going to be a quick icebreaker, which I agreed to. Having said we'd stick strictly to an hour, and that I'd be doing the bulk of the workshop; he proceed to hog the floor for the next 30 minutes - covering most of the subjects in the scenario as he did so...
I sat there feeling more and more humiliated. Just what was I meant to do now? Carry on as planned and then look stupid and inflexible, for covering the same ground again? Mustering all the strength I had to not simple grab my bag and coat and walk out; I eventually decided to just use the second part of the two-part scenario - I mean, one of us needed to be professional...
Of course, it ruined the whole thing - it wasn't nearly as effective. And worse still, having asked (as per plan) for people to come up with their own service user involvement plan, they came up with lots of issues instead, which before I'd had a reasonable chance to park elsewhere - my colleague proceeded to answer; thus effectively shifting the attention forever away from the matter in hand, and hijacking the entire session!
Eventually, we came out more than an hour later than planned (and allocated, within their course timetable) and when asked how I thought it went, I decided to go for the diplomatic response, and said it was far too long - and that maybe we should consider allocating ourselves far more time if we're going to take such questions as these...
"I think we have to answer those kinds of questions though," says my colleague. "I feel I have a moral obligation to answer them!"
I don't disagree with that - but not in the middle of my lesson! However, it didn't feel like the time or the place...
Then he tried to justify his actions by suggesting that my scenario was leading them in particular directions. Now, at that point I really began to see red! I mean - he didn't have a problem with what he was now calling your scenario when we were planning it - and far from it just being my scenario - I was actually under the impression that it formed part of our lesson plan...!!
In these situations I always try to take the advice on James, in the first chapter of his short book - always be quick to listen slow to speak, and slow to become angry...
At that point I felt more hurt than anything else I think. It felt like I was being attacked for just doing my job, or even just trying to. I felt like an unwanted, spare part - and I said so. But of course, it did make me angry...
I thought I dealt with it well! I have a friend staying with me at the moment - and I chatted about it with him for a bit. I phoned another friend who also knows and works with my colleague and spoke to her at length - ending up laughing about it all, as I knew I would. And I slept on it, before sending him an email in which I expressed my various observations, feelings and suggestions...
In response, he's saying that I have been personally attacking him. I certainly didn't intend that - and I'd thought I'd taken steps to avoid doing so...
But this sort of thing has occured before. Not often - but, somebody humiliates me, and I feel compelled to write and tell them what I think may have caused it, why, and what I suggest they/we do about it. Maybe only five times in the past 8 years - but somehow it causes major rifts and everyone seems to gang up and conspire against me; and on more that one occasion, I've been told I'm no longer welcome to work with them, in consequence...
So I hope you'll forgive me for feeling worried by these developments.
And the insomnia is getting worse!! All this week, come 9pm I can hardly even keep my eyes open, and feel like I'm going to fit, in consequence of feeling so tired - and yet, still I can't get a decent night's sleep.
Nor is there anything around that I can really drop - not without it having a negative impact upon my life anyway. Things have just started to gel for me at the Salvation Army: I have a few specific roles to fulfill and at last, I feel I'm really forming relationships with more people, so I daren't cut any of that activity out - apart from anything else I enjoy it and it is my main support network. So the last thing I want is to be relieved of some of my workload there - which in itself is not great anyway - and then earn a reputation of being unreliable or incapable of anything remotely interesting...
Even sharing it with my mother isn't an option, for she'd just make it her problem and start experiencing all sorts of aches and pains - and tell me they were caused by the worry I was giving her...
Having waited for months to start work, I daren't go to the doctor - in case he says I'm not able to do it. That would set me back so terribly far - I don't think I could cope with that at all. And as I've just described, there are problems within my main voluntary work arena at the moment.
I need to go and get some breakfast, shower, do 2 hours of cleaning at the Salvation Army - before the prayer meeting at 11am - from which I need to go straight to the next (and for now final) service user involvement workshop (with the same colleague, who I've not spoken with since the emails) at 1.15. But assuming I've not been locked up, I shall be back to tell you about the early warning signs later...
Over the last few days, I've encountered a number of triggers. Yesterday, I started getting some early warning signs. As soon as I realised what was going on, I thought I'd better ring the Edinburgh Crisis Centre, and still might; but it also occurs to me that as I'm good at writing things down, sharing some of them here might be a good action plan. Certainly, the signs have started to subside since I decided I'd do that!
I can cope with many things, but sleep deprivation isn't one of them. For weeks, I've had very little sleep - barely four hours a night, if I'm lucky. I have always been an early morning person - but waking up at 4.50 when you've only been asleep since 12.30 is no joke...
The funny thing is, through the day I have boundless energy! Though I've lost some weight (one and a half stones now) and that probably contributes, I've been charging around at previously unknown speeds, doing all sorts of things very effectively!
I have lots of new projects on the go, I've been writing a lot, cooking and eating really well, looking after myself, feeling great. I've been sociable, making new friends, and taken myself out and about without effort.
And I've had some really good news too - feedback from the meeting I attended the other week and a possible opportunity to continue some of that work; and yes - at long last, my enhanced disclosure has turned up, which means I can start my support work job - I'm going to talk to my employer about the next stages on Monday afternoon!
Thinking about it, I did notice that I was unusually annoyed by having to go and visit my mother last weekend. Don't get me wrong - it wasn't that I didn't want to go, it was simply that during that particular weekend, it really was very difficult to identify the time, at least without digging deeply into what might otherwise be described as 'me time'. But it was mother's day last Sunday - so I didn't really feel I could make too much fuss about giving her half my Saturday - even though she'd been over here the Saturday before...
But the inane, endless conversation about nothing in particular or certainly, nothing particularly interesting, got to me more last weekend than it has done for a long time. I found myself answering through clenched teeth. I suppose I just felt that I was too busy, for lectures on how to run the life I've been running successfully on the whole for the past 43 years - from somebody who refuses to have a life of her own. My uncle says that my mother is never happy unless she has something to moan about - and you know, I rather fear he may have a point. I also think that's probably why she doesn't get many visitors. I'm afraid she loves being the centre of family attention, and so expects them all to visit her - but refuses to make return visits to them - even after I've pointed out that if she doesn't, there's surely a risk they'll interpret that in a negative way, and visit less often in consequence. She just doesn't see that she has any responsibility for cultivating such relationships at all - and of course, they all resent that...
It's also well-nigh impossible to make any sort of observation on any subject, without it being taken as a personal criticism. I thought I was bad for feeling the need to be everyone else's fire and rescue service - but my mother, well! It's not hard to see where I get it from!!
I'm afraid, dear reader, I find all this extremely wearing. Add to that her favourite game of criticising olther relations for not supporting her as much as they might - and then putting pressure on me to agree, and take her side; and you'll perhaps have a flavour of the problem that is my mother...
Almost everything outside of her usual routine is too much effort even to contemplate. And nobody else is allowed to be more adversely affected. She'll acknowledge their loneliness or pain - but then add that it isn't so bad for them, because they have family nearby...
Anyway - enough of her - this isn't about her...!!
On Tuesday, I had a major falling-out with a colleague. As those of you know me in person would probably testify, it really takes an awful lot to make me that angry - I'm normally a really placid person. Though there are common triggers within that - humiliation being the biggie. I think it relates back to abuse that took place earlier in my life...
We were in the Old Council Chamber (big long table in an oak-panelled room with huge chandaliers, fancy leather chairs, enormous portraits and sculptured busts of former Lord Provosts), trying to encourage a new intake of 'Get On' course participants of the importance of service user involvement. We'd had several meetings beforehand, at which we'd planned our lesson - the bulk of which I was supposed to be delivering, using an agreed imaginary scenario to
illustrate my points...
Just before we started, he suggested what I thought was going to be a quick icebreaker, which I agreed to. Having said we'd stick strictly to an hour, and that I'd be doing the bulk of the workshop; he proceed to hog the floor for the next 30 minutes - covering most of the subjects in the scenario as he did so...
I sat there feeling more and more humiliated. Just what was I meant to do now? Carry on as planned and then look stupid and inflexible, for covering the same ground again? Mustering all the strength I had to not simple grab my bag and coat and walk out; I eventually decided to just use the second part of the two-part scenario - I mean, one of us needed to be professional...
Of course, it ruined the whole thing - it wasn't nearly as effective. And worse still, having asked (as per plan) for people to come up with their own service user involvement plan, they came up with lots of issues instead, which before I'd had a reasonable chance to park elsewhere - my colleague proceeded to answer; thus effectively shifting the attention forever away from the matter in hand, and hijacking the entire session!
Eventually, we came out more than an hour later than planned (and allocated, within their course timetable) and when asked how I thought it went, I decided to go for the diplomatic response, and said it was far too long - and that maybe we should consider allocating ourselves far more time if we're going to take such questions as these...
"I think we have to answer those kinds of questions though," says my colleague. "I feel I have a moral obligation to answer them!"
I don't disagree with that - but not in the middle of my lesson! However, it didn't feel like the time or the place...
Then he tried to justify his actions by suggesting that my scenario was leading them in particular directions. Now, at that point I really began to see red! I mean - he didn't have a problem with what he was now calling your scenario when we were planning it - and far from it just being my scenario - I was actually under the impression that it formed part of our lesson plan...!!
In these situations I always try to take the advice on James, in the first chapter of his short book - always be quick to listen slow to speak, and slow to become angry...
At that point I felt more hurt than anything else I think. It felt like I was being attacked for just doing my job, or even just trying to. I felt like an unwanted, spare part - and I said so. But of course, it did make me angry...
I thought I dealt with it well! I have a friend staying with me at the moment - and I chatted about it with him for a bit. I phoned another friend who also knows and works with my colleague and spoke to her at length - ending up laughing about it all, as I knew I would. And I slept on it, before sending him an email in which I expressed my various observations, feelings and suggestions...
In response, he's saying that I have been personally attacking him. I certainly didn't intend that - and I'd thought I'd taken steps to avoid doing so...
But this sort of thing has occured before. Not often - but, somebody humiliates me, and I feel compelled to write and tell them what I think may have caused it, why, and what I suggest they/we do about it. Maybe only five times in the past 8 years - but somehow it causes major rifts and everyone seems to gang up and conspire against me; and on more that one occasion, I've been told I'm no longer welcome to work with them, in consequence...
So I hope you'll forgive me for feeling worried by these developments.
And the insomnia is getting worse!! All this week, come 9pm I can hardly even keep my eyes open, and feel like I'm going to fit, in consequence of feeling so tired - and yet, still I can't get a decent night's sleep.
Nor is there anything around that I can really drop - not without it having a negative impact upon my life anyway. Things have just started to gel for me at the Salvation Army: I have a few specific roles to fulfill and at last, I feel I'm really forming relationships with more people, so I daren't cut any of that activity out - apart from anything else I enjoy it and it is my main support network. So the last thing I want is to be relieved of some of my workload there - which in itself is not great anyway - and then earn a reputation of being unreliable or incapable of anything remotely interesting...
Even sharing it with my mother isn't an option, for she'd just make it her problem and start experiencing all sorts of aches and pains - and tell me they were caused by the worry I was giving her...
Having waited for months to start work, I daren't go to the doctor - in case he says I'm not able to do it. That would set me back so terribly far - I don't think I could cope with that at all. And as I've just described, there are problems within my main voluntary work arena at the moment.
I need to go and get some breakfast, shower, do 2 hours of cleaning at the Salvation Army - before the prayer meeting at 11am - from which I need to go straight to the next (and for now final) service user involvement workshop (with the same colleague, who I've not spoken with since the emails) at 1.15. But assuming I've not been locked up, I shall be back to tell you about the early warning signs later...
Sunday, 2 March 2008
Busy, busy, busy!
I've not been around for a week or so, because I've been doing lots of other stuff! But, just to update anyone bored enough to read this,
- my weight has now dropped by 1st 3lbs in the five weeks since I started attending Slimming World
- I'm still waiting for my enhanced disclosure - which a phone call yesterday suggested might be on its way - but as they've said that before I'll believe it when I see it - hence I've still not began my support work
- the cleaner at Gorgie Salvation Army has been signed off for a month, and I've been covering for her absence
- last week, I gave my third service user involvement presentation and will be doing three more - on each of the new Get On courses this coming week
- today, I led the evening meeting at the 'Army - on the subject of 'how to avoid divorce' - which was very possibly the hardest I've ever had to do - and although there were only ten people there, I had lots of positive feedback
- I have another friend coming tomorrow evening, for the week
- and I'm exhausted, already!!
Tuesday, 19 February 2008
Jean Grainger - where are you?
Galashiels always reminds me of Jean, as it is her home town.
I originally met Jean during a drop-in at 219 West Street in Fareham, Hampshire - then a day services centre for people with mental health issues. It was of course her accent that drew my initial attention - a lovely, broad Border drawl.
Jean was not my worker, so we could afford to relate to one another on a different level as long as she worked there; though even if she had been, it would have been a special relationship. All her clients - me included, were routinely addressed as "bonny lad/lass," and all were made to feel special in an individual way.
She was not - and indeed, could not be - one of those workers who came to work wearing a hat bearing their job title. She came as Jean - the Jean that was married to Bill - a chief inspector in the MOD police, and the mother of Paul. They had lived all over the country - moving every few years with Bill's job; and indeed for a while we kept in touch after they left Portsmouth and moved north to Carlisle, where Bill had a posting: based at Longtown, but covering the whole of the north of England beyond the Mersey/Humber estuaries.
Like me, Jean is practically-minded, generous and yet also thrifty, a realist - and a natural rebel - always up for a laugh, especially if it was at the expense of management, or others in authority! She freely admitted that her professional approach had evolved over the years and there had been times when she and her colleagues had thought they were doing the right thing - but in a more enlightened age and with the gift of hindsight, she could see they most certainly were not. But she worked tirelessly, having founded and managed a Portsmouth day centre that broke all the usual rules and conventions about opening hours, and thought nothing of working late into the evening, at weekends and even on Christmas day if there was a need - which there usually was. Likewise, she had suffered her own demons, particularly with ME, and appreciated the need people often have for a 'wee cuddle' more than any other mental health professional I've ever known.
She was, quite simply, a very large part of my recovery process - just by being herself. Even when I felt at my most wretched, I knew I could turn up at the lunch club she ran, and somehow she'd manage to reach inside and soothe my hurt, where nothing or no-one else could - and I'd come away feeling better!
For a time, I visited Jean and Bill at Carlisle, usually on the return leg of my trips north; and on two occasions I was accompanied by other old pals. But as my father's health deteriorated sharply towards the close of 2002 and my visits had to become much more frequent, I usually travelled by air or sleeper train, and could not easily stopover at Carlisle.
By June 2003, when my father passed away and, perhaps more than ever before, I could have done with Jean's cuddles and cheerfulness; their phone number was no longer obtainable, and my cards and letters went unanswered. Last time I saw Jean, she was saying they might just have to make one more move before Bill's retirement, and while that does appear to have taken place, it does not explain why none of the people she kept in touch with ever heard from her again. For years, we have all compared notes, and nobody ever has.
Jean just isn't the sort of person to not get stay touch, no matter how long the absence. While it is possible her ME might have returned and rendered her physically or mentally incapable, no-one has heard from Bill either...
So if anybody knows the whereabouts of Jean and Bill Grainger, originally of Galashiels, who were living at Durdar village, Carlisle in 2002/3; please tell them their auld pals would love to know they're safe and well. And likewise, if you happen to know they're not - then please consider putting a lot of people out of their misery...
I originally met Jean during a drop-in at 219 West Street in Fareham, Hampshire - then a day services centre for people with mental health issues. It was of course her accent that drew my initial attention - a lovely, broad Border drawl.
Jean was not my worker, so we could afford to relate to one another on a different level as long as she worked there; though even if she had been, it would have been a special relationship. All her clients - me included, were routinely addressed as "bonny lad/lass," and all were made to feel special in an individual way.
She was not - and indeed, could not be - one of those workers who came to work wearing a hat bearing their job title. She came as Jean - the Jean that was married to Bill - a chief inspector in the MOD police, and the mother of Paul. They had lived all over the country - moving every few years with Bill's job; and indeed for a while we kept in touch after they left Portsmouth and moved north to Carlisle, where Bill had a posting: based at Longtown, but covering the whole of the north of England beyond the Mersey/Humber estuaries.
Like me, Jean is practically-minded, generous and yet also thrifty, a realist - and a natural rebel - always up for a laugh, especially if it was at the expense of management, or others in authority! She freely admitted that her professional approach had evolved over the years and there had been times when she and her colleagues had thought they were doing the right thing - but in a more enlightened age and with the gift of hindsight, she could see they most certainly were not. But she worked tirelessly, having founded and managed a Portsmouth day centre that broke all the usual rules and conventions about opening hours, and thought nothing of working late into the evening, at weekends and even on Christmas day if there was a need - which there usually was. Likewise, she had suffered her own demons, particularly with ME, and appreciated the need people often have for a 'wee cuddle' more than any other mental health professional I've ever known.
She was, quite simply, a very large part of my recovery process - just by being herself. Even when I felt at my most wretched, I knew I could turn up at the lunch club she ran, and somehow she'd manage to reach inside and soothe my hurt, where nothing or no-one else could - and I'd come away feeling better!
For a time, I visited Jean and Bill at Carlisle, usually on the return leg of my trips north; and on two occasions I was accompanied by other old pals. But as my father's health deteriorated sharply towards the close of 2002 and my visits had to become much more frequent, I usually travelled by air or sleeper train, and could not easily stopover at Carlisle.
By June 2003, when my father passed away and, perhaps more than ever before, I could have done with Jean's cuddles and cheerfulness; their phone number was no longer obtainable, and my cards and letters went unanswered. Last time I saw Jean, she was saying they might just have to make one more move before Bill's retirement, and while that does appear to have taken place, it does not explain why none of the people she kept in touch with ever heard from her again. For years, we have all compared notes, and nobody ever has.
Jean just isn't the sort of person to not get stay touch, no matter how long the absence. While it is possible her ME might have returned and rendered her physically or mentally incapable, no-one has heard from Bill either...
So if anybody knows the whereabouts of Jean and Bill Grainger, originally of Galashiels, who were living at Durdar village, Carlisle in 2002/3; please tell them their auld pals would love to know they're safe and well. And likewise, if you happen to know they're not - then please consider putting a lot of people out of their misery...
Monday, 18 February 2008
Bordering on the Inaccessible!
The Scottish Borders region is a gem, largely by-passed and undiscovered by all but the most intrepid traveller. Largely devoid of its industrial past, its towns remain surprisingly busy and even prosperous - as is the beautiful, unspoilt countryside surrounding them, dotted with well-kept villages and historical houses, castles and abbeys. Right through the middle runs the mighty River Tweed - rising in the Moffat hills in the west, then flowing through Peebles, Innerleithen, Selkirk, Melrose, Kelso and Coldstream en route to the North Sea at Berwick - forming the actual English border for some of its' course. With the exception of the Teviot, most of its tributaries have the suffix, water, rather than the usual prefix, river...
The area is of course by-passed because of the lack of a decent road network, and the complete absence (since the 1960s) of a rail network. While there is talk of reinstating the latter south from Edinburgh to Tweedbank, between Galashiels and Melrose; and the A7 is signposted as a 'tourist route' to Edinburgh off the M6 near Carlisle and perhaps the A68 is also, from the Newcastle area; even the merest glance at a map reveals so many twists, turns and gradients - that few choose these routes after a lengthy drive from the more populous parts of England.
So you might have thought - given the ongoing absence of any railway link - there would be a decent bus terminal at Galashiels, the main town (as much because of its central position as anything else). Well - think again...
Now, lets take a moment get this into some kind of proper perspective - because when you consider the number of awful bus stations dotted around the country, this really takes some doing: Galashiels wins first prize, in my opinion, of the grottiest, most cramped, least user-friendly, most unfit for purpose and desperately needing replacement bus station - that I have ever come across...
The site is triangular - hemmed in by a town centre by-pass road (with room for a single track railway line on the far side, should the Borders Rail Link project ever come to fruition - that's surely what you call wishful thinking, on the part of the town planners!); a supermarket car park; and Gala Water - one of those rivers that aren't actually called rivers. Evidently, it also gets used as a bus depot these days, and most probably to encourage local youth to vent their frustrations of boredom elsewhere, the whole is fenced in by one of those metal grey, spiked affairs. Likewise, the windows in the single-storey chalet-type building are all covered with sturdy wire mesh...
You're not warming to it really, are you?
There are six stances arranged in a straight line in front of the building - which buses are required to reverse out of in the usual fashion. In itself, that would be fine - if there weren't spare buses parked in every available space - such as in all the corners, and parallel to the northern boundary fence - in what might otherwise be considered the reversing space. Hence most manouvres require multi-point turns, within the tightest of spaces!
Within the building are public toilets - which cost an exhorbitant 30p to enter (hence I usually go elsewhere in the town, for free), a drivers mess room, and a tiny waiting room - just enough space for four seats. The latter is usually closed. Outside is more seating - under cover, but only just! There isn't really any room to queue and pass at the same time - resulting in frequent collisions between would-be travellers. Above each stance is a metal sign which I imagine is supposed to tell you which buses call there - only, unless you happen to have some local knowledge, most of them do nothing of the sort!
Then the best bit - remembering there's no enquiry office of any description - is that there are no timetables. It doesn't even look as though there ever were, as there are no display cases - save for one at the end, which gives details of Munro's Border Courier services - one bus in each direction per day, Monday to Friday, between Peebles and Borders General Hospital, plus another from Eyemouth - that serves different villages on different days of the week. That's it!
So how, pray, are you meant to know which stance to wait at - and for how long - for the mostly 30-minute service to Edinburgh via Stow, or the 30-minute service to Edinburgh via Peebles, or the frequent services to Selkirk, Hawick, Carlisle, and Melrose - running by several different routes? Not to mention the very frequent town services, or the hourly services to Earlston and St Boswells - with their various extensions to Lauder, Oxton, Duns, Berwick, Kelso and Jedburgh; or even the daily National Express service to Wrexham (yes, I did say Wrexham)!
Fortunately, I did know that my number 60 bus departed from the 'via Melrose' stance, and sure enough, our bus emerged from a corner parallel to the building, pulled forward, then back, then forward, then back again - and a total of eleven points later, eventually pulled into the correct bay! What I didn't know was which route it took 'via Melrose' however - and it was just as well I resisted my thought to pick it up from what I thought was it's first stop on the way out of town, as it didn't go that way at all! Instead, we took a pleasant run along the north bank of the Tweed, crossing the river by a single-track arched bridge just east of Tweedbank, before looping through the grounds of the relatively new Borders General Hospital...
Melrose - whose parish is home to some of my earliest traceable ancestors - is a pleasant town indeed. Of all the border abbeys, Melrose's is the most complete, and there's the added attraction of half the former railway station to look at, too! We then passed through the village of Newstead, scarcely fitting through its steep, narrow main street; before emerging on the A6091 just short of Leaderfoot roundabout - named of course, after the famous (former) railway viaduct which crosses the Tweed valley just to the north - at its' confluence with the Leader Water - which gives its name to Lauderdale, and the town of Lauder, of common riding fame...
A few miles up the A68 - now largely built upon the former Berwickshire Railway trackbed; we passed though the attractive village of Earlston - where it is possible to connect with of of Munro's awful vehicles to Edinburgh, Jedburgh or Kelso. If Gala's bus station is the worst-ever, then Munro of Jedburgh's single-deck buses are the worst-ever vehicles - rendering the Borders an even less atractive proposition to would-be daytrippers. They are the usual modern low-floor affairs - inoffensive enough to look at - but boy, that all changes when you try to find a seat you can actually fit into...
Now, these are not busy services. Apart from Edinburgh and Dalkeith, none of the communities they serve have a population much greater than six or seven thousand. So why, oh why, do they feel the need to squeeze in as many of those horrid, hard, narrow seats as they possibly can? I may be quite tall, but my thighs are short in proportion to the rest of my body - and there are just two places in those vehicles I can sit with any semblance of comfort - right at the front, or right at the back! In any other part of the bus, I need an aisle seat - so that I can put one knee out in the aisle itself, and point the other towards the window. There is absolutely no way I can sit forward at all - and when you consider a goor proportion of the passengers using these routes are people younger than I - most of whom are considerably taller; that's nothing sort of totally ridiculous...!
East of Earlston was new territory for me - at least on the west to east axis. I'd been down the A697 north to south road a couple of times in the late 1970s, but apart from that, the former county of Berwickshire had simply proved too difficult to get to.
Note the name - Berwickshire. Always a Scottish county, the town whose name it bears has of course been part of England since 1482 - though a recent local referendum has shown that over 70% of Berwick Upon Tweed's population wants the town to return to Scottish jurisdiction again! Absolutely everybody's talking about it!!
Our bus passed through two of its subsequent administrative centres, and if the most recent - the attractive but tiny, market town of Duns - seems unlikely; that's nothing when compared to Greenlaw! http://www.undiscoveredscotland.co.uk/greenlaw/greenlaw/index.html tells the story far more eloquently that I could - and shows the 'town hall' in a rather better state than it now appears - fenced off, boarded up, with weeds growing out of the masonry...
Duns is also terminus of two further bus routes to and from Berwick - and very occasional weekday journeys to places such as Coldstream, and Kelso. Indeed, one of the thrice-daily 34s was awaiting our arrival - giving a connection for Coldingham, Ayton and Eyemouth; and we met one of the 260s travelling in the opposite direction as we passed through the large village of Chirnside, which generated more passengers than everywhere else put together!
The area is of course by-passed because of the lack of a decent road network, and the complete absence (since the 1960s) of a rail network. While there is talk of reinstating the latter south from Edinburgh to Tweedbank, between Galashiels and Melrose; and the A7 is signposted as a 'tourist route' to Edinburgh off the M6 near Carlisle and perhaps the A68 is also, from the Newcastle area; even the merest glance at a map reveals so many twists, turns and gradients - that few choose these routes after a lengthy drive from the more populous parts of England.
So you might have thought - given the ongoing absence of any railway link - there would be a decent bus terminal at Galashiels, the main town (as much because of its central position as anything else). Well - think again...
Now, lets take a moment get this into some kind of proper perspective - because when you consider the number of awful bus stations dotted around the country, this really takes some doing: Galashiels wins first prize, in my opinion, of the grottiest, most cramped, least user-friendly, most unfit for purpose and desperately needing replacement bus station - that I have ever come across...
The site is triangular - hemmed in by a town centre by-pass road (with room for a single track railway line on the far side, should the Borders Rail Link project ever come to fruition - that's surely what you call wishful thinking, on the part of the town planners!); a supermarket car park; and Gala Water - one of those rivers that aren't actually called rivers. Evidently, it also gets used as a bus depot these days, and most probably to encourage local youth to vent their frustrations of boredom elsewhere, the whole is fenced in by one of those metal grey, spiked affairs. Likewise, the windows in the single-storey chalet-type building are all covered with sturdy wire mesh...
You're not warming to it really, are you?
There are six stances arranged in a straight line in front of the building - which buses are required to reverse out of in the usual fashion. In itself, that would be fine - if there weren't spare buses parked in every available space - such as in all the corners, and parallel to the northern boundary fence - in what might otherwise be considered the reversing space. Hence most manouvres require multi-point turns, within the tightest of spaces!
Within the building are public toilets - which cost an exhorbitant 30p to enter (hence I usually go elsewhere in the town, for free), a drivers mess room, and a tiny waiting room - just enough space for four seats. The latter is usually closed. Outside is more seating - under cover, but only just! There isn't really any room to queue and pass at the same time - resulting in frequent collisions between would-be travellers. Above each stance is a metal sign which I imagine is supposed to tell you which buses call there - only, unless you happen to have some local knowledge, most of them do nothing of the sort!
Then the best bit - remembering there's no enquiry office of any description - is that there are no timetables. It doesn't even look as though there ever were, as there are no display cases - save for one at the end, which gives details of Munro's Border Courier services - one bus in each direction per day, Monday to Friday, between Peebles and Borders General Hospital, plus another from Eyemouth - that serves different villages on different days of the week. That's it!
So how, pray, are you meant to know which stance to wait at - and for how long - for the mostly 30-minute service to Edinburgh via Stow, or the 30-minute service to Edinburgh via Peebles, or the frequent services to Selkirk, Hawick, Carlisle, and Melrose - running by several different routes? Not to mention the very frequent town services, or the hourly services to Earlston and St Boswells - with their various extensions to Lauder, Oxton, Duns, Berwick, Kelso and Jedburgh; or even the daily National Express service to Wrexham (yes, I did say Wrexham)!
Fortunately, I did know that my number 60 bus departed from the 'via Melrose' stance, and sure enough, our bus emerged from a corner parallel to the building, pulled forward, then back, then forward, then back again - and a total of eleven points later, eventually pulled into the correct bay! What I didn't know was which route it took 'via Melrose' however - and it was just as well I resisted my thought to pick it up from what I thought was it's first stop on the way out of town, as it didn't go that way at all! Instead, we took a pleasant run along the north bank of the Tweed, crossing the river by a single-track arched bridge just east of Tweedbank, before looping through the grounds of the relatively new Borders General Hospital...
Melrose - whose parish is home to some of my earliest traceable ancestors - is a pleasant town indeed. Of all the border abbeys, Melrose's is the most complete, and there's the added attraction of half the former railway station to look at, too! We then passed through the village of Newstead, scarcely fitting through its steep, narrow main street; before emerging on the A6091 just short of Leaderfoot roundabout - named of course, after the famous (former) railway viaduct which crosses the Tweed valley just to the north - at its' confluence with the Leader Water - which gives its name to Lauderdale, and the town of Lauder, of common riding fame...
A few miles up the A68 - now largely built upon the former Berwickshire Railway trackbed; we passed though the attractive village of Earlston - where it is possible to connect with of of Munro's awful vehicles to Edinburgh, Jedburgh or Kelso. If Gala's bus station is the worst-ever, then Munro of Jedburgh's single-deck buses are the worst-ever vehicles - rendering the Borders an even less atractive proposition to would-be daytrippers. They are the usual modern low-floor affairs - inoffensive enough to look at - but boy, that all changes when you try to find a seat you can actually fit into...
Now, these are not busy services. Apart from Edinburgh and Dalkeith, none of the communities they serve have a population much greater than six or seven thousand. So why, oh why, do they feel the need to squeeze in as many of those horrid, hard, narrow seats as they possibly can? I may be quite tall, but my thighs are short in proportion to the rest of my body - and there are just two places in those vehicles I can sit with any semblance of comfort - right at the front, or right at the back! In any other part of the bus, I need an aisle seat - so that I can put one knee out in the aisle itself, and point the other towards the window. There is absolutely no way I can sit forward at all - and when you consider a goor proportion of the passengers using these routes are people younger than I - most of whom are considerably taller; that's nothing sort of totally ridiculous...!
East of Earlston was new territory for me - at least on the west to east axis. I'd been down the A697 north to south road a couple of times in the late 1970s, but apart from that, the former county of Berwickshire had simply proved too difficult to get to.
Note the name - Berwickshire. Always a Scottish county, the town whose name it bears has of course been part of England since 1482 - though a recent local referendum has shown that over 70% of Berwick Upon Tweed's population wants the town to return to Scottish jurisdiction again! Absolutely everybody's talking about it!!
Our bus passed through two of its subsequent administrative centres, and if the most recent - the attractive but tiny, market town of Duns - seems unlikely; that's nothing when compared to Greenlaw! http://www.undiscoveredscotland.co.uk/greenlaw/greenlaw/index.html tells the story far more eloquently that I could - and shows the 'town hall' in a rather better state than it now appears - fenced off, boarded up, with weeds growing out of the masonry...
Duns is also terminus of two further bus routes to and from Berwick - and very occasional weekday journeys to places such as Coldstream, and Kelso. Indeed, one of the thrice-daily 34s was awaiting our arrival - giving a connection for Coldingham, Ayton and Eyemouth; and we met one of the 260s travelling in the opposite direction as we passed through the large village of Chirnside, which generated more passengers than everywhere else put together!
I'd never stopped in Berwick Upon Tweed before, but I shall certainly return - what a beautiful town! Built on quite a steep hill, the lower part is fortified against the once frequent English/Scottish raids and indeed, much of the enormous ramparts are walkable. Traffic on the main street also passes through a town gate, which is a rare feature indeed this far north. At the foot of the busy, but relatively uninspiring shopping area is the spired town hall - with roads passing on all sides; and below that are numerous narrow, winding roads leading to either the old town bridge or harbour - both of which are still in use. Many of the buildings are Georgian and pastel-painted - always a feature I've appreicated, as it really does brighten up what would otherwise be a fairly drab scene. There are also riverside walks at various levels, not to mention sandy coves and very Scottish-looking golf links!
Indeed, there are Scottish accents everywhere. The banks are Scottish, people are purchasing their goods with Scottish banknotes, they attend Scottish churches and Scottish league football matches - English voices seem very much in a minority. So perhaps it is little wonder the locals are voting to return to Her Majesty's northern kingdom, once more.
On the down side, I couldn't find Chapel Street. The main bus stops in Golden Square - not so much a square as a part of the road leading to the Royal Tweed Bridge (that's the concrete one built in the late 1920s) said in their timetable cases that Eyemouth & Edinburgh buses left from Chapel Street - but gave no indication of how to get there; and neither did any of the tourist town trail signs reveal where Chapel Street might be. So I walked up to the top of the hill, near the railway station (yes - it does have one, being on the main line south; and thinking of it, if they did restore Berwick Borough to its former Scottish county, the Scottish Borders council area would no longer be bereft of a railway station - that'd be much cheaper than reopening the line to Tweedbank! I do hope nobody thinks of that...), and caught my next bus there...
Eyemouth is in some respects a smaller version of Berwick - vaguely reminiscent of West Cowes and Lynmouth too - I guess because of its' slightly north-easterly facing aspect, and the fact that its' docks straddle the mouth of a river. As a mark of respect to its tragic history of losing large numbers of fishermen to rough seas, I had a piece of fish from the chippie - with most of the batter removed, as per my eating regime - and lovely it was too. Then I walked along the stunning cliff-top coastal path as far as beautiful Coldingham Bay, and into historic Coldingham village, where I caught the last 253 of the day home to Edinburgh.
So of Berwick and Berwickshire I can only say, make the effort to go there and spend some time there - you won't be disappointed! As for me, I shall be back...
Friday, 15 February 2008
Diet? What diet??
Yesterday, I broke my new eating plan - there are times when only some serious carbohydrate intake hits the spot!
I'm not beating myself up about it though. I've so far lost 10lbs in three weeks after all. Rome wasn't built in a day...
I'm not beating myself up about it though. I've so far lost 10lbs in three weeks after all. Rome wasn't built in a day...
Wednesday, 13 February 2008
Takin' over a new asylum!
Having developed and for several years managed a unique service user involvement group within Fareham & Gosport's adult mental health community, I have been very pleased in recent weeks to have been offered opportunities to transfer these skills and experience to the development of service user initiatives within Edinburgh's employability sector.
This morning, I attended a meeting - and gave a short presentation about my journey, which I've entitled, Institution to Employment, within a large gathering of (mostly) voluntary sector agencies. The feedback and support I received was very positive indeed - and without too much effort, I succeeded in getting two major items on the agenda, as well as making a significant impression for the need for a complete overhaul of the values, beliefs and practices widely held within the Scottish employability sector, in relation to service users and service user involvement!
Tomorrow, I am due to co-present at another, much larger conference, which will include a number of statutory sector agents and service commissioners. As a number of the people present today will also be there, it seems likely that even greater weight could be added to my proposals - which incidentally, have already attracted suggested funding resources.
So I'm feeling pretty pleased with myself right now!!
This morning, I attended a meeting - and gave a short presentation about my journey, which I've entitled, Institution to Employment, within a large gathering of (mostly) voluntary sector agencies. The feedback and support I received was very positive indeed - and without too much effort, I succeeded in getting two major items on the agenda, as well as making a significant impression for the need for a complete overhaul of the values, beliefs and practices widely held within the Scottish employability sector, in relation to service users and service user involvement!
Tomorrow, I am due to co-present at another, much larger conference, which will include a number of statutory sector agents and service commissioners. As a number of the people present today will also be there, it seems likely that even greater weight could be added to my proposals - which incidentally, have already attracted suggested funding resources.
So I'm feeling pretty pleased with myself right now!!
Monday, 11 February 2008
Understanding youth crime...
I spent most of yesterday afternoon responding to one of those internet forum threads, which was on the subject of coming down heavy on young people who get into trouble, and ressurecting the old borstal system.
Now don't get me wrong - I'm very much of the opinion that there are currently far too few boundaries available to young people in this country, and something clearly needs to be done about that sooner rather than later. Unlike a lot of people - who seem to think that the existence of boundaries for young people will help protect their interests; I'm very much of the opinion that the existence of boundaries helps young people's interests...
The fact is, human nature has a lot to answer for. As small children, most of us will have learned the hard way why our mothers told us not to do or touch a particular thing - in one way or another, it hurt! But before we experienced hurt, we had no way of understanding why it was such a bad thing, to be avoided at all costs - or why our mothers (or whoever) didn't want us to experience hurt. There are some things in life we just have to try, to satisfy ourselves whether they really are or are not a good idea!
Of course, the first crucial point is, hurt need not be physical. Boundaries need not be physical. Taking an eye for an eye is never justified! Take something the offender values by all means and in the case of a younger person, still on his or her journey of learning what is and is not acceptable behaviour to society, take something they value for a period of time - but return it, later. Provide them with a means of learning that in order to have what they value all the time, there are certain boundaries that they must not cross, because if they do, they'll be deprived of something they value, for a while - and actually, that hurts...
The second crucial point is this: don't automatically assume that their values are the same as your own! Don't reach for a leather belt or willow cane and aim for their backsides - they might not like it very much, but it won't necessarily hurt them as much as it hurts you. And don't just lock them up either - don't assume their experiences of life are the same as your own!!
I'm going to reproduce here what I wrote yesterday, to explain why:
I was one of the last people in Scotland ever to be sentenced to borstal training in November 1981 - the system was phased out a few months later. So for the benefit of those not so much in the know, let's define exactly what the old borstal systems were. I say systems, because they differed between England & Scotland.
From what I understand, the English system was something vaguely reminiscent to what you might now call a boot camp - early rising, early to bed, cold showers, lots of PT and drilling and fairly menial work in between - it lasted six months, and you could be sentenced to it up to three times. I don't think there was any intermediate sentence between borstal and approved schools.
In my view, the Scottish system was better thought out. At that time we had what were known as 'list D schools', which were normally residential units for young teenagers who'd broken the law; but for those aged 16 or 17, there were detention centres where the approach was one of short, sharp, shock: six weeks of what most people would consider hell, basically.
The detention centres were an alternative sentence however, as not all borstal boys (and I don't think any borstal girls) went there - though it has to be said, the majority did - more of which in a minute. Borstal was a single-sentence option in Scotland, with a minimum tarriff of nine months - extendable by the prison governor up to a maximum of two years, depending on the behaviour of the inmate during his/her sentence. Any time previously spent on remand was NOT deducted...
All boys spent their first six weeks in the assessment wing at Polmont (which was officially called HMI Brightons), near Falkirk - a closed, traditional Victorian-style prison hall with a couple of dormitories on the ground floor, but mostly single cells around upper galleries, known there as 'flats'. (By the time I was in the system, the former girls' borstal at Greenock had closed, and the few female borstal trainees that existed were housed in a wing of the relatively new Cornton Vale women's prison, at Stirling). The purpose of the assessment centre was to push inmates as far as possible, to discover where their tolerance limits lay (they didn't have to push me very hard - I was being escorted to the cell block within ten minutes of my arrival; as a result of which I inadvertantly earned myself a great deal of respect amongst the other boys!!). It was as I think a lot of us would imagine borstal to be - early mornings, cold showers, PT three times a day, drill, parades, scrubbing floors on hands and knees, cleaning dirty toilets - and a great deal of rough justice and verbal abuse by staff.
At the end of the assessment period, you were interviewed by your wing governor and a panel of others (medics, social workers, officers and official prison visitors) and considered for one of three options. Probably around 40% of boys (those who'd survived the harsh conditions of the past six weeks relatively unscathed, not been on report for anything, and just accepted their lots), were sent to one of the two open borstals that existed at the time - Castle Huntly, near Dundee, or Noranside, up in the Angus glens. There they did maintenance or catering work, or agricultural or forestry labouring, to pass their days...
The lion's share of the others (including yours truly) were sent to one of the other wings at Polmont, which was a secure institution - and employed in either the joiners or welders workshops, the kitchens, or on one of the maintenance teams. A very small number - just two or three individuals every couple of months - was sent to Carrick House in the grounds of Polmont. This was what might now be known as the Muppet Wing, or something similar - a very small (capacity around 10) 'house' with a very high staff ratio including females (at that time, apart from wing Matrons, who were responsible for catering and laundry arrangements, screws were invariably male in male prisons) - and it was run on something akin to a therapeutic model, with rewards for good behaviour and so on.
Wherever you ended up in the system though, you were expected to perform a number of regular tasks, including pristine maintenance of your appearance, that of your room and its contents - all of which were strictly monitored and frequently inspected, both by wing officers and the governor. This involved regular scrubbing, washing and polishing of both floor surfaces and boots - and if you got the slightest mark on either, you had to start all over again. The items you were allowed in your room were strictly controlled, and had to be arranged in a certain way - as did your bedding and furnishings. You had to address the officers (who did not wear uniform - which I suspect was a deliberate ploy to make inmates feel even less human and individual) as 'Sir' at all times, and use only your prison number and surname to describe yourself.
Work ran from about 7.30am until 4.30pm with breaks for lunch and tea; recreation was limited to an hour and a half on weekday evenings, and on Saturday afternoons unless you had a visit (visits were once a month); and apart from Sunday morning church attendance - which wasn't compulsory, but most boys opted to go, if only to avoid the alternative - you spent the rest of your time in the solitary confinement of your room.
Everyone wore prison uniform at all times - at the start of your sentence you were issued with a pair of rough, itchy black serge trousers and matching jacket - which you kept as best, as well as a pair of work shoes and a pair of 'soft' shoes; and each week you were issued with two shirts, two vests, two pairs of underpants, a pair of homemade denim jeans and a matching jacket for work; and you got clean socks every other weekday. For the first five months, everyone wore red striped shirts, but at that stage (and every subsequent month thereafter) you were assessed for promotion to 'your shirt', which meant you wore blue stripes instead - but this could be and frequently was revoked for inappropriate behaviour. Blue shirts had more privileges, better jobs, were allowed outside (but still within the perimeter fence) to play football in summer months, and got higher wages for their work (something like £2.95 a week, instead of the £2.72 the red shirts got), which could be spent on sweets, tobacco and toiletries, or saved up for release - which was always four months after they'd been awarded their shirt - assuming they kept their noses out of trouble.
As you can probably tell, borstal made a deep impression on me. I went in an immature boy and emerged a young man on the road towards some kind of recovery - but I have to say, I was the exception. With the greatest of respect, I don't honestly believe that any of you who have not had a connection with the youth offender system at some point in your lives could possibly even begin to appreciate the extent of what I'm about to say - however much you may feel you want to...
Almost all young offenders are career-offenders. Out of the dozens of inmates I came into contact with, I was the only one who had never had dealings with any part of the penal system before. I was the only one I can recall who had attended a normal school, rather than a residential, bad-boys' institution. And what's more - I had attended it too; whereas left to their own devices, most of them had been perpetual truants!
I was also the only one with a stable family background. Not only were my parents married to each other, but neither had ever strayed outside that relationship. Both went out to work to ensure we had a comfortable style of living. They frowned upon people who squandered their money on alcoholic drink, tobacco and adult entertainments, leaving their kids wanting - they'd both had such experiences as children themselves, and were determined to ensure that I did not; and, despite everything that had happenned, they always stood by me and did their best for me. Also, I was the only member of my family ever to have been in jail!
I was also in quite a small minority of inmates that could actually read and write; and think a stage or two ahead - the vast majority were semi-illiterate, and from broken or abusive homes, mostly eeking out a meagre existence on some run-down estate in Glasgow, Edinburgh, Aberdeen, Dundee - or one of the grim, former industrial towns such as Motherwell, Wishaw, or Coatbridge. All the men folk they'd ever known spent their lives in and out of prison - while their mothers, aunts and sisters spent all their weekends visiting different husbands, fathers, brothers and sons in different jails! Prison was as much a part of those families' lives as chapel is a part of the life of monks and nuns - I kid you not - I use no form of exaggeration at all...
Employment wasn't so much a swear word, as just something that only other people seemed to have access to. None of them had ever known it - not in living memory anyway; nor had any of the others they were in regular contact with. In most of these places, even the official unemployment figures were between 15-25% at the time - so with the wrong address, any sort of record, and without any decent sort of education, they'd not a hope in hell - and they knew it. Poverty was a way of life, as was drinking, as was crime...
At breaktimes, we'd sit round in large circles, and there was just two lines of conversation (well, three when I was around actually, as I'd decided to come out - but that's another matter). Girlfriends and future plans. All told in a very macho, trying to outdo and impress each other sort of way...!
The 'what I'm going to do when I get released' conversations were very interesting. Invariably they included consuming copious amounts of alcohol, doing unspeakable things with their birds and - nine times out of ten - ending up in Glenochil (Young Offenders Institution - the next step on the prison system ladder) - usually within about a fortnight.
Honestly - that went for almost everybody there - they had ambitions lasting two weeks at best. In practice, I'd imagine the majority of them would have struggled to make it past their first drinking binge, to be perfectly honest...
Life on the outside was like a fairground ride to them - something you went on occasionally, for a quick thrill.
One or two of them even openly described how they looked forward to what seemed like the inevitability of an eventual life-sentence - because then they'd be king of their own bits of the castle, and have rights to such luxuries as tv sets in their cells.
Have you any idea just how sad that is, folks? Can you even put it into words? These were 17 and 18-year olds, whose entire experience of life suggested that the best they could expect from life was the occasional shag and drinking binge between prison sentences! Every last one of their role models had gone that way - every single one; and nobody they'd ever known lived in anything other that abject poverty - relieved only by the proceeds of crime!
Not one person in their lives had ever taken the trouble to try to get to know them as the individuals they were. Everybody related to the roles they played, or to the labels they'd received - thief, burglar, drunkard, layabout, irritating little bastard. They'd not have known love if it had hit them in the face - at best, they were an inconvenience that had once been cute kids, that their mothers visited grudgingly, out of a sense of duty. Most of them had never experienced any of the good things in life - never been outside of the city, or away on holiday. They had to conform to the standards of their families and neighbourhoods too - for any attempt to even consider alternatives resulted in bullying, beating and absolute ostracisation from the only communities they ever knew, or felt any sense of belonging to.
Is the penny dropping for you yet? Yes, you're right - the reason these guys keep offending and getting themselves locked up is because jail offers them a means of escape from this awful world! No matter how bad conditions are inside, at least they know at the end of the day there will always be somebody to talk to, who won't judge them, and who will relate to them as the individuals each of them is! There is a ready source of friends, of sporting chums and rivals - which helps a lot if the regime is tough, as they chivvy each other along by ridiculing those of their number that can't make it!
Prison is the only place in the world where they can expect to have some kind of work to occupy their days - and give them a sense of place, and belonging! They don't have to worry where their next meal is coming from, or the rent money; and they know they'll have a warm bed to sleep in! By making jail their home - they do get 'holidays' - those occasional, short periods they spend outside. It gives them something to look forward to, somthing to talk about, something to work towards...
To those of you who advocate locking up youth offenders, can I just ask - how much of this picture I've been painting, of such people's lives, were you aware of? Had you any inkling at all that the world we live in has such huge inequalities - even within our own country? Can you honestly say you knew that, for many youngsters, it is such a fucking diabolical place where all you get is hurt, fucked up, shit all over and then hurt, fucked up and shit on again and again - that actually, they'd rather spend their lives in jail where at least there are some positive certainties? And if not - do you still think as a nation, we should be punishing those individuals for what can only be their best efforts to express the inexpressible hatred and contempt for a society that constantly turns a blind eye to their awful plights - or are you thinking that the real problem - that is the root cause of it all - might just lie outside of the prison gates - and maybe we should be making a damn sight more effort to make that a better place to be?
I rest my case. Thanks for reading.
I fear there are far too many people in the world who don't have the faintest clue what they're talking about, and expousing opinions about. I just pray that by sharing a little of my story, I might persuade a few of them to think again.
Now don't get me wrong - I'm very much of the opinion that there are currently far too few boundaries available to young people in this country, and something clearly needs to be done about that sooner rather than later. Unlike a lot of people - who seem to think that the existence of boundaries for young people will help protect their interests; I'm very much of the opinion that the existence of boundaries helps young people's interests...
The fact is, human nature has a lot to answer for. As small children, most of us will have learned the hard way why our mothers told us not to do or touch a particular thing - in one way or another, it hurt! But before we experienced hurt, we had no way of understanding why it was such a bad thing, to be avoided at all costs - or why our mothers (or whoever) didn't want us to experience hurt. There are some things in life we just have to try, to satisfy ourselves whether they really are or are not a good idea!
Of course, the first crucial point is, hurt need not be physical. Boundaries need not be physical. Taking an eye for an eye is never justified! Take something the offender values by all means and in the case of a younger person, still on his or her journey of learning what is and is not acceptable behaviour to society, take something they value for a period of time - but return it, later. Provide them with a means of learning that in order to have what they value all the time, there are certain boundaries that they must not cross, because if they do, they'll be deprived of something they value, for a while - and actually, that hurts...
The second crucial point is this: don't automatically assume that their values are the same as your own! Don't reach for a leather belt or willow cane and aim for their backsides - they might not like it very much, but it won't necessarily hurt them as much as it hurts you. And don't just lock them up either - don't assume their experiences of life are the same as your own!!
I'm going to reproduce here what I wrote yesterday, to explain why:
I was one of the last people in Scotland ever to be sentenced to borstal training in November 1981 - the system was phased out a few months later. So for the benefit of those not so much in the know, let's define exactly what the old borstal systems were. I say systems, because they differed between England & Scotland.
From what I understand, the English system was something vaguely reminiscent to what you might now call a boot camp - early rising, early to bed, cold showers, lots of PT and drilling and fairly menial work in between - it lasted six months, and you could be sentenced to it up to three times. I don't think there was any intermediate sentence between borstal and approved schools.
In my view, the Scottish system was better thought out. At that time we had what were known as 'list D schools', which were normally residential units for young teenagers who'd broken the law; but for those aged 16 or 17, there were detention centres where the approach was one of short, sharp, shock: six weeks of what most people would consider hell, basically.
The detention centres were an alternative sentence however, as not all borstal boys (and I don't think any borstal girls) went there - though it has to be said, the majority did - more of which in a minute. Borstal was a single-sentence option in Scotland, with a minimum tarriff of nine months - extendable by the prison governor up to a maximum of two years, depending on the behaviour of the inmate during his/her sentence. Any time previously spent on remand was NOT deducted...
All boys spent their first six weeks in the assessment wing at Polmont (which was officially called HMI Brightons), near Falkirk - a closed, traditional Victorian-style prison hall with a couple of dormitories on the ground floor, but mostly single cells around upper galleries, known there as 'flats'. (By the time I was in the system, the former girls' borstal at Greenock had closed, and the few female borstal trainees that existed were housed in a wing of the relatively new Cornton Vale women's prison, at Stirling). The purpose of the assessment centre was to push inmates as far as possible, to discover where their tolerance limits lay (they didn't have to push me very hard - I was being escorted to the cell block within ten minutes of my arrival; as a result of which I inadvertantly earned myself a great deal of respect amongst the other boys!!). It was as I think a lot of us would imagine borstal to be - early mornings, cold showers, PT three times a day, drill, parades, scrubbing floors on hands and knees, cleaning dirty toilets - and a great deal of rough justice and verbal abuse by staff.
At the end of the assessment period, you were interviewed by your wing governor and a panel of others (medics, social workers, officers and official prison visitors) and considered for one of three options. Probably around 40% of boys (those who'd survived the harsh conditions of the past six weeks relatively unscathed, not been on report for anything, and just accepted their lots), were sent to one of the two open borstals that existed at the time - Castle Huntly, near Dundee, or Noranside, up in the Angus glens. There they did maintenance or catering work, or agricultural or forestry labouring, to pass their days...
The lion's share of the others (including yours truly) were sent to one of the other wings at Polmont, which was a secure institution - and employed in either the joiners or welders workshops, the kitchens, or on one of the maintenance teams. A very small number - just two or three individuals every couple of months - was sent to Carrick House in the grounds of Polmont. This was what might now be known as the Muppet Wing, or something similar - a very small (capacity around 10) 'house' with a very high staff ratio including females (at that time, apart from wing Matrons, who were responsible for catering and laundry arrangements, screws were invariably male in male prisons) - and it was run on something akin to a therapeutic model, with rewards for good behaviour and so on.
Wherever you ended up in the system though, you were expected to perform a number of regular tasks, including pristine maintenance of your appearance, that of your room and its contents - all of which were strictly monitored and frequently inspected, both by wing officers and the governor. This involved regular scrubbing, washing and polishing of both floor surfaces and boots - and if you got the slightest mark on either, you had to start all over again. The items you were allowed in your room were strictly controlled, and had to be arranged in a certain way - as did your bedding and furnishings. You had to address the officers (who did not wear uniform - which I suspect was a deliberate ploy to make inmates feel even less human and individual) as 'Sir' at all times, and use only your prison number and surname to describe yourself.
Work ran from about 7.30am until 4.30pm with breaks for lunch and tea; recreation was limited to an hour and a half on weekday evenings, and on Saturday afternoons unless you had a visit (visits were once a month); and apart from Sunday morning church attendance - which wasn't compulsory, but most boys opted to go, if only to avoid the alternative - you spent the rest of your time in the solitary confinement of your room.
Everyone wore prison uniform at all times - at the start of your sentence you were issued with a pair of rough, itchy black serge trousers and matching jacket - which you kept as best, as well as a pair of work shoes and a pair of 'soft' shoes; and each week you were issued with two shirts, two vests, two pairs of underpants, a pair of homemade denim jeans and a matching jacket for work; and you got clean socks every other weekday. For the first five months, everyone wore red striped shirts, but at that stage (and every subsequent month thereafter) you were assessed for promotion to 'your shirt', which meant you wore blue stripes instead - but this could be and frequently was revoked for inappropriate behaviour. Blue shirts had more privileges, better jobs, were allowed outside (but still within the perimeter fence) to play football in summer months, and got higher wages for their work (something like £2.95 a week, instead of the £2.72 the red shirts got), which could be spent on sweets, tobacco and toiletries, or saved up for release - which was always four months after they'd been awarded their shirt - assuming they kept their noses out of trouble.
As you can probably tell, borstal made a deep impression on me. I went in an immature boy and emerged a young man on the road towards some kind of recovery - but I have to say, I was the exception. With the greatest of respect, I don't honestly believe that any of you who have not had a connection with the youth offender system at some point in your lives could possibly even begin to appreciate the extent of what I'm about to say - however much you may feel you want to...
Almost all young offenders are career-offenders. Out of the dozens of inmates I came into contact with, I was the only one who had never had dealings with any part of the penal system before. I was the only one I can recall who had attended a normal school, rather than a residential, bad-boys' institution. And what's more - I had attended it too; whereas left to their own devices, most of them had been perpetual truants!
I was also the only one with a stable family background. Not only were my parents married to each other, but neither had ever strayed outside that relationship. Both went out to work to ensure we had a comfortable style of living. They frowned upon people who squandered their money on alcoholic drink, tobacco and adult entertainments, leaving their kids wanting - they'd both had such experiences as children themselves, and were determined to ensure that I did not; and, despite everything that had happenned, they always stood by me and did their best for me. Also, I was the only member of my family ever to have been in jail!
I was also in quite a small minority of inmates that could actually read and write; and think a stage or two ahead - the vast majority were semi-illiterate, and from broken or abusive homes, mostly eeking out a meagre existence on some run-down estate in Glasgow, Edinburgh, Aberdeen, Dundee - or one of the grim, former industrial towns such as Motherwell, Wishaw, or Coatbridge. All the men folk they'd ever known spent their lives in and out of prison - while their mothers, aunts and sisters spent all their weekends visiting different husbands, fathers, brothers and sons in different jails! Prison was as much a part of those families' lives as chapel is a part of the life of monks and nuns - I kid you not - I use no form of exaggeration at all...
Employment wasn't so much a swear word, as just something that only other people seemed to have access to. None of them had ever known it - not in living memory anyway; nor had any of the others they were in regular contact with. In most of these places, even the official unemployment figures were between 15-25% at the time - so with the wrong address, any sort of record, and without any decent sort of education, they'd not a hope in hell - and they knew it. Poverty was a way of life, as was drinking, as was crime...
At breaktimes, we'd sit round in large circles, and there was just two lines of conversation (well, three when I was around actually, as I'd decided to come out - but that's another matter). Girlfriends and future plans. All told in a very macho, trying to outdo and impress each other sort of way...!
The 'what I'm going to do when I get released' conversations were very interesting. Invariably they included consuming copious amounts of alcohol, doing unspeakable things with their birds and - nine times out of ten - ending up in Glenochil (Young Offenders Institution - the next step on the prison system ladder) - usually within about a fortnight.
Honestly - that went for almost everybody there - they had ambitions lasting two weeks at best. In practice, I'd imagine the majority of them would have struggled to make it past their first drinking binge, to be perfectly honest...
Life on the outside was like a fairground ride to them - something you went on occasionally, for a quick thrill.
One or two of them even openly described how they looked forward to what seemed like the inevitability of an eventual life-sentence - because then they'd be king of their own bits of the castle, and have rights to such luxuries as tv sets in their cells.
Have you any idea just how sad that is, folks? Can you even put it into words? These were 17 and 18-year olds, whose entire experience of life suggested that the best they could expect from life was the occasional shag and drinking binge between prison sentences! Every last one of their role models had gone that way - every single one; and nobody they'd ever known lived in anything other that abject poverty - relieved only by the proceeds of crime!
Not one person in their lives had ever taken the trouble to try to get to know them as the individuals they were. Everybody related to the roles they played, or to the labels they'd received - thief, burglar, drunkard, layabout, irritating little bastard. They'd not have known love if it had hit them in the face - at best, they were an inconvenience that had once been cute kids, that their mothers visited grudgingly, out of a sense of duty. Most of them had never experienced any of the good things in life - never been outside of the city, or away on holiday. They had to conform to the standards of their families and neighbourhoods too - for any attempt to even consider alternatives resulted in bullying, beating and absolute ostracisation from the only communities they ever knew, or felt any sense of belonging to.
Is the penny dropping for you yet? Yes, you're right - the reason these guys keep offending and getting themselves locked up is because jail offers them a means of escape from this awful world! No matter how bad conditions are inside, at least they know at the end of the day there will always be somebody to talk to, who won't judge them, and who will relate to them as the individuals each of them is! There is a ready source of friends, of sporting chums and rivals - which helps a lot if the regime is tough, as they chivvy each other along by ridiculing those of their number that can't make it!
Prison is the only place in the world where they can expect to have some kind of work to occupy their days - and give them a sense of place, and belonging! They don't have to worry where their next meal is coming from, or the rent money; and they know they'll have a warm bed to sleep in! By making jail their home - they do get 'holidays' - those occasional, short periods they spend outside. It gives them something to look forward to, somthing to talk about, something to work towards...
To those of you who advocate locking up youth offenders, can I just ask - how much of this picture I've been painting, of such people's lives, were you aware of? Had you any inkling at all that the world we live in has such huge inequalities - even within our own country? Can you honestly say you knew that, for many youngsters, it is such a fucking diabolical place where all you get is hurt, fucked up, shit all over and then hurt, fucked up and shit on again and again - that actually, they'd rather spend their lives in jail where at least there are some positive certainties? And if not - do you still think as a nation, we should be punishing those individuals for what can only be their best efforts to express the inexpressible hatred and contempt for a society that constantly turns a blind eye to their awful plights - or are you thinking that the real problem - that is the root cause of it all - might just lie outside of the prison gates - and maybe we should be making a damn sight more effort to make that a better place to be?
I rest my case. Thanks for reading.
I fear there are far too many people in the world who don't have the faintest clue what they're talking about, and expousing opinions about. I just pray that by sharing a little of my story, I might persuade a few of them to think again.
Sunday, 10 February 2008
And come to think of it...
Today would have been my parents' 46th wedding anniversary.
Ten years ago there was no reason to suppose they'd not be in the running for breaking marriage records - they'd both married young - she was 19 and he was 21; and I was already having thoughts about Golden Wedding presents - as I'd not had the means to offer much at their Silver event.
That they might just scrape past 41 years together before one of them passed away was completely unthinkable...
Please spare a prayer for my mother - who has probably had quite a bad night, and will have another tonight - she doesn't sleep well at the best of times. Thank-you.
Ten years ago there was no reason to suppose they'd not be in the running for breaking marriage records - they'd both married young - she was 19 and he was 21; and I was already having thoughts about Golden Wedding presents - as I'd not had the means to offer much at their Silver event.
That they might just scrape past 41 years together before one of them passed away was completely unthinkable...
Please spare a prayer for my mother - who has probably had quite a bad night, and will have another tonight - she doesn't sleep well at the best of times. Thank-you.
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